Ye who have come o'er the sea
to behold this grey minster of lands,
Whose floor is the tomb of time past,
and whose walls by the toil of dead hands
Show pictures amidst of the ruin
of deeds that have overpast death,
Stay by this tomb in a tomb
to ask of who lieth beneath.
Ah! the world changeth too soon,
that ye stand there with unbated breath,
As I name him that Gunnar of old,
who erst in the haymaking tide
Felt all the land fragrant and fresh,
as amidst of the edges he died.
Too swiftly fame fadeth away,
if ye tremble not lest once again
The grey mound should open and show him
glad-eyed without grudging or pain.
Little labour methinks to behold him
but the tale-teller laboured in vain.

Little labour for ears that may hearken
to...

A forward rush by the lamp in the gloom,
And we clasped, and almost kissed;
But she was not the woman whom
I had promised to meet in the thawing brume
On that harbour-bridge; nor was I he of her tryst.

So loosening from me swift she said:
"O why, why feign to be
The one I had meant! to whom I have sped
To fly with, being so sorrily wed!"
- 'Twas thus and thus that she upbraided me.

My assignation had struck upon
Some others' like it, I found.
And her lover rose on the night anon;
And then her husband entered on
The lamplit, snowflaked, sloppiness around.

"Take her and welcome, man!" he cried:
"I wash my hands of her.
I'll find me twice as good a bride!"
All this to me, whom he had eyed,
Plainly, as his wife's planned deliverer....

I.

Come tell me some olden story
    Of Knight or Paladin,
Whose sword on the field of glory
    Bright laurel wreaths did win:
Tell me of the heart of fire
    His courage rare did prove;
Speak on - oh! I will not tire -
    But never talk of love.


II.

Or, if thou wilt, I shall hearken
    Some magic legend rare -
How the Wizard's power did darken
    The sunny summer air:
Thou'lt tell of Banshee's midnight wail,
    Or corpse-light's ghastly gleam -
It matters not how wild the tale
    So love be not thy theme.


III.

Or, perhaps thou may'st have travelled
    On distant, foreign strand,
Strange secrets have unravelled
    In many a far-off land;
Describe each castle hoary,
    E...

Ceas'd is the rain; but heavy drops yet fall
    From the drench'd roof; - yet murmurs the sunk wind
    Round the dim hills; can yet a passage find
    Whistling thro' yon cleft rock, and ruin'd wall.
The swoln and angry torrents heard, appal,
    Tho' distant. - A few stars, emerging kind,
    Shed their green, trembling beams. - With lustre small,
    The moon, her swiftly-passing clouds behind,
Glides o'er that shaded hill. - Now blasts remove
    The shadowing clouds, and on the mountain's brow,
    Full-orb'd, she shines. - Half sunk within its cove
Heaves the lone boat, with gulphing sound; - and lo!
    Bright rolls the settling lake, and brimming rove
    The vale's blue rills, and glitter as they flow.

The men who camp with Danger
Are mostly quiet men:
And one may use a rifle,
And one may use a pen,
And one may strap a camera
In deserts to his bike;
But men who sleep with Danger
Are pretty much alike.
To men in places pleasant
Or in the barren West
There’s Danger ever present,
A half unheeded guest.
But, thoughtful for the stranger,
The timid or the weak,
The men who camp with Danger
Keep watch but do not speak.
The men who go with Danger
Are mostly dreamy-eyed
Upon the swooping fo’c’sle.
Or by the camp-fire side,
And when they sit in darkness,
To show us where they are:
The glowing of a pipe-bowl
And often a cigar
The men who camp with Danger
Have quiet humour too,
And songs that you’ve forgotten,
And r...

'Tis not ev'ry day that I
Fitted am to prophesy:
No, but when the spirit fills
The fantastic pannicles,
Full of fire, then I write
As the Godhead doth indite.
Thus enraged, my lines are hurl'd,
Like the Sibyl's, through the world:
Look how next the holy fire
Either slakes, or doth retire;
So the fancy cools: till when
That brave spirit comes again.

