Inspirational

Few get enough, -- enough is one;
To that ethereal throng
Have not each one of us the right
To stealthily belong?

Down through the woods, along the way
That fords the stream; by rock and tree,
Where in the bramble-bell the bee
Swings; and through twilights green and gray
The red-bird flashes suddenly,
My thoughts went wandering to-day.

I found the fields where, row on row,
The blackberries hang black with fruit;
Where, nesting at the elder's root,
The partridge whistles soft and low;
The fields, that billow to the foot
Of those old hills we used to know.

There lay the pond, still willow-bound,
On whose bright surface, when the hot
Noon burnt above, we chased the knot
Of water-spiders; while around
Our heads, like bits of rainbow, shot
The dragonflies without a sound.

The pond, above which evening bent
To gaze upon her rosy face;
Where...

Earth hath her images of utterance,
Her hieroglyphic meanings which elude;
A symbol language of similitude,
Into whose secrets science may not glance;
In which the Mind-in-Nature doth romance
In miracles that baffle if pursued
No guess shall search them and no thought intrude
Beyond the limits of her sufferance.
So doth the great Intelligence above
Hide His own thought's creations; and attire
Forms in the dream's ideal, which He dowers
With immaterial loveliness and love
As essences of fragrance and of fire
Preaching th' evangels of the stars and flowers.

We have no grass locked up in ice so fast
That cattle cut their faces and at last,
When it is reached, must lie them down and starve,
With bleeding mouths that freeze too hard to move.
We have not that delirious state of cold
That makes men warm and sing when in Death's hold.
We have no roaring floods whose angry shocks
Can kill the fishes dashed against their rocks.
We have no winds that cut down street by street,
As easy as our scythes can cut down wheat.
No mountains here to spew their burning hearts
Into the valleys, on our human parts.
No earthquakes here, that ring church bells afar,
A hundred miles from where those earthquakes are.
We have no cause to set our dreaming eyes,
Like Arabs, on fresh streams in Paradise.
We have no wilds to harbour men that t...

Fear hath a hundred eyes that all agree
To plague her beating heart; and there is one
(Nor idlest that!) which holds communion
With things that were not, yet were 'meant' to be.
Aghast within its gloomy cavity
That eye (which sees as if fulfilled and done
Crimes that might stop the motion of the sun)
Beholds the horrible catastrophe
Of an assembled Senate unredeemed
From subterraneous Treason's darkling power:
Merciless act of sorrow infinite!
Worse than the product of that dismal night,
When gushing, copious as a thunder-shower,
The blood of Huguenots through Paris streamed.

There, in my mind's-eye, pure it lay,
My lodger's vote! 'Twas mine to-day.
It seemed a sort of maidenhood,
My little power for public good, -
Oh keep it uncorrupted, pray!
And, when it must be given away,
See it be given with a sense
Of most uncanvassed innocence.
Alas! - but few there be that know't -
How grave a thing it is to vote!
For most men's votes are given, I hear,
Either for rhetoric or - beer.

A young man's vote - O fair estate!
Of the great tree electorate
A living leaf, of this great sea
A motive wave of empire I,
On this stupendous wheel - a fly.
O maiden vote, how pure must be
The party that is worthy thee!
And thereupon my mind began
That perfect government to plan,
The high millennium of man.

Then in m...

You beat your pate, and fancy wit will come;
Knock as you please, there's nobody at home.

Ah! What avails the classic bent
And what the cultured word,
Against the undoctored incident
That actually occurred?


And what is Art whereto we press
Through paint and prose and rhyme,
When Nature in her nakedness
Defeats us every time?


It is not learning, grace nor gear,
Nor easy meat and drink,
But bitter pinch of pain and fear
That makes creation think.


When in this world's unpleasing youth
Our godlike race began,
The longest arm, the sharpest tooth,
Gave man control of man;


Till, bruised and bitten to the bone
And taught by pain and fear,
He learned to deal the far-off stone,
And poke the long, safe spear.


So tooth and nail were obsolete
As means against a foe,
Till, ...

Lang-haired gauvies(1) coom my way, drawin' t' owd abbey an' brig,
    All their crack is o' Art-staities an' picturs an' paints;
Want to put me on their canvas, donned i' my farmer's rig,
    Tell me I'm pairt o' t' scenery, stained-glass windeys an' saints.

I reckon I'm artist an' all, though I niver gave it a thowt;
    Breeder o' stock is my trade, Mike Pullan o' t' Abbey Close.
What sud a farmer want wi' picturs that brass has bowt?
    All his art is i' t' mistal, wheer t' heifers are ranged i' rows.

Look at yon pedigree bull, wi' an eye as breet as a star,
    An' a coat that shines like velvet, when it catches t' glent o' t' sun;
Hark to him bealin' for t' cows, wi' a voice like t' thunner on t' scar,
    Watch them sinews i' t' neck, ripplin' wi' mischief an' fun....

Shun, shun the Bowl! That fatal, facile drink
Has ruined many geese who dipped their quills in 't;
Bribe, murder, marry, but steer clear of Ink
Save when you write receipts for paid-up bills in 't.
There may be silver in the "blue-black", all
I know of is the iron and the gall.

