Spirit of Death! whose outstretched pennons dread
Wave o'er the world beneath their shadow spread;
Who darkly speedest on thy destined way,
Midst shrieks and cries, and sounds of dire dismay;
Spirit! behold thy victory! Assume
A form more terrible, an ampler plume;
For he, who wandered o'er the world alone,
Listening to Misery's universal moan;
He who, sustained by Virtue's arm sublime,
Tended the sick and poor from clime to clime,
Low in the dust is laid, thy noblest spoil!
And Mercy ceases from her awful toil!
'Twas where the pestilence at thy command
Arose to desolate the sickening land,
When many a mingled cry and dying prayer
Resounded to the listening midnight air,
When deep dismay heard not the frequent knell,
And the wan carcase festered as it fel...

"Dear Grif,
Here is a whiff
Of beautiful spring flowers;
The big red rose
Is for your nose,
As toward the sky it towers.


"Oh, do not frown
Upon this crown
Of green pinks and blue geranium
But think of me
When this you see,
And put it on your cranium."

Frederick leaves the land of France,
Homeward hastes his steps to measure,
Careless casts the parting glance
On the scene of former pleasure.

Joying in his prancing steed,
Keen to prove his untried blade,
Hope's gay dreams the soldier lead
Over mountain, moor, and glade.

Helpless, ruin'd, left forlorn,
Lovely Alice wept alone;
Mourn'd o'er love's fond contract torn,
Hope, and peace, and honour flown.

Mark her breast's convulsive throbs!
See, the tear of anguish flows!
Mingling soon with bursting sobs,
Loud the laugh of frenzy rose.

Wild she cursed, and wild she pray'd;
Seven long days and nights are o'er;
Death in pity brought his aid,
As the village bell struck four.

Far from her, and far from France,
Fai...

I.

Upon the Siren-haunted seas, between Fate's mythic shores,
Within a world of moon and mist, where dusk and daylight wed,
I see a phantom galley and its hull is banked with oars,
With ghostly oars that move to song, a song of dreams long dead:

"Oh, we are sick of rowing here!
With toil our arms are numb;
With smiting year on weary year
Salt-furrows of the foam:
Our journey's end is never near,
And will no nearer come
Beyond our reach the shores appear
Of far Elysium."

II.

Within a land of cataracts and mountains old and sand,
Beneath whose heavens ruins rise, o'er which the stars burn red,
I see a spectral cavalcade with crucifix in hand
And shadowy armor march and sing, a song of dreams long dead:

"Oh, we are weary ma...

She was beautiful that evening and so gay....

In little games
My hand had slipped her mantle,
I am not sure
About her skirts.

Then in the night's curtain of shadows,
Heavy and discreet,
I asked and she replied:
To-morrow.

Next day I came
Saying, Remember.

Words of a night, she said, to bring the day.

From the Arabic of Abu Nuas (eighth century).

November's hail-cloud drifts away,
November's sunbeam wan
Looks coldly on the castle grey,
When forth comes Lady Anne.
The orphan by the oak was set,
Her arms, her feet, were bare;
The hail drops had not melted yet,
Amid her raven hair.
"And, dame," she said, "by all the ties
That child and mother know,
Aid one who never knew these joys,
Relieve an orphan's woe."
The lady said, "An orphan's state
Is hard and sad to bear;
Yet worse the widow'd mother's fate
Who mourns both lord and heir.
"Twelve times the rolling year has sped,
Since, when from vengeance wild
Of fierce Strathallan's Chief I fled
Forth's eddies whelm'd my child."
"Twelve times the year its course has borne,"
The wandering maid replied;
"Since fishers on Saint Bridge...

