Heartbreak

It was April when you came
The first time to me,
And my first look in your eyes
Was like my first look at the sea.

We have been together
Four Aprils now
Watching for the green
On the swaying willow bough;

Yet whenever I turn
To your gray eyes over me,
It is as though I looked
For the first time at the sea.

At misty dawn,
At rosy morn,
The Redbreast sings alone:
At twilight dim,
Still, still, his hymn
Hath a sad, and sorrowing tone.

Another day, his song is gay,
For a listening bird is near
O ye who sorrow, come borrow, borrow,
A lesson of robin here!

I'll come, I'll creep, though Thou dost threat,
Humbly unto Thy mercy-seat:
When I am there, this then I'll do,
Give Thee a dart, and dagger too;
Next, when I have my faults confessed,
Naked I'll show a sighing breast;
Which if that can't Thy pity woo,
Then let Thy justice do the rest
    And strike it through.

In the dirge we sung o'er him no censure was heard,
    Unembittered and free did the tear-drop descend;
We forgot, in that hour, how the statesman had erred,
    And wept for the husband, the father and friend.

Oh! proud was the meed his integrity won,
    And generous indeed were the tears that we shed,
When in grief we forgot all the ill he had done,
    And tho' wronged by him living, bewailed him, when dead.

Even now if one harsher emotion intrude,
    'Tis to wish he had chosen some lowlier state,
Had known what he was--and, content to be good,
    Had ne'er for our ruin aspired to be great.

So, left thro' their own little orbit to move,
    His years might have rolled inoffensive away;
His children might still have been blest with ...

What suits one body doesn't suit another. Aw niver knew two fowk 'at allus thowt alike; an' if yo iver heard a poor chap talkin' abaat somebdy 'ats weel off, he's sure to say 'at if he'd his brass he'd do different throo what they do.

Aw once heeard a chap say 'at if he'd as mich brass as Baron Rothschild he'd niver do owt but ait beef-steaks an' ride i' cabs. Well, lad, aw thowt, it's better tha hasn't it. We're all varry apt to find fault wi' things at we know varry little abaat, an' happen if we knew mooar we shud say less. Aw once heeard two lasses talkin', an' one on 'em war tellin' tother 'at sin shoo saw her befoor, shoo'd getten wed, an' had a child, an' buried it. "Why, whativer shall aw live to hear? Aw didn't know 'at tha'd begun coortin'. Whoiver has ta getten wed to?" "Oh, awve getten wed to a forriner, at comes th...

"Give us Rain, Rain," said the bean and the pea,
    "Not so much Sun,
    Not so much Sun."
But the Sun smiles bravely and encouragingly,
And no rain falls and no waters run.

"Give us Peace, Peace," said the peoples oppressed,
    "Not so many Flags,
    Not so many Flags."
But the Flags fly and the Drums beat, denying rest,
And the children starve, they shiver in rags.

It is no Spirit who from heaven hath flown,
And is descending on his embassy;
Nor Traveller gone from earth the heavens to espy!
'Tis Hesperus, there he stands with glittering crown,
First admonition that the sun is down!
For yet it is broad day-light: clouds pass by;
A few are near him still, and now the sky,
He hath it to himself 'tis all his own.
O most ambitious Star! an inquest wrought
Within me when I recognised thy light;
A moment I was startled at the sight:
And, while I gazed, there came to me a thought
That I might step beyond my natural race
As thou seem'st now to do; might one day trace
Some ground not mine; and, strong her strength above,
My Soul, an Apparition in the place,
Tread there with steps that no one shall reprove!

Malefica quaedam auguriatrix in Anglia fuit, quam demones horribiliter extraxerunt, et imponentes super equum terribilem, per aera rapuerunt; Clamoresque terribiles (ut ferunt) per quatuor ferme miliaria audiebantur.

Nuremb. Chron.

On the lone bleak moor,
At the midnight hour,
Beneath the Gallows Tree,
Hand in hand
The Murderers stand
By one, by two, by three!
And the Moon that night
With a grey, cold light
Each baleful object tips;
One half of her form
Is seen through the storm,
The other half 's hid in Eclipse!
And the cold Wind howls,
And the Thunder growls,
And the Lightning is broad and bright;
And altogether
It 's very bad weather,
And an unpleasant sort of a night!
'Now mount who list,
And close by the wrist
Sev...

By a black wharf I stood lately,
When the night was at its noon;
Keen, malicious stars were shining,
And a wicked, white-faced moon.

