Heartbreak

    Lament him, Mauchline husbands a',
        He aften did assist ye;
    For had ye staid whole weeks awa,
        Your wives they ne'er had missed ye.
    Ye Mauchline bairns, as on ye press
        To school in bands thegither,
    O tread ye lightly on his grass,
        Perhaps he was your father.

I'm wife; I've finished that,
That other state;
I'm Czar, I'm woman now:
It's safer so.

How odd the girl's life looks
Behind this soft eclipse!
I think that earth seems so
To those in heaven now.

This being comfort, then
That other kind was pain;
But why compare?
I'm wife! stop there!

    An iron wrought gate of turpentine force conveys little pigment,
    almost black parchment letters mindful of
    hands, arched and stroked from the very stone, until an
    elephantine water runs nettle sand to their granite perch.
    The broiling heat in this part of the Indies one knows must,
    posthaste, carry to the humus and flies any modicum of human remains.
    And, over distant dispatch of time, the elongated sprawl of waves dashing up straight to the shallow's grave, makes
    memory drawn, any record of the little parish's dead flimsy
    in the topsy context of soil and undulant peat.

    A greened isle stares past the feckless scene, past again an
    aged church noticeboard that scrapes out traces of news
    worthy of import to the wormy road.
    Wh...

That solitary cloud grows dark and wide,
While distant thunder rumbles in the air,
A fitful ripple breaks the river's tide -
The lazy cattle are no longer there,
But homeward come in long procession slow,
With many a bleat and many a plaintive low.

Darker and wider-spreading o'er the west
Advancing clouds, each in fantastic form,
And mirror'd turrets on the river's breast
Tell in advance the coming of a storm -
Closer and brighter glares the lightning's flash
And louder, nearer, sounds the thunder's crash.

The air of evening is intensely hot,
The breeze feels heated as it fans my brows -
Now sullen rain-drops patter down like shot -
Strike in the grass, or rattle 'mid the boughs.
A sultry lull: and then a gust again,
And now I see the thick-ad...

Close beside the crystal waters of Jacob's far-famed well,
Whose dewy coolness gratefully upon the parched air fell,
Reflecting back the bright hot heavens within its waveless breast,
Jesus, foot-sore and weary, had sat Him down to rest.

Alone was He - His followers had gone to Sichar near,
Whose roofs and spires rose sharply against the heavens clear,
For food which Nature craveth, whate'er each hope or care,
And which, though Lord of Nature, He disdained not to share.

While thus He calmly waited, came a woman to the well,
With water vase poised gracefully, and step that lightly fell,
One of Samaria's daughters, most fair, alas! but frail,
Her dark locks bound with flowers instead of modest, shelt'ring veil.

No thought of scornful anger within His bosom ...

A ship that bears much sail, and little ballast, is easily overset; and that man, whose head hath great abilities, and his heart little or no grace, is in danger of foundering.
The finest bread has the least bran; the purest honey, the least wax; and the sincerest Christian, the least self-love.
Sweet words are like honey; a little may refresh, but too much gluts the stomach.
Divers children have their different natures: some are like flesh which nothing but salt will keep from putrefaction; some again like tender fruits that are best preserved with sugar. Those parents are wise that can fit their nurture according to their nature.
Authority without wisdom is like a heavy axe without an edge, fitter to bruise than polish.
The reason why Christians are so loath to exchange this world for a better, is because they h...

The remembrance of the Good
Keep us ever glad in mood.

The remembrance of the Fair
Makes a mortal rapture share.

The remembrance of one's Love
Blest Is, if it constant prove.

The remembrance of the One
Is the greatest joy that's known.

    Back and forth, back and forth, to and from the church,
    With my Bible under my arm
    'Till I was gray and old;
    Unwedded, alone in the world,
    Finding brothers and sisters in the congregation,
    And children in the church.
    I know they laughed and thought me queer.
    I knew of the eagle souls that flew high in the sunlight,
    Above the spire of the church, and laughed at the church,
    Disdaining me, not seeing me.
    But if the high air was sweet to them, sweet was the church to me.
    It was the vision, vision, vision of the poets
    Democratized!

On seeing BRET HARTE come upon the Bench.

Thanks for an hour of laughing
    In a world that is growing old;
Thanks for an hour of weeping
    In a world that is growing cold;
For we who have wept with Dickens,
    And we who have laughed with Boz,
Have renewed the days of our childhood
    With his American Coz.

Tune - "Craigtown's growing."


I.

    O, Lady Mary Ann
        Looks o'er the castle wa',
    She saw three bonnie boys
        Playing at the ba';
    The youngest he was
        The flower amang them a'
    My bonnie laddie's young,
        But he's growin' yet.

II.

