Sadness

Voice of a people suffering long,
The pathos of their mournful song,
The sorrow of their night of wrong!
Their cry like that which Israel gave,
A prayer for one to guide and save,
Like Moses by the Red Sea's wave!
The Stern accord her timbrel lent
To Miriam's note of triumph sent
O'er Egypt's sunken armament!
The tramp that startled camp and town,
And shook the walls of slavery down,
The spectral march of old John Brown!
The storm that swept through battle-days,
The triumph after long delays,
The bondmen giving God the praise!
Voice of a ransomed race, sing on
Till Freedom's every right is won,
And slavery's every wrong undone

To Sir Walter Scott...


O GREAT AND GALLANT SCOTT,
TRUE GENTLEMAN, HEART, BLOOD AND BONE,
I WOULD IT HAD BEEN MY LOT
TO HAVE SEEN THEE, AND HEARD THEE, AND KNOWN.

Sir, do you see this dagger? nay, why do you start aside?
I was not going to stab you, tho’ I am the Bandit’s bride.

You have set a price on his head: I may claim it without a lie.
What have I here in the cloth? I will show it you by-and-by.

Sir, I was once a wife. I had one brief summer of bliss.
But the Bandit had woo’d me in vain, and he stabb’d my Piero with this.

And he dragg’d me up there to his cave in the mountain, and there one day
He had left his dagger behind him. I found it. I hid it away.

For he reek’d with the blood of Piero; his kisses were red with his crime,...

At Deildar-Tongue in the autumn-tide,
So many times over comes summer again,
Stood Odd of Tongue his door beside.
What healing in summer if winter be vain?
Dim and dusk the day was grown,
As he heard his folded wethers moan.
Then through the garth a man drew near,
With painted shield and gold-wrought spear.
Good was his horse and grand his gear,
And his girths were wet with Whitewater.
"Hail, Master Odd, live blithe and long!
How fare the folk at Deildar-Tongue?"
"All hail, thou Hallbiorn the Strong!
How fare the folk by the Brothers'-Tongue?"
"Meat have we there, and drink and fire,
Nor lack all things that we desire.
But by the other Whitewater
Of Hallgerd many a tale we hear."
"Tales enow may my daughter make
If too many words b...

Tho' humble the banquet to which I invite thee,
    Thou'lt find there the best a poor bard can command:
Eyes, beaming with welcome, shall throng round, to light thee,
    And Love serve the feast with his own willing hand.

And tho' Fortune may seem to have turned from the dwelling
    Of him thou regardest her favoring ray,
Thou wilt find there a gift, all her treasures excelling,
    Which, proudly he feels, hath ennobled his way.

'Tis that freedom of mind, which no vulgar dominion
    Can turn from the path a pure conscience approves;
Which, with hope in the heart, and no chain on the pinion,
    Holds upwards its course to the light which it loves.

'Tis this makes the pride of his humble retreat,
    And, with this, tho' of all other treasures bereaved,...

He waited till within her tower
Her taper signalled him the hour.

He was a prince both fair and brave. -
What hope that he would love her slave!

He of the Persian dynasty;
And she a Queen of Araby! -

No Peri singing to a star
Upon the sea were lovelier....

I helped her drop the silken rope.
He clomb, aflame with love and hope.

I drew the dagger from my gown
And cut the ladder, leaning down.

Oh, wild his face, and wild the fall:
Her cry was wilder than them all.

I heard her cry; I heard him moan;
And stood as merciless as stone.

The eunuchs came: fierce scimitars
Stirred in the torch-lit corridors.

She spoke like one who speaks in sleep,
And bade me strike or she would leap.

...

Balmy morning! blessed morning!
            Dew-drops bright
All the emerald glade adorning
            In thy light -
In thy golden glowing beam
With an ever-changeful gleam
Flashing sparkling deeply glowing
Varying tints of beauty showing
            Everywhere
            Radiant are
        In thy welcome light!

Balmy morning! blessed morning!
            Flowers look up,
With a precious, pearly off'ring,
            In each cup -
Dewy off'ring gleaned by night,
As a tribute to the light, -
Far more precious than the gem
Of a monarch's diadem,
            Is the gift
            Which they lift
        To thy welcome light!

Balmy morning! blessed morning!
            Sounds of mirth,
From the vocal vales ...

Is it thy will, thy image should keep open
My heavy eyelids to the weary night?
Dost thou desire my slumbers should be broken,
While shadows like to thee do mock my sight?
Is it thy spirit that thou send’st from thee
So far from home into my deeds to pry,
To find out shames and idle hours in me,
The scope and tenure of thy jealousy?
O, no! thy love, though much, is not so great:
It is my love that keeps mine eye awake:
Mine own true love that doth my rest defeat,
To play the watchman ever for thy sake:
For thee watch I, whilst thou dost wake elsewhere,
From me far off, with others all too near.

I'm gatherin' flowers by the wayside to lay on the grave of Bill;
I've sneaked away from the billet, 'cause Jim wouldn't understand;
'E'd call me a silly fat'ead, and larf till it made 'im ill,
To see me 'ere in the cornfield, wiv a big bookay in me 'and.

For Jim and me we are rough uns, but Bill was one o' the best;
We 'listed and learned together to larf at the wust wot comes;
Then Bill copped a packet proper, and took 'is departure West,
So sudden 'e 'adn't a minit to say good-bye to 'is chums.

