Proverbs, Chap. xxxi.

A woman pure, oh, who can find?
Her price is dearer far than gold,
And greater in her husband's mind,
Than shining gems, or pearls untold.

In her he safely puts his trust,
And while her life shall last,
His welfare she shall surely seek,
His honor, holding fast.

With willing hands she works in flax,
In wool, and many other things,
And, rising early in the morn,
Her household's portion duly brings.

She buyeth fields, she planteth vines,
And girds herself to duty's round,
And far into the shades of night,
Her spindle plies with busy sound.

Her open hand, and gen'rous heart,
The poor and needy daily bless,
And in the cold her household walk,
All warmly clad in scarlet dress.

And sh...

. . . One rises now and speaks: "The Cause is one -
    Labour o'er all the earth! Shan't we, then, share
With these, whose very flesh and blood's our own,
    All that we can of what we have and are?

"What is it that their work is in the earth,
    Down in its depths, and ours is on the sea?
The fight they fight is ours; their worth our worth;
    Their loss our loss. We help them! They are we!

"We help them! - Ay, and when our hour too breaks,
    And on to every ship that ploughs the wave
We put our hand at last, our hand that takes
    Its own, will they forget the help we gave?

"And, if our robber lords would rob us still
    With the foul hoard of beasts without a soul,
They may find leprous hands to work their will,
    But, for thei...

No nobler captain ever trod
Than Captain Parklebury Todd,
So good so wise so brave, he!
But still, as all his friends would own,
He had one folly one alone
This Captain in the Navy.

I do not think I ever knew
A man so wholly given to
Creating a sensation;
Or p'r'aps I should in justice say
To what in an Adelphi play
Is known as "Situation."

He passed his time designing traps
To flurry unsuspicious chaps
The taste was his innately
He couldn't walk into a room
Without ejaculating "Boom!"
Which startled ladies greatly.

He'd wear a mask and muffling cloak,
Not, you will understand, in joke,
As some assume disguises.
He did it, actuated by
A simple love of mystery
And fondness for surprises.

I need not...

BANK.

Is all then forgotten? those amorous pranks
    You and I in our youth, my dear Government, played;
When you called me the fondest, the truest of Banks,
    And enjoyed the endearing advances I made!

When left to ourselves, unmolested and free,
    To do all that a dashing young couple should do,
A law against paying was laid upon me,
    But none against owing, dear helpmate, on you.

And is it then vanisht?--that "hour (as Othello
    So happily calls it) of Love and Direction?"
And must we, like other fond doves, my dear fellow,
    Grow good in our old age and cut the connection?

GOVERNMENT.

Even so, my beloved Mrs. Bank, it must be;
    This paying in cash plays the devil with wooing:
We've bo...

The Child like mustard-seed
Rolls out of the husk of death
Into the woman's fertile, fathomless lap.

Look, it has taken root!
See how it flourisheth.
See how it rises with magical, rosy sap!

As for our faith, it was there
When we did not know, did not care;
It fell from our husk like a little, hasty seed.

Sing, it is all we need.
Sing, for the little weed
Will flourish its branches in heaven when we slumber beneath.

Oh, do not look so bright and blest,
    For still there comes a fear,
When brow like thine looks happiest,
    That grief is then most near.
There lurks a dread in all delight,
    A shadow near each ray,
That warns us then to fear their flight,
    When most we wish their stay.
Then look not thou so bright and blest,
    For ah! there comes a fear,
When brow like thine looks happiest,
    That grief is then most near.

Why is it thus that fairest things
    The soonest fleet and die?--
That when most light is on their wings,
    They're then but spread to fly!
And, sadder still, the pain will stay--
    The bliss no more appears;
As rainbows take their light away,
    And leave us but the tears!
Then look not thou so bright and blest...

April 21st, 1785.


    While new-ca'd ky, rowte at the stake,
    An' pownies reek in pleugh or braik,
    This hour on e'enin's edge I take
        To own I'm debtor,
    To honest-hearted, auld Lapraik,
        For his kind letter.

    Forjesket sair, wi' weary legs,
    Rattlin' the corn out-owre the rigs,
    Or dealing thro' amang the naigs
        Their ten hours' bite,
    My awkart muse sair pleads and begs,
        I would na write.

    The tapetless ramfeezl'd hizzie,
    She's saft at best, and something lazy,
    Quo' she, "Ye ken, we've been sae busy,
        This month' an' mair,
    That trouth, my head is grown right dizzie,
        An' something sair."

    Her dowff excuses pat me mad:
  ...

She said: the pitying audience melt in tears,
But Fate and Jove had stopp'd the Baron's ears.
In vain Thalestris with reproach assails,
For who can move when fair Belinda fails?
Not half so fix'd the Trojan could remain,
While Anna begg'd and Dido rag'd in vain.
Then grave Clarissa graceful wav'd her fan;
Silence ensu'd, and thus the nymph began.
"Say, why are beauties prais'd and honour'd most,
The wise man's passion, and the vain man's toast?
Why deck'd with all that land and sea afford,
Why angels call'd, and angel-like ador'd?
Why round our coaches crowd the white-glov'd beaux,
Why bows the side-box from its inmost rows?
How vain are all these glories, all our pains,
Unless good sense preserve what beauty gains:
That men may say, when we the front-box grac...

Long loving, all our love was husbanded
Until one morning on the brown hillside,
One misty Autumn morn when Sun did hide
His radiance, yet was felt. No words we said,
But in one flash transfigured, glorified,
All her heart's tumult beating white and red,
She fell prone on her face and hid her wide
Over-brimmed eyes in dewy fern.
    I prayed,
Then spake, "In us two now is manifest
That throbbing kindred whereof thou art graft
And I the grafted, in this holy place."
She, turning half, with sober shame confest
Discovery, then hid her rosy face.
I read her wilding heart, and my heart laught.