Purged, with the life they left, of all
That makes life paltry and mean and small,
In their new dedication charged
With something heightened, enriched, enlarged,
That lends a light to their lusty brows
And a song to the rhythm of their tramping feet,
These are the men that have taken vows,
These are the hardy, the flower, the elite, -
These are the men that are moved no more
By the will to traffic and grasp and store
And ring with pleasure and wealth and love
The circles that self is the center of;
But they are moved by the powers that force
The sea forever to ebb and rise,
That hold Arcturus in his course,
And marshal at noon in tropic skies
The clouds that tower on some snow-capped chain
And drift out over the peopled plain.
They are big with the b...

Mi hair is besprinkled wi' gray,
An mi face has grown wrinkled an wan; -
They say ivvery dog has his day,
An noa daat its th' same way wi a man.
Aw know at mi day is nah passed,
An life's twileet is all at remains;
An neet's drawin near varry fast, -
An will end all mi troubles an pains.

Aw can see misen, nah, as a lad,
Full ov mischief an frolic an fun; -
An aw see what fine chonces aw had,
An regret lots o' things at aw've done.
Thowtless deeds - unkind words - selfish gains, -
Time wasted, an more things beside,
But th' saddest thowt ivver remains, -
What aw could ha done, if aw'd but tried.

Aw've had a fair share ov life's joys,
An aw've nivver known th' want ov a meal;
Aw've ne'er laiked wi' luxuries' toys,
Nor suffered what sta...

Christmass is come and every hearth
Makes room to give him welcome now
Een want will dry its tears in mirth
And crown him wi a holly bough
Tho tramping neath a winters sky
Oer snow track paths and ryhmey stiles
The huswife sets her spining bye
And bids him welcome wi her smiles
Each house is swept the day before
And windows stuck wi evergreens
The snow is beesomd from the door
And comfort crowns the cottage scenes
Gilt holly wi its thorny pricks
And yew and box wi berrys small
These deck the unusd candlesticks
And pictures hanging by the wall

Neighbours resume their anual cheer
Wishing wi smiles and spirits high
Clad christmass and a happy year
To every morning passer bye
Milk maids their christmass journeys go
Accompanyd wi favo...

Winter in the world it is,
Round about the unhoped kiss
Whose dream I long have sorrowed o'er;
Round about the longing sore,
That the touch of thee shall turn
Into joy too deep to burn.

Round thine eyes and round thy mouth
Passeth no murmur of the south,
When my lips a little while
Leave thy quivering tender smile,
As we twain, hand holding hand,
Once again together stand.

Sweet is that, as all is sweet;
For the white drift shalt thou meet,
Kind and cold-cheeked and mine own,
Wrapped about with deep-furred gown
In the broad-wheeled chariot:
Then the north shall spare us not;
The wide-reaching waste of snow
Wilder, lonelier yet shall grow
As the reddened sun falls down.

But the warders of the town,
When they flash...

Those ends in war the best contentment bring,
Whose peace is made up with a pardoning.

We should be hidden from their eyes,
Being but holy shows
And bodies broken like a thorn
Whereon the bleak north blows,
To think of buried Hector
And that none living knows.

The women take so little stock
In what I do or say
They’d sooner leave their cosseting
To hear a jackass bray;
My arms are like the twisted thorn
And yet there beauty lay;

The first of all the tribe lay there
And did such pleasure take,
She who had brought great Hector down
And put all Troy to wreck,
That she cried into this ear,
‘Strike me if I shriek.’

I.

    O mirk, mirk is this midnight hour,
        And loud the tempest's roar;
    A waefu' wanderer seeks thy tow'r,
        Lord Gregory, ope thy door!

II.

    An exile frae her father's ha',
        And a' for loving thee;
    At least some pity on me shaw,
        If love it may na be.

III.

