War

When by sensations of delight or pain,
That any of our faculties hath seiz'd,
Entire the soul collects herself, it seems
She is intent upon that power alone,
And thus the error is disprov'd which holds
The soul not singly lighted in the breast.
And therefore when as aught is heard or seen,
That firmly keeps the soul toward it turn'd,
Time passes, and a man perceives it not.
For that, whereby he hearken, is one power,
Another that, which the whole spirit hash;
This is as it were bound, while that is free.

This found I true by proof, hearing that spirit
And wond'ring; for full fifty steps aloft
The sun had measur'd unobserv'd of me,
When we arriv'd where all with one accord
The spirits shouted, "Here is what ye ask."

A larger aperture ofttimes i...

Lord, when Thou seest that my work is done,
Let me not linger on,
With failing powers,
Adown the weary hours,--
A workless worker in a world of work.
But, with a word,
Just bid me home,
And I will come
Right gladly,--
Yea, right gladly
Will I come.

A passel o' the boys last night -
    An' me amongst 'em - kindo got
To talkin' Temper'nce left an' right,
    An' workin' up "blue-ribbon," hot;
An' while we was a-countin' jes'
    How many bed gone into hit
An' signed the pledge, some feller says, -
        "Tom Johnson's quit!"

We laughed, of course - 'cause Tom, you know,
    He's spiled more whisky, boy an' man,
And seed more trouble, high an' low,
    Than any chap but Tom could stand:
And so, says I "He's too nigh dead.
    Far Temper'nce to benefit!"
The feller sighed agin, and said -
        "Tom Johnson's quit!"

We all liked Tom, an' that was why
    We sorto simmered down agin,
And ast the feller ser'ously
    Ef he wa'n't tryin' to draw us in:...

Sir John was entombed, and the crypt was closed, and she,
Like a soul that could meet no more the sight of the sun,
Inclined her in weepings and prayings continually,
As his widowed one.

And to pleasure her in her sorrow, and fix his name
As a memory Time's fierce frost should never kill,
She caused to be richly chased a brass to his fame,
Which should link them still;

For she bonded her name with his own on the brazen page,
As if dead and interred there with him, and cold, and numb,
(Omitting the day of her dying and year of her age
Till her end should come;)

And implored good people to pray "Of their Charytie
For these twaine Soules," yea, she who did last remain
Forgoing Heaven's bliss if ever with spouse should she
Again have lain.

...

Come, come to me, love!
    Come, love!--Arise
And shame the bright stars
    With the light of thine eyes;
Look out from thy lattice--
    Oh, lady-bird, hear!
A swan on the water--
    My gondola's near!

Come, come to me, love!
    Come, love!--My bride!
O'er crystal in moonbeams
    We'll tranquilly glide:
In the dip of the oar
    A melody flows
Sweet as the nightingale
    Sings to the rose.

Come, come to me, love!
    Come, love!--The day
Brings warder and cloister!
    Away, then--away!
Oh, haste to thy lover!
    Not yon star above
Is more true to heaven
    Then he to his love!

I Whispered, "I am too young,"
And then, "I am old enough";
Wherefore I threw a penny
To find out if I might love.
"Go and love, go and love, young man,
If the lady be young and fair."
Ah, penny, brown penny, brown penny,
I am looped in the loops of her hair.
O love is the crooked thing,
There is nobody wise enough
To find out all that is in it,
For he would be thinking of love
Till the stars had run away
And the shadows eaten the moon.
Ah, penny, brown penny, brown penny,
One cannot begin it too soon.

Why, what a frightful face is this!
And what has happened, sir, amiss?
Come, let me wipe these tears away,
And see no more cross looks to-day.

If Kate did throw your blocks about,
She's very sorry, I've no doubt;
And here she stands to tell you so,
And build another house, I know.

No tears and crying here must be,
So have a pleasant smile for me.
There, that will do,--now run away,
And kindly with your sister play.

Oh, we started down from Roto when the sheds had all cut out.
We’d whips and whips of Rhino as we meant to push about,
So we humped our blues serenely and made for Sydney town,
With a three-spot cheque between us, as wanted knocking down.

                                            Chorus

    But we camped at Lazy Harry’s, on the road to Gundagai
    The road to Gundagai!    Not five miles from Gundagai!
    Yes, we camped at Lazy Harry’s, on the road to Gundagai.

Well, we struck the Murrumbidgee near the Yanko in a week,
And passed through old Narrandera and crossed the Burnet Creek.
And we never stopped at Wagga, for we’d Sydney in our eye.


But we camped at Lazy Harry’s, on the road to Gundagai.
    Chorus: But we camped, &c.

Oh, I’v...

Tune - "Duncan Gray."


I.

    Weary fa' you, Duncan Gray,
        Ha, ha, the girdin o't!
    Wae gae by you, Duncan Gray,
        Ha, ha, the girdin o't!
    When a' the lave gae to their play,
    Then I maun sit the lee lang day,
    And jog the cradle wi' my tae,
        And a' for the girdin o't!

II.

