1.

Montgomery! true, the common lot
Of mortals lies in Lethe's wave;
Yet some shall never be forgot,
Some shall exist beyond the grave.


2.

"Unknown the region of his birth,"
The hero [2] rolls the tide of war;
Yet not unknown his martial worth,
Which glares a meteor from afar.


3.

His joy or grief, his weal or woe,
Perchance may 'scape the page of fame;
Yet nations, now unborn, will know
The record of his deathless name.


4.

The Patriot's and the Poet's frame
Must share the common tomb of all:
Their glory will not sleep the same;
'That' will arise, though Empires fall.


5.

The lustre of a Beauty's eye
Assumes the ghastly stare of death;
The ...

Beyond the path of the outmost sun through utter darkness hurled,
Further than ever comet flared or vagrant star-dust swirled,
Live such as fought and sailed and ruled and loved and made our world.

They are purged of pride because they died, they know the worth of their bays,
They sit at wine with the Maidens Nine and the Gods of the Elder Days,
It is their will to serve or be still as fitteth our Father's praise.

'Tis theirs to sweep through the ringing deep where Azrael's outposts are,
Or buffet a path through the Pit's red wrath when God goes out to war,
Or hang with the reckless Seraphim on the rein of a red-maned star.

They take their mirth in the joy of the Earth, they dare not grieve for her pain,
They know of toil and the end of toil, they know God's law is plain,...

Son animali al mondo di sì altera.

HE COMPARES HIMSELF TO A MOTH.


    Creatures there are in life of such keen sight
That no defence they need from noonday sun,
And others dazzled by excess of light
Who issue not abroad till day is done,
And, with weak fondness, some because 'tis bright,
Who in the death-flame for enjoyment run,
Thus proving theirs a different virtue quite--
Alas! of this last kind myself am one;
For, of this fair the splendour to regard,
I am but weak and ill--against late hours
And darkness gath'ring round--myself to ward.
Wherefore, with tearful eyes of failing powers,
My destiny condemns me still to turn
Where following faster I but fiercer burn.

MACGREGOR.

I.

"He has eyes like the Christ,"
    The mother said, and smiled;
"He will be wise and good,
    My wondering little child.
God grant him strength to do
    Whate'er his tasks may be,
But spare him, if Thou wilt,
    O, spare him Calvary!"


II.

Grim where the black bars cast
    Their shadows o'er his bed,
He waits to pay the cost
    Of blood his hands have shed.
The mother kneels and sobs:
    "God, he shall always be,
In spite of Cain's red brand,
    A stainless child to me."

Merrily rang out the midnight bells,
Glad tidings of joy for all;
As crouched a little shiv'ring child,
Close by the churchyard wall.
The snow and sleet were pitiless,
The wind played with her rags,
She beat her bare, half frozen feet
Upon the heartless flags;
A tattered shawl she tightly held
With one hand, round her breast;
Whilst icicles shone in her hair,
Like gems in gold impressed,
But on her pale, wan cheeks, the tears
That fell too fast to freeze,
Rolled down, as soft she murmured,
"Do buy my matches, please."

Wee, weak, inheritor of want!
She heard the Christmas chimes,
Perchance, her fancy wrought out dreams,
Of by-gone, better times,
The days before her mother died,
When she was warmly clad;
When food was plenty, ...

Sleep, when a soul that her own clouds cover
Wails that sorrow should always keep
Watch, nor see in the gloom above her
Sleep,

Down, through darkness naked and steep,
Sinks, and the gifts of his grace recover
Soon the soul, though her wound be deep.

God beloved of us, all men's lover,
All most weary that smile or weep
Feel thee afar or anear them hover,
Sleep.

Dark was the world when from the bowers
    Of forfeit Eden man went forth,
With aching heart and blighted powers,
    To till the sterile soil of earth;
Yet, even then, a glimmering light
    Faintly illumed the eastern skies,
And, struggling through the mists of night,
    Beamed soft on Abel's sacrifice.