Boanerges Blitzen, servant of the Queen,
Is a dismal failure, is a Might-have-been.
In a luckless moment he discovered men
Rise to high position through a ready pen.

Boanerges Blitzen argued therefore, "I,
With the selfsame weapon, can attain as high."
Only he did not possess when he made the trial,
Wicked wit of C-lv-n, irony of L--l.

[Men who spar with Government need, to back their blows,
Something more than ordinary journalistic prose.]

Never young Civilian's...

Now is the Sun, erst spendthrift of his rays
And lavish of his largesses of light,
Become a miser in his latter days,
An avaricious dotard, alter'd quite.
Is he the same that all the summer long
Strew'd with ungrudging hand his gleaming gold?
Can such ill grace to high estate belong?
Can bright be dim? can warm so soon be cold?

Ay, but he goes his parsimonious way,
And hoards his shining treasures from the view,
And garners up his riches 'gainst the day
When Earth, the prodigal, shall beg anew;
Then to her need he'll give no niggard dole,
But wealth incalculable, heart and soul.

    'Twas in the summer's sweet perfume,
        When roses bloomed and holly, O,
    That in the brightness of her bloom,
        I first did meet my Mollie, O.

    Although she said for lives to love
        Was nothing but pure folly, O,
    My heart was lit with light above,
        And I true loved my Mollie, O.

    O, swift and fast the days did flee
        And seemed most bright and jolly, O,
    For evermore was near to me
        My fair and lovely Mollie, O.

    Now I doth sit through all the day
        And nurse my melancholy, O,
    For from me she has turned away,
        O, false and fickle Mollie, O!

            THE DAMOZELS.

        Lady Alice, lady Louise,
        Between the wash of the tumbling seas
        We are ready to sing, if so ye please;
        So lay your long hands on the keys;
            Sing, Laudate pueri.

    And ever the great bell overhead
    Boom'd in the wind a knell for the dead,
    Though no one toll'd it, a knell for the dead.

            LADY LOUISE.

    Sister, let the measure swell
    Not too loud; for you sing not well
    If you drown the faint boom of the bell;
            He is weary, so am I.

    And ever the chevron overhead
    Flapped on the banner of the dead;
    (Was he asleep, or was he dead?)

            LADY ALICE.

    Alice the Queen, an...

You who are loudly crying out for peace,
You who are wanting love to vanquish hate,
How is it in the four walls of your home
The while you wait?

Do those who form your household welcome your approach in the morning
As the earth welcomes the presence of dawn,
Or do they dread your coming lest you censure and complain?
Do you begin the day with praise to God for each blessing you possess, and do you speak frequent words of commendation to those about you?
Do those you claim to love often hear you talking in love's language,
Or is your softest tone and your sweetest speech saved for the sometime guest,
While the harsh voice and the sharp retort are used with those you love the best?

You who are praying for the Christ's return
And for the coming of the Promised Day,
...

We thought we ranked above the chance of ill.
Others might fall, not we, for we were wise,
Merchants in freedom. So, of our free-will
We let our servants drug our strength with lies.
The pleasure and the poison had its way
On us as on the meanest, till we learned
That he who lies will steal, who steals will slay.
Neither God's judgment nor man's heart was turned.

Yet there remains His Mercy, to be sought
Through wrath and peril till we cleanse the wrong
By that last right which our forefathers claimed
When their Law failed them and its stewards were bought.
This is our cause. God help us, and make strong
Our will to meet Him later, unashamed!

    To A. G.

    The moon poured down on tree and field,
        The leaf was silvered on the hedge,
    The sleeping kine were half revealed,
        Half shadowed at the pasture's edge.

    By steep inclines and long descents,
        Amid the inattentive trees,
    You spoke of the four elements,
        The four eternal mysteries.

In Tuscany.


    Dost thou remember, friend of vanish'd days,
    How in the golden land of love and song,
    We met in April in the crowded ways
    Of that fair city where the soul is strong,
    Aye! strong as fate, for good or evil praise?
    And how the lord whom all the world obeys, -
    The lord of light to whom the stars belong, -
    Illumed the track that led thee through the throng?
    Dost thou remember, in the wooded dale,
    Beyond the town of Dante the Divine,
    How all the air was flooded as with wine?
    And how the lark, to dro...

Reason and Folly and Beauty, they say,
Went on a party of pleasure one day:
    Folly played
    Around the maid,
The bells of his cap rung merrily out;
    While Reason took
    To his sermon-book--
Oh! which was the pleasanter no one need doubt,
Which was the pleasanter no one need doubt.

Beauty, who likes to be thought very sage.
Turned for a moment to Reason's dull page,
    Till Folly said,
    "Look here, sweet maid!"--
The sight of his cap brought her back to herself;
    While Reason read
    His leaves of lead,
With no one to mind him, poor sensible elf!
No,--no one to mind him, poor sensible elf!

Then Reason grew jealous of Folly's gay cap;
Had he that on, he her heart might entrap--
    "There it is,"
    Quoth F...