Pity me, love! I'll pity thee,
If thou indeed hast felt like me.
All, all my bosom's peace is o'er!
At night, which was my hour of calm,
When from the page of classic lore,
From the pure fount of ancient lay
My soul has drawn the placid balm,
Which charmed its every grief away,
Ah! there I find that balm no more.
Those spells, which make us oft forget
The fleeting troubles of the day,
In deeper sorrows only whet
The stings they cannot tear away.
When to my pillow racked I fly,
With weary sense and wakeful eye.
While my brain maddens, where, oh, where
Is that serene consoling prayer,
Which once has harbingered my rest,
When the still soothing voice of Heaven
Hath seemed to whisper in my breast,
"Sleep on, thy errors are forgiven!"

Nought more accursed in war I know

Than getting off scot-free;
Inured to danger, on we go

In constant victory;
We first unpack, then pack again,

With only this reward,
That when we're marching, we complain,

And when in camp, are bor'd.

The time for billeting comes next,

The peasant curses it;
Each nobleman is sorely vex'd,

'Tis hated by the cit.
Be civil, bad though be thy food,

The clowns politely treat;
If to our hosts we're ever rude,

Jail-bread we're forced to eat.

And when the cannons growl around,

And small arms rattle clear,
And trumpet, trot, and drum resound,

We merry all appear;
And as it in the fight may chance,

We yield, then charge amain,
An...

Where Hornby, like a mighty fallen star,
Burns through the darkness with a splendid ring
Of tenfold light, and where the awful face
Of Sydney’s northern headland stares all night
O’er dark, determined waters from the east,
From year to year a wild, Titanic voice
Of fierce aggressive sea shoots up and makes,
When storm sails high through drifts of driving sleet,
And in the days when limpid waters glass
December’s sunny hair and forest face,
A roaring down by immemorial caves,
A thunder in the everlasting hills.

But calm and lucid as an English lake,
Beloved by beams and wooed by wind and wing,
Shut in from tempest-trampled wastes of wave,
And sheltered from white wraths of surge by walls
Grand ramparts founded by the hand of God,
The lordly Harbour g...

We honour Brother Jonathan,
    For what he has done and dared;
Nobly and firmly he hath stood
    His freeborn rights to guard.

And when we see him, go ahead,
    We are not with envy vexed;
We wish him all prosperity
    Yet will not be annexed.

We know he has much moral force;
    Much that is good and great;
Much enterprise and energy,
    Which we would imitate.

But there's upon his scutcheon stains,
    Which we lament to see;
And will not share--will not annex--
    Our soil and air are free--

And far more glorious is the flag
    Which o'er the Briton waves,
Than that whose stars of freedom shine
    Upon the stripes of slaves.

We love our Queen--we love our laws;
    We feel that we are free--

SUNG AT CHRISTMAS BY THE SCHOLARS OF ST. HELENA’S ISLAND, S. C.


O none in all the world before
Were ever glad as we!
We’re free on Carolina’s shore,
We’re all at home and free.

Thou Friend and Helper of the poor,
Who suffered for our sake,
To open every prison door,
And every yoke to break!

Bend low Thy pitying face and mild,
And help us sing and pray;
The hand that blessed the little child,
Upon our foreheads lay.

We hear no more the driver’s horn,
No more the whip we fear,
This holy day that saw Thee born
Was never half so dear.

The very oaks are greener clad,
The waters brighter smile;
Oh, never shone a day so glad
On sweet St. Helen’s Isle.

We praise Thee in our songs to-day,
To...

Gold of the tangled wilderness of wattle,
Break in the lone green hollows of the hills,
Flame on the iron headlands of the ocean,
Gleam on the margin of the hurrying rills.

Come with thy saffron diadem and scatter
Odours of Araby that haunt the air,
Queen of our woodland, rival of the roses,
Spring in the yellow tresses of thy hair.

Surely the old gods, dwellers on Olympus,
Under thy shining loveliness have strayed,
Crowned with thy clusters, magical Apollo,
Pan with his reedy music may have played.

