Identity

But what’s the use of writing ‘bush’,
Though editors demand it,
For city folk, and farming folk,
Can never understand it.
They’re blind to what the bushman sees
The best with eyes shut tightest,
Out where the sun is hottest and
The stars are most and brightest.

The crows at sunrise flopping round
Where some poor life has run down;
The pair of emus trotting from
The lonely tank at sundown,
Their snaky heads well up, and eyes
Well out for man’s manoeuvres,
And feathers bobbing round behind
Like fringes round improvers.

The swagman tramping ’cross the plain;
Good Lord, there’s nothing sadder,
Except the dog that slopes behind
His master like a shadder;
The turkey-tail to scare the flies,
The water-bag and billy;
The nose-...

EXAMPLE often proves of sov'reign use;
At other times it cherishes abuse;
'Tis not my purpose, howsoe'er, to tell
Which of the two I fancy to excel.
Some will conceive the Abbess acted right,
While others think her conduct very light
Be that as 'twill, her actions right or wrong,
I'll freely give a license to my tongue,
Or pen, at all events, and clearly show,
By what some nuns were led to undergo,
That flocks are equally of flesh and blood,
And, if one passes, hundreds stem the flood,
To follow up the course the first has run,
And imitate what t'other has begun.
When Agnes passed, another sister came,
And ev'ry nun desired to do the same;
At length the guardian of the flock appeared,
And likewise passed, though much at first she feared.
The tale is ...

You think it horrible that lust and rage
Should dance attention upon my old age;
They were not such a plague when I was young;
What else have I to spur me into song?

The sea goes up; the sky comes down.
Oh, can you spy the ancient town, -
The granite hills so hard and gray,
That rib the land behind the bay?
    O ye ho, boys! Spread her wings!
    Fair winds, boys: send her home!
    O ye ho!

Three years? Is it so long that we
Have lived upon the lonely sea?
Oh, often I thought we'd see the town,
When the sea went up, and the sky came down.
    O ye ho, boys! Spread her wings!
    Fair winds, boys: send her home!
    O ye ho!

Even the winter winds would rouse
A memory of my father's house;
For round his windows and his door
They made the same deep, mouthless roar.
    O ye ho, boys! Spread her wings!
    Fair winds, boys: send her home!
    O ye ho!

And when the summer's breezes b...

Telesio, il telo.


Telesius, the arrow from thy bow
        Midmost his band of sophists slays that high
        Tyrant of souls that think; he cannot fly:
        While Truth soars free, loosed by the self-same blow.
Proud lyres with thine immortal praises glow,
        Smitten by bards elate with victory:
        Lo, thine own Cavalcante, stormfully
        Lightning, still strikes the fortress of the foe!
Good Gaieta bedecks our saint serene
        With robes translucent, light-irradiate,
        Restoring her to all her natural sheen;
The while my tocsin at the temple-gate
        Of the wide universe proclaims her queen,
        Pythia of first and last ordained by fate.

Villain shows his indiscretion,
Villain's partner makes confession.
Juvenile, with golden tresses,
Finds her pa and dons long dresses.
Scapegrace comes home money-laden,
Hero comforts tearful maiden,
Soubrette marries loyal chappie,
Villain skips, and all are happy.

Now finale to the shore!
Now, land and life, finale, and farewell!
Now Voyager depart! (much, much for thee is yet in store;)
Often enough hast thou adventur'd o'er the seas,
Cautiously cruising, studying the charts,
Duly again to port, and hawser's tie, returning:
But now obey, thy cherish'd, secret wish,
Embrace thy friends - leave all in order;
To port, and hawser's tie, no more returning,
Depart upon thy endless cruise, old Sailor!

There is a room serene and fair,
All palpitant with light and air;
Free from the dust, world's noise and fuss -
God's Tower-room in each of us.

Oh! many a stair our feet must press,
And climb from self to selflessness,
Before we reach that radiant room
Above the discord and the gloom.

So many, many stairs to climb,
But mount them gently - take your time;
Rise leisurely, nor strive to run -
Not so the mightiest feats are done.

Well doing of the little things:
Repression of the word that stings;
The tempest of the mind made still
By victory of the God-like will.

The hated task performed in love -
All these are stairs that wind above
The things that trouble and annoy,
Up to the Tower-room of joy.

Rise leisurely; t...

    Not to thee Bedford mournful is the tale
        Of days departed. Time in his career
        Arraigns not thee that the neglected year
    Has past unheeded onward. To the vale
    Of years thou journeyest. May the future road
        Be pleasant as the past! and on my friend
        Friendship and Love, best blessings! still attend,
    'Till full of days he reach the calm abode
    Where Nature slumbers. Lovely is the age
        Of Virtue. With such reverence we behold
        The silver hairs, as some grey oak grown old
    That whilome mock'd the rushing tempest's rage
    Now like the monument of strength decayed
With rarely-sprinkled leaves casting a trembling shade.