    Lord Gregory, mind'st thou not the grove
        By bonnie Irwin-side,
    Where first I own'd that virgin-love
        I lang, lang had denied?

IV.

    How often didst thou pledge and vow
        Thou wad for ay be mine;
    And my fond heart, itsel' sae true,
        It ne'er mistrusted thine.

V.

    Hard is thy heart, Lord Gregory,
        And flinty is thy breast
    Thou d...

The dirge is played, the throbbing death-peal rung,
The sad-voiced requiem sung;
On each white urn where memory dwells
The wreath of rustling immortelles
Our loving hands have hung,
And balmiest leaves have strown and tenderest blossoms flung.

The birds that filled the air with songs have flown,
The wintry blasts have blown,
And these for whom the voice of spring
Bade the sweet choirs their carols sing
Sleep in those chambers lone
Where snows untrodden lie, unheard the night-winds moan.

We clasp them all in memory, as the vine
Whose running stems intwine
The marble shaft, and steal around
The lowly stone, the nameless mound;
With sorrowing hearts resign
Our brothers true and tried, and close our broken line.

How fast the lamps of li...

Excerpt from "Gertrude Of Wyoming"


Apart there was a deep untrodden grot,
Where oft the reading hours sweet Gertrude wore;
Tradition had not named its lonely spot;
But here (methinks) might India's sons explore
Their father's dust, or lift, perchance of yore,
Their voice to the great Spirit: rocks sublime
To human art a sportive semblance bore,
And yellow lichens coloured all the clime,
Like moonlight battlements, and towers decayed by time.

But high in amphitheatre above,
Gay tinted woods their massy foliage threw:
Breathed but an air of heaven, and all the grove
As if instinct with living spirit grew,
Rolling its verdant gulfs of every hue;
And now suspended was the pleasing din,
Now from a murmur faint it swelled anew,
Like the...

Come, take thy harp--'tis vain to muse
    Upon the gathering ills we see;
Oh! take thy harp and let me lose
    All thoughts of ill in hearing thee.

Sing to me, love!--Though death were near,
    Thy song could make my soul forget--
Nay, nay, in pity, dry that tear,
    All may be well, be happy yet.

Let me but see that snowy arm
    Once more upon the dear harp lie,
And I will cease to dream of harm,
    Will smile at fate, while thou art nigh.

Give me that strain of mournful touch
    We used to love long, long ago,
Before our hearts had known as much
    As now, alas! they bleed to know.

Sweet notes! they tell of former peace,
    Of all that looked so smiling then,
Now vanished, lost--oh, pray thee cease,
    I canno...

Two lovers, here at the corner, by the steeple,
Two lovers blow together like music blowing:
And the crowd dissolves about them like a sea.
Recurring waves of sound break vaguely about them,
They drift from wall to wall, from tree to tree.
‘Well, am I late?’ Upward they look and laugh,
They look at the great clock’s golden hands,
They laugh and talk, not knowing what they say:
Only, their words like music seem to play;
And seeming to walk, they tread strange sarabands.

‘I brought you this . . . ‘ the soft words float like stars
Down the smooth heaven of her memory.
She stands again by a garden wall,
The peach tree is in bloom, pink blossoms fall,
Water sings from an opened tap, the bees
Glisten and murmur among the trees.
Someone calls from the house. Sh...

The mighty conflict, which we call existence,
    Doth wear upon the body and the soul.
Our vital forces wasted in resistance,
    So much there is to conquer and control.

The rock which meets the billows with defiance.
    Undaunted and unshaken day by day,
In spite of its unyielding self-reliance,
    Is by the warfare surely worn away.

And there are depths and heights of strong emotions
    That surge at times within the human breast,
More fierce than all the tides of all the oceans
    Which sweep on ever in divine unrest.

I sometimes think the rock worn with adventures,
    And sad with thoughts of conflicts yet to be,
Must envy the frail reed which no one censures,
    When overcome 'tis swallowed by the sea.

This life is all resi...