A sylph, as bright as ever sported
    Her figure thro' the fields of air,
By an old swarthy Gnome was courted.
    And, strange to say, he won the fair.

The annals of the oldest witch
    A pair so sorted could not show,
But how refuse?--the Gnome was rich,
    The Rothschild of the world below;

And Sylphs, like other pretty creatures,
    Are told, betimes, they must consider
Love as an auctioneer of features,
    Who knocks them down to the best bidder.

Home she was taken to his Mine--
    A Palace paved with diamonds all--
And, proud as Lady Gnome to shine,
    Sent out her tickets for a ball.

The lower world of course was there,
    And all the best; but of the upper
The sprinkling was but shy and rare,--

Forth from its scabbard, pure and bright,
    Flashed the sword of Lee!
Far in the front of the deadly fight,
High o'er the brave in the cause of Right,
Its stainless sheen, like a beacon light,
    Led us to Victory!

Out of its scabbard, where, full long,
    It slumbered peacefully,
Roused from its rest by the battle's song,
Shielding the feeble, smiting the strong,
Guarding the right, avenging the wrong,
    Gleamed the sword of Lee!

Forth from its scabbard, high in air
    Beneath Virginia's sky --
And they who saw it gleaming there,
And knew who bore it, knelt to swear
That where that sword led they would dare
    To follow -- and to die!

Out of its scabbard!    Never hand
    Waved sword from stain as free,
Nor purer...

Like as the Oak whose roots descend
Through earth and stillness seeking food
Most apt to furnish in the end
That dense, indomitable wood

Which, felled, may arm a seaward flank
Of Ostia’s mole or, bent to frame
The beaked Liburnian’s triple bank,
Carry afar the Roman name;

But which, a tree, the season moves
Through gentler Gods than Wind or Tide,
Delightedly to harbour doves,
Or take some clasping vine for bride;

So this man, prescient to ensure
(Since even now his orders hold)
A little State might ride secure
At sea from foes her sloth made bold,,

Turned in his midmost harried round,
As Venus drove or Liber led,
And snatched from any shrine he found
The Stolen Draught, the Secret Bread.

Nor these alone. His li...

He that ascended in a cloud, shall come
In clouds descending to the public doom.

Part V

Winter

We, whom God sets a task,
    Striving, who ne'er attain,
We are the curst! - who ask
    Death, and still ask in vain.
We, whom God sets a task.


1

In the silence of his room. After many days.

All, all are shadows. All must pass
As writing in the sand or sea;
Reflections in a looking-glass
Are not less permanent than we.

The days that mould us - what are they?
That break us on their whirling wheel?
What but the potters! we the clay
They fashion and yet leave unreal.

Linked through the ages, one and all,
In long anthropomorphous chain,
The human and the animal
Inseparably must remain.

Within us still the monster shape
That shrieked in air and howled i...

Weep on, weep on, your hour is past;
    Your dreams of pride are o'er;
The fatal chain is round you cast,
    And you are men no more.
In vain the hero's heart hath bled;
    The sage's tongue hath warned in vain;--
Oh, Freedom! once thy flame hath fled,
    It never lights again.

Weep on--perhaps in after days,
    They'll learn to love your name;
When many a deed may wake in praise
    That long hath slept in blame.
And when they tread the ruined isle,
    Where rest, at length, the lord and slave,
They'll wondering ask, how hands so vile
    Could conquer hearts so brave?

"'Twas fate," they'll say, "a wayward fate
    "Your web of discord wove;
"And while your tyrants joined in hate,
    "You never joined in love.
"But heart...

My thoughts have borne me far away
To Beauties of an older day,
Where, crowned with roses, stands the DAWN,
Striking her seven-stringed barbiton
Of flame, whose chords give being to
The seven colours, hue for hue;
The music of the colour-dream
She builds the day from, beam by beam.

My thoughts have borne me far away
To Myths of a diviner day,
Where, sitting on the mountain, NOON
Sings to the pines a sun-soaked tune
Of rest and shade and clouds and skies,
Wherein her calm dreams idealize
Light as a presence, heavenly fair,
Sleeping with all her beauty bare.

My thoughts have borne me far away
To Visions of a wiser day,
Where, stealing through the wilderness,
NIGHT walks, a sad-eyed votaress,
And prays with mystic words she hears

God with honour hang your head,
Groom, and grace you, bride, your bed
With lissome scions, sweet scions,
Out of hallowed bodies bred.

Each be other's comfort kind:
Déep, déeper than divined,
Divine charity, dear charity,
Fast you ever, fast bind.

Then let the March tread our ears:
I to him turn with tears
Who to wedlock, his wonder wedlock,
Déals tríumph and immortal years.

I

The Sheep-boy whistled loud, and lo!
That instant, startled by the shock,
The Buzzard mounted from the rock
Deliberate and slow:
Lord of the air, he took his flight;
Oh! could he on that woeful night
Have lent his wing, my Brother dear,
For one poor moment's space to Thee,
And all who struggled with the Sea,
When safety was so near.

II

Thus in the weakness of my heart
I spoke (but let that pang be still)
When rising from the rock at will,
I saw the Bird depart.
And let me calmly bless the Power
That meets me in this unknown Flower.
Affecting type of him I mourn!
With calmness suffer and believe,
And grieve, and know that I must grieve,
Not cheerless, though forlorn.

III

Here did we stop; and he...