It shone on Abram's eager eyes
    Upon Moriah's lonely height,
And Jacob, 'neath the midnight skies,
    In hallowed dreams beheld its light;
And o'er Arabia's desert sand
    Where weary Israel wandered on,
In doubt and fear toward Canaan's land,
    The hallowed dawning brighter shone.

Ages roll on 'mid deep'ning day,
    And prophet-bard and holy seer
Watch eagerly the kindling ray,
    To see the blessed sun appear -
Wat...

He is dead, the beautiful youth,
The heart of honor, the tongue of truth,
He, the life and light of us all,
Whose voice was blithe as a bugle-call,
Whom all eyes followed with one consent,
The cheer of whose laugh, and whose pleasant word,
Hushed all murmurs of discontent.

Only last night, as we rode along,
Down the dark of the mountain gap,
To visit the picket-guard at the ford,
Little dreaming of any mishap,
He was humming the words of some old song:
"Two red roses he had on his cap,
And another he bore at the point of his sword."

Sudden and swift a whistling ball
Came out of a wood, and the voice was still;
Something I heard in the darkness fall,
And for a moment my blood grew chill;
I spake in a whisper, as he who speaks
In a roo...

I had a friend who battled for the truth
With stubborn heart and obstinate despair,
Till all his beauty left him, and his youth,
And there were few to love him anywhere.

Then would he wander out among the graves,
And think of dead men lying in a row;
Or, standing on a cliff observe the waves,
And hear the wistful sound of winds below;

And yet they told him nothing. So he sought
The twittering forest at the break of day,
Or on fantastic mountains shaped a thought
As lofty and impenitent as they.

And next he went in wonder through a town
Slowly by day and hurriedly by night,
And watched men walking up the street and down
With timorous and terrible delight.

Weary, he drew man's wisdom from a book,
And pondered on the high words spoken...

I scorn the man, a fool at most,
And ignorant and blind,
Who loves to go about and boast
“He understands mankind.”
I thought I had that knowledge too,
And boasted it with pride,
But since, I’ve learned that human hearts
Cannot be classified.

In days when I was young and wild
I had no vanity,
I always thought when women smiled
That they were fooling me.
I was content to let them fool,
And let them deem I cared;
For, tutored in a narrow school,
I held myself prepared.

But Lily had a pretty face,
And great blue Irish eyes,
And she was fair as any race
Beneath the Northern skies,
The sweetest voice I ever heard,
Although it was unschooled.
So for a season I preferred
By Lily to be fooled.

A friend embittere...

[1]


Mary, I believed thee true,
    And I was blest in thus believing
But now I mourn that e'er I knew
    A girl so fair and so deceiving.
        Fare thee well.

Few have ever loved like me,--
    Yes, I have loved thee too sincerely!
And few have e'er deceived like thee.--
    Alas! deceived me too severely.

Fare thee well!--yet think awhile
    On one whose bosom bleeds to doubt thee:
Who now would rather trust that smile,
    And die with thee than live without thee.

Fare thee well! I'll think of thee.
    Thou leavest me many a bitter token;
For see, distracting woman, see,
    My peace is gone, my heart is broken!--
        Fare thee well!

When sinks my heart in hopeless gloom,
And life can shew no joy for me;
And I behold a yawning tomb,
Where bowers and palaces should be;

In vain you talk of morbid dreams;
In vain you gaily smiling say,
That what to me so dreary seems,
The healthy mind deems bright and gay.

I too have smiled, and thought like you,
But madly smiled, and falsely deemed:
Truth led me to the present view,
I'm waking now, 'twas then I dreamed.

I lately saw a sunset sky,
And stood enraptured to behold
Its varied hues of glorious dye:
First, fleecy clouds of shining gold;

These blushing took a rosy hue;
Beneath them shone a flood of green;
Nor less divine, the glorious blue
That smiled above them and between.

I cannot name each lovely...

        1.

        I AM a little weary of my life--
        Not thy life, blessed Father! Or the blood
        Too slowly laves the coral shores of thought,
        Or I am weary of weariness and strife.
        Open my soul-gates to thy living flood;
        I ask not larger heart-throbs, vigour-fraught,
        I pray thy presence, with strong patience rife.

