Loneliness

Hail, little herald! - Art thou then returning
From summer lands, this wild and wind-torn day?
Hast brought the word for which our hearts are yearning,
That spring is on the way?
Hark! Now there comes a clear, insistent calling,

From hill tops crested with untarnished snow;
The trumpet notes are drifting - floating - falling -
Whene'er the breezes blow!

"Winter is over, and the spring is coming!"
Glad is thy message, little page in black -
"Winter is over, and the spring is coming -
The spring is coming back!"

Tell me, 0 prophet, bird of sombre feather,
Who taught thee all the mysteries of spring? -
Didst note each passing mood of wind and weather,
While flying to the North on buoyant wing?

Or didst thou rest upon the bare brown branche...

The principle whence everything
To life and shape ascended--
The pulley whereon Zeus the ring
Of Earth, which else in sherds would spring,
Has carefully suspended--
To genius I yield him a claim
Who fathoms for me what its name,
Save I withdraw its curtain:
It is--ten is not thirteen.

That snow makes cold, that fire burns,
That man on two feet goeth,
That in the heavens the sun sojourns--
This much the man who logic spurns
Through his own senses knoweth;
But metaphysics who has got,
Knows he that burneth, freezeth not;
Knows 'tis the moist that wetteth,
And 'tis the rough that fretteth.

Great Homer sings his epic high;
The hero fronts his dangers;
The brave his duty still doth ply--
And did it while, I won't deny,
Phil...

Let me not die for ever when I'm laid
    In the cold earth! but let my memory
Live still among ye, like the evening shade,
    That o'er the sinking day steals placidly.
Let me not be forgotten! though the knell
    Has tolled for me its solemn lullaby;
Let me not be forgotten! though I dwell
    For ever now in death's obscurity.
Yet oh! upon the emblazoned leaf of fame,
    Trace not a record, not a line for me,
But let the lips I loved oft breathe my name,
    And in your hearts enshrine my memory!

Prejudged by foes determined not to spare,
An old weak Man for vengeance thrown aside,
Laud, "in the painful art of dying" tried,
(Like a poor bird entangled in a snare
Whose heart still flutters, though his wings forbear
To stir in useless struggle) hath relied
On hope that conscious innocence supplied,
And in his prison breathes celestial air.
Why tarries then thy chariot? Wherefore stay,
O Death! the ensanguined yet triumphant wheels,
Which thou prepar'st, full often, to convey
(What time a State with madding faction reels)
The Saint or Patriot to the world that heals
All wounds, all perturbations doth allay?

    The girl's a slender thing and fair,
    With dimpled cheek and eyes ashine;
    The youth is tall, with bashful air.
    Heigho! a fond and foolish pair -
        The day is yours, St. Valentine.

    He says: "My heart will constant prove,
    Since every beat of it is thine;
    The sweetest joy of life is love."
    The birds are mating in the grove -
        The day is yours, St. Valentine.

    What matter that the wind blows chill
    Through leafless tree and naked vine,
    That snowdrifts linger on the hill,
    When warm love makes the pulses thrill?
        The day is yours, St. Valentine.

When at first in foreign parts
Was her flag unfurled,
England was a Gipsy lass
Peddling round the world.
Sailing on the Spanish Main,
Everywhere you roam,
Peddling in the Persian Gulf
Things she’d made at home.
Peddling round the world,
Peddling round the world,
England was a Gipsy lass
Peddling round the world.
England never wanted war,
Not on land or sea,
Other nations rising up
Couldn’t let her be.
England only wanted peace,
And the ocean’s breath;
So there came, in course of time,
Queen Elizabeth.
Queen Elizabeth,
Queen Elizabeth,
Came a plain, bad-tempered queen,
Called Elizabeth.

Queen Elizabeth, she called
Drake, and Raleigh too,
Essex, Howard, and the rest
Of the pirate crew;
“See what y...

See how yon flaming herald treads
The ridged and rolling waves,
As, crashing o'er their crested heads,
She bows her surly slaves!
With foam before and fire behind,
She rends the clinging sea,
That flies before the roaring wind,
Beneath her hissing lee.