    O father! O father!
        An' ye think it fit,
    We'll send him a year
        To the college yet:
    We'll sew a green ribbon
        Round about his hat,
    And that will let them ken
        He's to marry yet.

III.

    Lady Mary Ann
        Was a flower i' the dew,
    Sweet was its smell,
        And bonnie was its hue;
    And the langer it blossom'd
        The sweeter it grew;
    Fo...

(Being a Sequel to "The Groom's Story" in "Songs of Action")

Not tired of 'earin' stories! You're a nailer, so you are!
I thought I should 'ave choked you off with that 'ere motor-car.
Well, mister, 'ere's another; and, mind you, it's a fact,
Though you'll think perhaps I copped it out o' some blue ribbon tract.

It was in the days when farmer men were jolly-faced and stout,
For all the cash was comin' in and little goin' out,
But now, you see, the farmer men are 'ungry-faced and thin,
For all the cash is goin' out and little comin' in.

But in the days I'm speakin' of, before the drop in wheat,
The life them farmers led was such as couldn't well be beat;
They went the pace amazin', they 'unted and they shot,
And this 'ere Jeremiah Brown the liveliest of the lot.<...

A glint of her hair or a flash of her shoulder,
That is the most I can boast to have seen,
Then all is lost as the shadows enfold her,
Forest glades making a screen of their green,
Could I cast off all the cares of tomorrow,
Could I forget all the fret of today
Then, my heart free from the burdens I borrow,
Nature’s chaste spirit her face would display.

I am now, what joy to hear it!

Of the old magician rid;
And henceforth shall ev'ry spirit

Do whate'er by me is bid;

I have watch'd with rigour

All he used to do,

And will now with vigour

Work my wonders too.


Wander, wander

Onward lightly,

So that rightly

Flow the torrent,

And with teeming waters yonder

In the bath discharge its current!

And now come, thou well-worn broom,

And thy wretched form bestir;
Thou hast ever served as groom,

So fulfil my pleasure, sir!

On two legs now stand,

With a head on top;

Waterpail in hand,

Haste, and do not stop!


Wander, wander

Onward lightly,

So t...

In a little Hungarian cafe
Men and women are drinking
Yellow wine in tall goblets.

Through the milky haze of the smoke,
The fiddler, under-sized, blond,
Leans to his violin
As to the breast of a woman.
Red hair kindles to fire
On the black of his coat-sleeve,
Where his white thin hand
Trembles and dives,
Like a sliver of moonlight,
When wind has broken the water.

Whate'er your predecessors taught us,
I have a great esteem for Plautus;
And think your boys may gather there-hence
More wit and humour than from Terence;
But as to comic Aristophanes,
The rogue too vicious and too profane is.
I went in vain to look for Eupolis
Down in the Strand,[1] just where the New Pole[2] is;
For I can tell you one thing, that I can,
You will not find it in the Vatican.
He and Cratinus used, as Horace says,
To take his greatest grandees for asses.
Poets, in those days, used to venture high;
But these are lost full many a century.
Thus you may see, dear friend, ex pede hence,
My judgment of the old comedians.
    Proceed to tragics: first Euripides
(An author where I sometimes dip a-days)
Is rightly censured by the Stagiri...

    They were parted then at last?
    Was it duty, or force, or fate?
    Or did a worldly blast
    Blow-to the meeting-gate?

    An old, short story is this!
    A glance, a trembling, a sigh,
    A gaze in the eyes, a kiss--
    Why will it not go by!

("Vous êtes singulier.")

[MARION DELORME, Act I., June, 1829, played 1831.]

MARION (smiling.) You're strange, and yet I love you thus.

DIDIER.    You love me?
Beware, nor with light lips utter that word.
You love me! - know you what it is to love
With love that is the life-blood in one's veins,
The vital air we breathe, a love long-smothered,
Smouldering in silence, kindling, burning, blazing,
And purifying in its growth the soul.
A love that from the heart eats every passion
But its sole self; love without hope or limit,
Deep love that will outlast all happiness;
Speak, speak; is such the love you bear me?

MARION.    Truly.

DIDIER. Ha! but you do not know how I love you!
The day that first I saw you, the dark...

The rooks aclamor when one enters here
Startle the empty towers far overhead;
Through gaping walls the summer fields appear,
Green, tan, or, poppy-mingled, tinged with red.
The courts where revel rang deep grass and moss
Cover, and tangled vines have overgrown
The gate where banners blazoned with a cross
Rolled forth to toss round Tyre and Ascalon.
Decay consumes it. The old causes fade.
And fretting for the contest many a heart
Waits their Tyrtaeus to chant on the new.
Oh, pass him by who, in this haunted shade
Musing enthralled, has only this much art,
To love the things the birds and flowers love too.