        2.

        I will what thou will'st--only keep me sure
        That thou art willing; call to me now and then.
        So, ceasing to enjoy, I shall endure
        With perfect patience--willing beyond my ken
        Beyond my love, beyond my thinking scope;
        Willing to be because thy will is pure;
        Willing thy will beyond all bounds of hope.

        3.
...

I

The daughters of Mne Seraphim led round their sunny flocks,
All but the youngest: she in paleness sought the secret air.
To fade away like morning beauty from her mortal day:
Down by the river of Adona her soft voice is heard;
And thus her gentle lamentation falls like morning dew.

O life of this our spring! why fades the lotus of the water?
Why fade these children of the spring? born but to smile & fall.
Ah! Thel is like a watry bow, and like a parting cloud,
Like a reflection in a glass: like shadows in the water
Like dreams of infants, like a smile upon an infants face.
Like the doves voice, like transient day, like music in the air:
Ah! gentle may I lay me down and gentle rest my head.
And gentle sleep the sleep of death, and gently hear the voice
...

Angel of gaiety, have you tasted grief?
Shame and remorse and sobs and weary spite,
And the vague terrors of the fearful night
That crush the heart up like a crumpled leaf?
Angel of gaiety, have you tasted grief?

Angel of kindness, have you tasted hate?
With hands clenched in the shade and tears of gall,
When Vengeance beats her hellish battle-call,
And makes herself the captain of our fate,
Angel of kindness, have you tasted hate?

Angel of health, did you ever know pain,
Which like an exile trails his tired footfalls
The cold length of the white infirmary walls,
With lips compressed, seeking the sun in vain?
Angel of health, did ever you know pain?

Angel of beauty, do you wrinkles know?
Know you the fear of age, the torment vile
Of read...

‘Draw three cards, and I will tell your future . . .
Draw three cards, and lay them down,
Rest your palms upon them, stare at the crystal,
And think of time . . . My father was a clown,
My mother was a gypsy out of Egypt;
And she was gotten with child in a strange way;
And I was born in a cold eclipse of the moon,
With the future in my eyes as clear as day.’

I sit before the gold-embroidered curtain
And think her face is like a wrinkled desert.
The crystal burns in lamplight beneath my eyes.
A dragon slowly coils on the scaly curtain.
Upon a scarlet cloth a white skull lies.

‘Your hand is on the hand that holds three lilies.
You will live long, love many times.
I see a dark girl here who once betrayed you.
I see a shadow of secret crimes.

Come, let us quaff the brimming cup
Of sorrow, bitterness, and pain;
For clearly, things are warming up
Again.

Observe with what awakened powers
The vulgar Sun resumes the right
Of rising in the hallowed hours
Of night.

Bound to the village water-wheel,
The motive bullock bows his crest,
And signals forth a mute appeal
For rest.

His neck is galled beneath the yoke:
His patient eyes are very dim:
Life is a dismal sort of joke
To him.

Yet one there is, to whom the ox
Is kin; who knows, as habitat,
The cold, unsympathetic box,
Or mat;

Who urges on, with wearied arms,
The punkah's rhythmic, laboured sweep,
Nor dares to contemplate the charms
Of sleep.

Now 'mid a host of lesser thing...

I


Mother of visions, with lineaments dulcet as numbers
Breathed on the eyelids of love by music that slumbers,
Secretly, sweetly, O presence of fire and snow,
Thou comest mysterious,
In beauty imperious,
Clad on with dreams and the light of no world that we know.
Deep to my innermost soul am I shaken,
Helplessly shaken and tossed,
And of thy tyrannous yearnings so utterly taken,
My lips, unsatisfied, thirst;
Mine eyes are accurst
With longings for visions that far in the night are forsaken;
And mine ears, in listening lost,
Yearn, yearn for the note of a chord that will never awaken.


II


Like palpable music thou comest, like moonlight; and far,--
Resonant bar upon bar,--
The vibrating lyre
Of the spirit respond...