The morning spray, like sea-born flowers,
With heaped and glistening bells,
Falls round her fast, in ringing showers,
With every wave that swells;
And, burning o'er the midnight deep,
In lurid fringes thrown,
The living gems of ocean sweep
Along her flashing zone.

With clashing wheel and lifting keel,
And smoking torch on high,
When winds are loud and billows reel,
She thunders foaming by;
When seas are silent and serene,
With even beam she glides,
The sunshine glimmerin...

Dead Princess, living Power, if that which lived
True life live on–and if the fatal kiss,
Born of true life and love, divorce thee not
From earthly love and life–if what we call
The spirit flash not all at once from out
This shadow into Substance–then perhaps
The mellow’d murmur of the people’s praise
From thine own State, and all our breadth of realm,
Where Love and Longing dress thy deeds in light,
Ascends to thee; and this March morn that sees
Thy Soldier-brother’s bridal orange-bloom
Break thro’ the yews and cypress of thy grave,
And thine Imperial mother smile again,
May send one ray to thee! and who can tell–
Thou–England’s England-loving daughter–thou
Dying so English thou wouldst have her flag
Borne on thy coffin–where is he can swear
But that som...

Oh! the shearing is all over,
    And the wool is coming down,
And I mean to get a wife, boys,
    When I go up to town.
Everything that has two legs
    Represents itself in view,
From the little paddy-melon
    To the bucking kangaroo.

                        CHORUS

    So it’s roll up your blankets,
        And let’s make a push,
    I’ll take you up the country,
        And show you the bush.
    I’ll be bound you won’t get
        Such a chance another day,
    So come and take possession
        Of my old bullock dray.

Now, I’ve saved up a good cheque,
    I mean to buy a team,
And when I get a wife, boys,
    I’ll be all-serene
For calling at the depôt.
    They say there’s no delay
To get an off-side...

    Anton Sosnowski, from the Shakspeare School
    Where he assists the janitor, sweeps and dusts,
    The day now done, sits by a smeared up table
    Munching coarse bread and drinking beer; before him
    The evening paper spread, held down or turned
    By claw-like hands, covered with shiny scars.
    He broods upon the war news, and his fate
    Which keeps him from the war, looks up and sees
    His scarred face in the mirror over the wainscot;
    His lashless eyes and browless brows and head
    With patches of thin hair. And then he mutters
    Hot curses to himself and turns the paper
    And curses Germany, and asks revenge
    For Poland's wrongs.

        And what is this he sees?
    The picture of his ruin and his hate,
    Wert Rufus Fox...

O well have we done the old tasks! in the old, old ways of earth.
We have kept the house in order, we have given the children birth;
And our sons went out with their fathers, and left us alone at the hearth!

We have cooked the meats for their table; we have woven their cloth at the loom;
We have pulled the weeds from their gardens, and kept the flowers in bloom;
And then we have sat and waited, alone in a silent room.

We have borne all the pains of travail in giving life to the race;
We have toiled and saved, for the masters, and helped them to power and place;
And when we asked for a pittance, they gave it with grudging grace.

On the bold, bright face of the dollar all the evils of earth are shown.
We are weary of love that is barter, and of virtue that pines alone;

A CLOISTERED nun had a lover
Dwelling in the neighb'ring town;
Both racked their brains to discover
How they best their love might crown.
The swain to pass the convent-door! -
No easy matter! - Thus they swore,
And wished it light. - I ne'er knew a nun
In such a pass to be outdone: -
In woman's clothes the youth must dress,
And gain admission. I confess
The ruse has oft been tried before,
But it succeeded as of yore.
Together in a close barred cell
The lovers were, and sewed all day,
Nor heeded how time flew away. -
"What's that I hear? Refection bell!
"'Tis time to part. Adieu! - Farewell! -
"How's this?" exclaimed the abbess, "why
"The last at table?" - "Madam, I
"Have had my dress-maker." - "The rent
"On which you've both been so intent<...