When Yankee soldiers reach the barricade
Then Joan of Arc gives each the accolade.

For she is there in armor clad, today,
All the young poets of the wide world say.

Which of our freemen did she greet the first,
Seeing him come against the fires accurst?

Mark Twain, our Chief, with neither smile nor jest,
Leading to war our youngest and our best.

The Yankee to King Arthur's court returns.
The sacred flag of Joan above him burns.

For she has called his soul from out the tomb.
And where she stands, there he will stand till doom.

        .    .    .    .    .

But I, I can but mourn, and mourn again
At bloodshed caused by angels, saints, and men.

'Tis just three months and eke a day,
Since in the meadows, raking hay,
On looking up I chanced to see
The manor's lord, young Arnold Lee,
With a loose hand on the rein,
Riding slowly down the lane.
As I gazed with earnest look
On his face as on a book,
As if conscious of the gaze,
Suddenly he turned the rays
Of his brilliant eyes on me.
Then I looked down hastily,
While my heart, like caged bird,
Fluttered till it might be heard.
    Foolish, foolish Barbara!

We had never met before,
He had been so long away,
Visiting some foreign shore,
I have heard my father say.
What in truth was he to me,
Rich and handsome Arnold Lee?
Fate had placed us far apart;
Why, then, did my restless heart
Flutter when his careless glance

Strange! all this difference should be
'Twixt Tweedle-dum and Tweedle-dee!

Cynthia.


    O Lady Moon, elect of all the spheres
    To be the guardian of the ocean-tides,
    I charge thee, say, by all thy hopes and fears,
    And by thy face, the oracle of brides,
    Why evermore Remorse with thee abides?
    Is life a bane to thee, and fraught with tears,
    That thus forlorn and sad thou dost confer
    With ghosts and shades? Perchance thou dost aspire
    To bridal honours, and thy Phoebus-sire
    Forbids the banns, whoe'er thy suitor be?
    Is this thy grievance, O thou chief of nuns?
    Or dost thou weep to know that ...

When I love, as some have told
Love I shall, when I am old,
O ye Graces!make me fit
For the welcoming of it!
Clean my rooms, as temples be,
To entertain that deity;
Give me words wherewith to woo,
Suppling and successful too;
Winning postures; and withal,
Manners each way musical;
Sweetness to allay my sour
And unsmooth behaviour:
For I know you have the skill
Vines to prune, though not to kill;
And of any wood ye see,
You can make a Mercury.

    "Of brownys and of bogilis full is this buke."

Gawin Douglas


    When chapman billies leave the street,
    And drouthy neebors neebors meet,
    As market-days are wearing late,
    An' folk begin to tak' the gate;
    While we sit bousing at the nappy,
    An' gettin' fou and unco happy,
    We think na on the lang Scots miles,
    The mosses, waters, slaps, and stiles,
    That lie between us and our hame,
    Where sits our sulky sullen dame,
    Gathering her brows like gathering storm,
    Nursing her wrath to keep it warm.

    This truth fand honest Tam O' Shanter,
    As he frae Ayr ae night did canter,
    (Auld Ayr, wham ne'er a town surpasses,
    For honest men and bonny lasses.)
    O Tam! hadst thou but been ...

In the hour of my distress,
When temptations me oppress,
And when I my sins confess,
Sweet Spirit, comfort me!

When I lie within my bed,
Sick in heart, and sick in head,
And with doubts discomforted,
Sweet Spirit, comfort me!

When the house doth sigh and weep,
And the world is drown'd in sleep,
Yet mine eyes the watch do keep,
Sweet Spirit, comfort me!

When the artless doctor sees
No one hope, but of his fees,
And his skill runs on the lees,
Sweet Spirit, comfort me!

When his potion and his pill,
Has, or none, or little skill,
Meet for nothing but to kill,
Sweet Spirit, comfort me!

When the passing-bell doth toll,
And the furies in a shoal
Come to fright a parting soul,
Sweet Spirit, comfort me!<...

By the next kindling of the day,
My Julia, thou shalt see,
Ere Ave-Mary thou canst say
I'll come and visit thee.

Yet ere thou counsel'st with thy glass,
Appear thou to mine eyes
As smooth, and nak'd, as she that was
The prime of paradise.

If blush thou must, then blush thou through
A lawn, that thou mayst look
As purest pearls, or pebbles do
When peeping through a brook.

As lilies shrin'd in crystal, so
Do thou to me appear;
Or damask roses when they grow
To sweet acquaintance there.

Rich in bliss, I proudly scorn
The wealth of Amalthea's horn;
Nor should I ask to call the throne
Of the Tartessian prince my own;[1]
To totter through his train of years,
The victim of declining fears.
One little hour of joy to me
Is worth a dull eternity!