And they took me to where 'e was planted, a sort of a measly mound,
And, thinks I, 'ow Bill would be tickled, bein' so soft and queer,
If I gathered a bunch o' them wild-flowers, and sort of arranged them round
Like a kind of a bloody headpiece . . . and that's the reason I'm 'er...

One launched a ship, but she was wrecked at sea;
    He built a bridge, but floods have borne it down;
He meant much good, none came: strange destiny,
    His corn lies sunk, his bridge bears none to town,
    Yet good he had not meant became his crown;
For once at work, when even as nature free,
    From thought of good he was, or of renown,
God took the work for good and let good be.
So wakened with a trembling after sleep,
    Dread Mona Roa yields her fateful store;
All gleaming hot the scarlet rivers creep,
    And fanned of great-leaved palms slip to the shore,
Then stolen to unplumbed wastes of that far deep,
    Lay the foundations for one island more.

Why dost thou wound and break my heart,
As if we should for ever part?
Hast thou not heard an oath from me,
After a day, or two, or three,
I would come back and live with thee?
Take, if thou dost distrust that vow,
This second protestation now:
Upon thy cheek that spangled tear,
Which sits as dew of roses there,
That tear shall scarce be dried before
I'll kiss the threshold of thy door;
Then weep not, Sweet, but thus much know,
I'm half returned before I go.

Alter? When the hills do.
Falter? When the sun
Question if his glory
Be the perfect one.

Surfeit? When the daffodil
Doth of the dew:
Even as herself, O friend!
I will of you!

Spend, harmless shade, thy nightly hours
Selecting here both herbs and flowers;
Of which make garlands here and there
To dress thy silent sepulchre.
Nor do thou fear the want of these
In everlasting properties,
Since we fresh strewings will bring hither,
Far faster than the first can wither.

Sal Sanguine wor a bonny lass,
Ov that yo may be sewer;
Shoo had her trubbles tho', alas!
An th' biggest wor her yure.
Noa lass shoo knew as mich could spooart,
But oft shoo'd heeard it sed,
They thank'd ther stars they'd nowt o'th sooart,
It wor soa varry red.

Young fowk we know are seldom wise, -
Experience taiches wit; -
Some freeat 'coss th' color o' ther eyes
Is net as black as jet.
Wol others seem quite in a stew,
An can't tell whear to bide,
'Coss they've black een asteead o' blue, -
An twenty things beside.

Aw'm foorced to own Sal Sanguine's nop,
It had a ruddy cast;
An once shoo heeard a silly fop,
Say as he hurried past -
"There goes the girl I'd like to wed, -
'Twould grant my heart's desire;
In spring pull ...

L' alma mia fiamma oltra le belle bella.

HE ACKNOWLEDGES THE WISDOM OF HER PAST COLDNESS TO HIM.


    My noble flame--more fair than fairest are
Whom kind Heaven here has e'er in favour shown--
Before her time, alas for me! has flown
To her celestial home and parent star.
I seem but now to wake; wherein a bar
She placed on passion 'twas for good alone,
As, with a gentle coldness all her own,
She waged with my hot wishes virtuous war.
My thanks on her for such wise care I press,
That with her lovely face and sweet disdain
She check'd my love and taught me peace to gain.
O graceful artifice! deserved success!
I with my fond verse, with her bright eyes she,
Glory in her, she virtue got in me.

MACGREGOR.

        [The following lines were obtained in Oxfordshire. The story to which it alludes is related by Matthew Paris.]

    One moonshiny night
    As I sat high,
    Waiting for one
    To come by;
    The boughs did bend,
    My heart did ache
    To see what hole the fox did make.

Set where the upper streams of Simois flow
Was the Palladium, high 'mid rock and wood;
And Hector was in Ilium, far below,
And fought, and saw it not but there it stood!

It stood, and sun and moonshine rain'd their light
On the pure columns of its glen-built hall.
Backward and forward roll'd the waves of fight
Round Troy but while this stood, Troy could not fall.

So, in its lovely moonlight, lives the soul.
Mountains surround it, and sweet virgin air;
Cold plashing, past it, crystal waters roll;
We visit it by moments, ah, too rare!

We shall renew the battle in the plain
To-morrow; red with blood will Xanthus be;
Hector and Ajax will be there again,
Helen will come upon the wall to see.

Then we shall rust in shade, or shine in strife,

The, Gods that are wiser than Learning
But kinder than Life have made sure
No mortal may boast in the morning
That even will find him secure.
With naught for fresh faith or new trial,
With little unsoiled or unsold,
Can the shadow go back on the dial,
Or a new world be given for the old?
But he knows not that time shall awaken,
As he knows not what tide shall lay bare,
The heart of a man to be taken,
Taken and changed unaware.

He shall see as he tenders his vows
The far, guarded City arise,
The power of the North 'twixt Her brows,
The steel of the North in Her eyes;
The sheer hosts of Heaven above,
The grey warlock Ocean beside;
And shall feel the full centuries move
To Her purpose and pride.

Though a stranger shall he understan...

Stretched on a sunny bank he lay at rest,
Ferns at his elbow, lilies round his knees,
With sweet flesh patterned where the cool turf pressed,
Flowerlike crept o'er with emerald aphides.
Single he couched there, to his circling flocks
Piping at times some happy shepherd's tune,
Nude, with the warm wind in his golden locks,
And arched with the blue Asian afternoon.
Past him, gorse-purpled, to the distant coast
Rolled the clear foothills. There his white-walled town,
There, a blue band, the placid Euxine lay.
Beyond, on fields of azure light embossed
He watched from noon till dewy eve came down
The summer clouds pile up and fade away.