        A far conserva, e cumulo d'amanti.
        "Past. Fid."


And are you then a thing of art,
    Seducing all, and loving none;
And have I strove to gain a heart
    Which every coxcomb thinks his own?

Tell me at once if this be true,
    And I will calm my jealous breast;
Will learn to join the dangling crew,
    And share your simpers with the rest.

But if your heart be not so free,--
    Oh! if another share that heart,
Tell not the hateful tale to me,
    But mingle mercy with your art.

I'd rather think you "false as hell,"
    Than find you to be all divine,--
Than know that heart could love so well,
    Yet know that heart would not be mine!

We are thy thankless children, gracious Lord.
The good thou dost afford
Lightly do we employ,
All careless of the one who giveth joy.

We heed not him from whom delights do flow.
Until they fade and go
We take no thought to render
That gratitude we owe the bounteous sender.

Yet keep us in thy care. Let not our pride
Cause thee, dear God, to hide
The glory of thy beauty:
Chasten us till we shall recall our duty.

Yet punish us as with a father's hand.
We mites, cannot withstand
Thine anger; we are snow,
Thy wrath, the sun that melts us in its glow.

Make us not perish thus, eternal God,
From thy too heavy rod.
Recall that thy disdain
Alone doth give thy children bitter pain.

Yet I do know thy mercy doth abound

The death of men is not the death
Of rights that urged them to the fray;
    For men may yield
    On battle-field
A noble life with stainless shield,
    And swords may rust
    Above their dust,
    But still, and still
    The touch and thrill
Of freedom's vivifying breath
    Will nerve a heart and rouse a will
    In some hour, in the days to be,
To win back triumphs from defeat;
And those who blame us then will greet
    Right's glorious eternity.

For right lives in a thousand things;
    Its cradle is its martyr's grave,
Wherein it rests awhile until
    The life that heroisms gave
Will rise again, at God's own will,
    And right the wrong,
    Which long and long
Did reign above the true and just;
And thro' the...

        Oklahoma! Oklahoma!
    Land, O, land of the Fair God,
        Land where ancient, savage races
    Through barbarian ages trod!
        Through thy story fancy traces
    Facts above what fictions say,
        Where the world with haste advances,--
    Born are nations in a day!
        Where the wigwam stood so lonely,
    Lordly cities rise in might;
        Where spread desert wildness only,
    Fertile farms and homes delight.
        Thou hast summoned to thy bosom
    From the ends of all the earth,
        All the youngest, strongest, bravest,
    Full of will and wondrous worth.
        O'er thy valleys grow the blossoms
    Culled from earth's remotest sod;
        Oklahoma! Oklahoma!
    Land, O, Land of the Fair God!

Oh, the new-chum went to the backblock run,
But he should have gone there last week.
He tramped ten miles with a loaded gun,
But of turkey of duck saw never a one,
For he should have been there last week,
They said,
There were flocks of 'em there last week.

He wended his way to a waterfall,
And he should have gone there last week.
He carried a camera, legs and all,
But the day was hot and the stream was small,
For he should have gone there last week,
They said,
They drowned a man there last week.

He went for a drive, and he made a start,
Which should have been made last week,
For the old horse died of a broken heart;
So he footed it home and he dragged the cart,
But the horse was all right last week,
They said,
He trotted a matc...

I.

Race of Abel, sleep and eat;
God smiles on you complacently.

Race of Cain, in mud and filth
You crawl and die in misery.

Abel's race, your sacrifice
Smells sweet to all the Seraphim!

Race of Cain, your punishment,
Will it be ever at an end?

Race of Abel, see your seed,
Your flocks, your cattle come to good;

Race of Cain, like some old dog
Your empty entrails howl for food.

Race of Abel, warm your belly
By the hearth of countrymen;

Race of Cain, you tremble, freezing,
Lonely jackal, in your den!

Race of Abel, multiply
Even your gold proliferates;

Race of Cain, a burning heart,
Take guard against your appetites.

Race of Abel, chew and swell
Like insects swarming th...