    Bonnie was the Lammas moon,
        Ha, ha, the girdin o't!
    Glowrin' a' the hills aboon,
        Ha, ha, the girdin o't!
    The girdin brak, the beast cam down,
    I tint my curch, and baith my shoon;
    Ah! Duncan, ye're an unco loon,
        Wae on the bad girdin o't!

III.

    But, Duncan, gin ye'll keep your aith,
        Ha, ha, the girdin o't!
    I'se bless you wi' ...

Still, still thy garden hath its fruits and spices,
        My Lord, my Lord!
Still hath its wells and pools of thy devices,
        My Lord!
White, in a stranger soil, thy lily stands, the close
        Breathes with thy rose!

Wild feet, mad feet, thy lovely paths have beaten,
        My Lord, my Lord!
And sinful lips thy holy fruits have eaten,
        My Lord!
Strange hands have tended me and tended ill, yet thou
        Lovest me, now!

So to thy feet I offer my waste places.
        My Lord, my Lord!
walk them till they spring in verdant graces,
        My Lord!
With new trees plant, and from the fruits divine
        Tread out thy wine!

I saw the fog grow thick,
Which soon made blind my ken;
It made tall men of boys,
And giants of tall men.

It clutched my throat, I coughed;
Nothing was in my head
Except two heavy eyes
Like balls of burning lead.

And when it grew so black
That I could know no place,
I lost all judgment then,
Of distance and of space.

The street lamps, and the lights
Upon the halted cars,
Could either be on earth
Or be the heavenly stars.

A man passed by me close,
I asked my way, he said,
"Come, follow me, my friend",
I followed where he led.

He rapped the stones in front,
"Trust me," he said, "and come";
I followed like a child,
A blind man led me home.

'Twas a race between Tortoise and Hare,
Puss was sure she'd so much time to spare,
That she lay down to sleep,
And let old Thick-shell creep
To the winning post first!--You may stare.

Persistence Beats Impulse

Be this the chosen site; the virgin sod,
Moistened from age to age by dewy eve,
Shall disappear, and grateful earth receive
The corner-stone from hands that build to God.
Yon reverend hawthorns, hardened to the rod
Of winter storms, yet budding cheerfully;
Those forest oaks of Druid memory,
Shall long survive, to shelter the Abode
Of genuine Faith. Where, haply, 'mid this band
Of daisies, shepherds sate of yore and wove
May-garlands, there let the holy altar stand
For kneeling adoration; while above,
Broods, visibly portrayed, the mystic Dove,
That shall protect from blasphemy the Land.

Although this land is not my own,
I will remember its inland sea
and the waters that are so cold
the sand as white
as old bones, the pine trees
strangely red where the sun comes down.

I cannot say if it is our love,
or the day, that is ending.

Let us off and search, and find a place
Where yours and mine can be natural lives,
Where no one comes who dissects and dives
And proclaims that ours is a curious case,
That its touch of romance can scarcely grace.

You would think it strange at first, but then
Everything has been strange in its time.
When some one said on a day of the prime
He would bow to no brazen god again
He doubtless dazed the mass of men.

None will recognize us as a pair whose claims
To righteous judgment we care not making;
Who have doubted if breath be worth the taking,
And have no respect for the current fames
Whence the savour has flown while abide the names.

We have found us already shunned, disdained,
And for re-acceptance have not once striven;
Whatever offen...

I, My dear, was born to-day
So all my jolly comrades say:
They bring me music, wreaths, and mirth,
And ask to celebrate my birth:
Little, alas! my comrades know
That I was born to pain and woe;
To thy denial, to thy scorn,
Better I had ne'er been born:
I wish to die, even whilst I say
'I, my dear, was born to-day.'
I, my dear, was born to-day:
Shall I salute the rising ray,
Well-spring of all my joy and woe?
Clotilda, thou alone dost know.
Shall the wreath surround my hair?
Or shall the music please my ear?
Shall I my comrades' mirth receive,
And bless my birth, and wish to live?
Then let me see great Venus chase
Imperious anger from thy face;
Then let me hear thee smiling say
'Thou, my dear, wert born to-day.'

The snow-flakes fall in showers,

The time is absent still,
When all Spring's beauteous flowers,
When all Spring's beauteous flowers

Our hearts with joy shall fill.

With lustre false and fleeting

The sun's bright rays are thrown;
The swallow's self is cheating:
The swallow's self is cheating,

And why? He comes alone!

Can I e'er feel delighted

Alone, though Spring is near?
Yet when we are united,
Yet when we are united,

The Summer will be here.

Who can forget fair freedom's bird,
That has her genuine praises heard,
    Confirm'd by frequent proof?
The patriot stork is sure to share
The brave Batavian's generous care,
    While breeding on his roof,

In all her early, brightest, days,
When Holland won immortal praise
    Her Spanish tyrant's dread!
She play'd not her heroic part
With spirit, nobler than the heart,
    Of one mild bird she bred.

It was a female Stork, whose mind
Shew'd all the mother, bravely kind,
    In trial's fiercest hour;
This bird had blest her happy lot,
High-nested on a fisher's cot,
    As stedfast as a tower.

Her host, a man benignly mild,
Was happy in a darling child
    Who now had woman's air;
Her face intelligent and sweet,
...