Surely within thy fastness, Aphrodite,
She of the sea-ways, fallen from above,
Wandered beneath thy canopy of blossom,
Nothing disdainful of a mortal’s love.

Aye, and Her sweet breath lingers on the wattle,
Aye, and Her myrtle dominates...

Yours of the 12th received, just now--
    Thanks, for the hint, my trusty brother!
'Tis truly pleasing to see how
    We, FUDGES, stand by one another.
But never fear--I know my chap,
And he knows me too--verbum sap,
My Lord and I are kindred spirits,
Like in our ways as two young ferrets;
Both fashioned, as that supple race is,
To twist into all sorts of places;--
Creatures lengthy, lean and hungering,
Fond of blood and burrow-mongering.

As to my Book in 91,
    Called "Down with Kings, or, Who'd have thought it?"
Bless you! the Book's long dead and gone,--
    Not even the Attorney-General bought it.
And tho' some few seditious tricks
I played in '95 and '6,
As you remind me in your letter,
His Lordship likes me all...

Gayly sounds the castanet,
    Beating time to bounding feet,
When, after daylight's golden set,
    Maids and youths by moonlight meet.
Oh, then, how sweet to move
Thro' all that maze of mirth,
Led by light from eyes we love
    Beyond all eyes on earth.

Then, the joyous banquet spread
    On the cool and fragrant ground,
With heaven's bright sparklers overhead,
    And still brighter sparkling round.
Oh, then, how sweet to say
    Into some loved one's ear,
Thoughts reserved thro' many a day
    To be thus whispered here.

When the dance and feast are done,
    Arm in arm as home we stray,
How sweet to see the dawning sun
    O'er her cheek's warm blushes play!
Then, too, the farewell kiss--
    The words, whose parting to...

The youth in the woods spent the whole day long,
    The whole day long;
For there he had heard such a wonderful song,
    Wonderful song.

Willow-wood gave him a flute so fair,
    A flute so fair, -
To try, if within were the melody rare,
    Melody rare.

Melody whispered and said: "I am here!"
    Said: "I am here!"
But while he was listening, it fled from his ear,
    Fled from his ear.

Oft when he slept, it to him crept,
    It to him crept;
And over his forehead in love it swept,
    In love it swept.

When he would seize it, his sleep took flight,
    His sleep took flight;
The melody hung in the pallid night,
    In the pallid night.

"Lord, O my God, take me therein,
    Take me therein!
The mel...

When I shall sin, pardon my trespass here;
For once in hell, none knows remission there.

A Famous man is Robin Hood,
The English ballad-singer's joy!
And Scotland has a thief as good,
An outlaw of as daring mood;
She has her brave ROB ROY!
Then clear the weeds from off his Grave,
And let us chant a passing stave,
In honour of that Hero brave!

Heaven gave Rob Roy a dauntless heart
And wondrous length and strength of arm:
Nor craved he more to quell his foes,
Or keep his friends from harm.

Yet was Rob Roy as wise as brave;
Forgive me if the phrase be strong;
A Poet worthy of Rob Roy
Must scorn a timid song.

Say, then, that he was 'wise' as brave;
As wise in thought as bold in deed:
For in the principles of things
'He' sought his moral creed.

Said generous Rob, "What need of books?
Burn all the statute...

Above the roofs and chimney-tops,
    And through the slow November rain,
    A light from some far attic pane,
Shines twinkling through the water-drops.

Some lonely watcher waits and weeps,
    Like me, the step that comes not yet;--
    Her watch for weary hours is set,
While far below the city sleeps.

The level lamp-rays lay the floors,
    And bridge the dark that lies below,
    O'er which my fancies come and go,
And peep, and listen at the doors;

And bring me word how sweet and plain,
    And quaint the lonely attic room,
    Where she sits singing in the gloom,
Words sadder than the autumn rain.

A thousand times by sea and shore,
    In my wild dreams I see him lie,
    With face upturned toward the sky,
Murdered, ...