And I saw a stately vessel,
Built in fashion quaint and old;
From her masthead, in the moonlight,
Hung a flag of faded gold.

Black with age her masts and spars were,
Black with age her ropes and rails;
Like a ghost through cere-cloths gazing
Shone the white moon through her sails.

Not a movement stirred the stillness,
Not a sound the silence broke,
Save alone the livid water
Lapping round her sides of oak.

Then to her unseen commander
Spake I, as to one I knew,
“Don Juan Poncé de Léon,
I have waited long for you.

“Take me with you, I implore you!
Take me with you on your ques...

Give Want her welcome if she comes; we find
Riches to be but burdens to the mind.

    SPOKEN BY MONTEZUMA.

    You see what shifts we are enforced to try,
    To help out wit with some variety;
    Shows may be found that never yet were seen,
    'Tis hard to find such wit as ne'er has been:
    You have seen all that this old world can do,
    We therefore try the fortune of the new,
    And hope it is below your aim to hit
    At untaught nature with your practised wit:
    Our naked Indians, then, when wits appear,
    Would as soon choose to have the Spaniards here.
    'Tis true, you have marks enough, the plot, the show,
    The poet's scenes, nay, more, the painter's too;
    If all this fail, considering the cost,
    'Tis a true voyage to the Indies lost:
    But if you smile on all, then these designs,
    Like the imperfect...

“Late Midshipman John Travers (Chester), aged 16 years. He was mortally wounded early in the action, yet he remained alone in a most exposed post awaiting orders, with his gun's crew dead all round him.”


We told old stories one by one,
Brave tales of men who toyed with death,
Of wondrous deeds of valor done
In days of bold Elizabeth.
“Alas! our British stock,” said we,
“Is not now what it used to be.”

We read of Drake's great sailors, or
Of fighting men that Nelson led,
Who steered the walls of oak to war.
“These were our finest souls,” we said.
“Their fame is on the ocean writ,
Nor time, nor storm may cancel it.

“The mariners of England then
Were lords of battle and of breeze.
The were, indeed the wondrous men
Who won for us the shorel...

Prat he writes satires, but herein's the fault,
In no one satire there's a mite of salt.

    The white men played all sorts of jokes on me.
    They took big fish off my hook
    And put little ones on, while I was away
    Getting a stringer, and made me believe
    I hadn't seen aright the fish I had caught.
    When Burr Robbins, circus came to town
    They got the ring master to let a tame leopard
    Into the ring, and made me believe
    I was whipping a wild beast like Samson
    When I, for an offer of fifty dollars,
    Dragged him out to his cage.
    One time I entered my blacksmith shop
    And shook as I saw some horse-shoes crawling
    Across the floor, as if alive -
    Walter Simmons had put a magnet
    Under the barrel of water.
    Yet everyone of you, you white men,
    Was fooled about fish and about leopards too,
...

I love to see the sun go down
    Behind the western hill;
I love to see the night come on,
    When everything is still.

I love to see the moon and stars
    Shine brightly in the sky;
I love to see the rolling clouds
    Above my head so high.

I love to see the little flowers
    That grow up from the ground;
To hear the wind blow through the trees,
    And make a rustling sound.

I love to see the sheep and lambs
    So happy in their play;
I love to hear the small birds sing
    Sweetly, at close of day.

I love to see them _all_, because
    They are so bright and fair;
And He who made this pleasant world
    Will listen to my prayer.

    No broken visor, emptied glove
    abandoned cudgel, opened net
    - only gathering spots on spreading sand.

    Clang of cymbals
    wrench of flesh,
    death is a morsel
    delectably met.

Sweet Oenone, do but say
Love thou dost, though love says nay.
Speak me fair; for lovers be
Gently kill'd by flattery.

Beside the pounding cataracts
Of midnight streams unknown to us
'Tis builded in the leafless tracts
And valleys huge of Tartarus.
Lurid and lofty and vast it seems;
It hath no rounded name that rings,
But I have heard it called in dreams
The City of the End of Things.

Its roofs and iron towers have grown
None knoweth how high within the night,
But in its murky streets far down
A flaming terrible and bright
Shakes all the stalking shadows there,
Across the walls, across the floors,
And shifts upon the upper air
From out a thousand furnace doors;

And all the while an awful sound
Keeps roaring on continually,
And crashes in the ceaseless round
Of a gigantic harmony.
Through its grim depths re-echoing
And all its weary height o...