The London lights are far abeam
Behind a bank of cloud,
Along the shore the gaslights gleam,
The gale is piping loud;
And down the Channel, groping blind,
We drive her through the haze
Towards the land we left behind,
The good old land of "never mind",
And old Australian ways.

The narrow ways of English folk
Are not for such as we;
They bear the long-accustomed yoke
Of staid conservancy:
But all our roads are new and strange,
And through our blood there runs
The vagabonding love of change
That drove us westward of the range
And westward of the suns.

The city folk go to and fro
Behind a prison's bars,
They never feel the breezes blow
And never see the stars;
They never hear in blossomed trees
The music low and swee...

Inscribed to OUR FATHER AND MOTHER, and read on that Anniversary,
FEBRUARY 15TH, 1876.


A half a century of time,
    The mingled pain and bliss
That make the history of life
    Between that day and this;
Two lives that in that morning light,
    Together were made one,
Now standing where the shadows fall
    Athwart the setting sun.

How long it seems!--the devious way.
    And full of toil and pain,--
Yet love and peace kept house with them,
    And love and peace remain.
Though youth and strength and youthful friends
    Were left upon the road
Long since, an honest man is still
    The noblest work of God.

No famous deeds, no acts achieved
    In battle or in state
Make memorable this festal day,
    The day ...

Ill fares it with the man whose lips are set
To bitter themes and words that spite the gods;
For, seeing how the son of Saturn sways
With eyes and ears for all, this one shall halt
As on hard, hurtful hills; his days shall know
The plaintive front of sorrow; level looks
With cries ill-favoured shall be dealt to him;
And this shall be that he may think of peace
As one might think of alienated lips
Of sweetness touched for once in kind, warm dreams.
Yea, fathers of the high and holy face,
This soul thus sinning shall have cause to sob
“Ah, ah,” for sleep, and space enough to learn
The wan, wild Hyrie’s aggregated song
That starts the dwellers in distorted heights,
With all the meaning of perpetual sighs
Heard in the mountain deserts of the world,
And where ...

Half Whig, half Tory, like those mid-way things,
'Twixt bird and beast, that by mistake have wings;
A mongrel Stateman, 'twixt two factions nurst,
Who, of the faults of each, combines the worst--
The Tory's loftiness, the Whigling's sneer,
The leveller's rashness, and the bigot's fear:
The thirst for meddling, restless still to show
How Freedom's clock, repaired by Whigs, will go;
The alarm when others, more sincere than they,
Advance the hands to the true time of day.

By Mother Church, high-fed and haughty dame,
The boy was dandled, in his dawn of fame;
Listening, she smiled, and blest the flippant tongue
On which the fate of unborn tithe-pigs hung.
Ah! who shall paint the grandam's grim dismay,
When loose Reform enticed her boy away;
When shockt she he...

(To A. C.)


What should the Trees,
Midsummer-manifold, each one,
Voluminous, a labyrinth of life,
What should such things of bulk and multitude
Yield of their huge, unutterable selves,
To the random importunity of Day,
The blabbing journalist?
Alert to snatch and publish hour by hour
Their greenest hints, their leafiest privacies,
How can he other than endure
The ruminant irony that foists him off
With broad-blown falsehoods, or the obviousness
Of laughter flickering back from shine to shade,
And disappearances of homing birds,
And frolicsome freaks
Of little boughs that frisk with little boughs?

Now, at the word
Of the ancient, sacerdotal Night,
Night of the many secrets, whose effect,
Transfiguring, hierophantic, dread,

Hail, risen Lord, upon whose brow
The crown of victory resteth now,
        Unfading as the sun!
Hail, vanquisher of every foe,
Of Sin, dread source of all our woe,
        And Death - the last undone!

Hail, risen Lord, - the empty grave
Proclaims aloud thy power to save, -
        Thy high, victorious might!
Hail, Lord of life, and peace, and love,
On thy exalted throne above,
        In uncreated light!

Hail, risen Lord, - we bend the knee,
And lift the adoring eye to thee,
        And yield thee worship meet! -
And, while the angelic hosts on high
Shout their hosannas through the sky,
        We breathe them at thy feet

For here, 'mid darkness, sin, and death,
Our loudest praise is but a breath, -
        An infant's fe...

    You said happiness was a bird
    - a hand extended
    could bend its perch.
    span the perfect wings.

    I spoke of swallows.
    lived off flies
    ebbed when flying.
    seldom came to rest.

    The harvest moon in yellow haze
    Is steeping all the sea and land,
    Is kindling paths and shining ways
    Around the hills, across the sand.

    And there are only thou and I -
    O sweetheart, I've no eyes to note
    The glory of the sea and sky,
    I see a softly rounded throat,

    A face uplifted, pure and sweet,
    Two blue eyes filled with trust and love;
    Enough, the sea sings at our feet,
    The harvest moon sails just above.

Great-Heart is dead, they say,--
Great-Heart the Teacher,
Great-Heart the Joyous,
Great-Heart the Fearless,
Great-Heart the Martyr,
Great-Heart of Sweet White Fire.

Great-Heart is dead, they say,--
Fighting the fight,
Holding the Light,
Into the night.
Great-Heart is dead, they say.--
But the Light shall burn the brighter.
And the night shall be the lighter,
For his going;
And a rich, rich harvest for his sowing.

Great-Heart is dead, they say!--
What is death to such an one as Great-Heart?
One sigh, perchance, for work unfinished here;--
Then a swift passing to a mightier sphere,
New joys, perfected powers, the vision clear,
And all the amplitude of heaven to work
The work he held so dear.
<...

Oh, unhappy stars! your fate I mourn,

Ye by whom the sea-toss'd sailor's lighted,
Who with radiant beams the heav'ns adorn,

But by gods and men are unrequited:
For ye love not, ne'er have learnt to love!
Ceaselessly in endless dance ye move,
In the spacious sky your charms displaying,

What far travels ye have hasten'd through,
Since, within my loved one's arms delaying,

I've forgotten you and midnight too!

Thy soul shall find itself alone
'Mid dark thoughts of the gray tombstone
Not one, of all the crowd, to pry
Into thine hour of secrecy.
Be silent in that solitude
Which is not loneliness for then
The spirits of the dead who stood
In life before thee are again
In death around thee and their will
Shall overshadow thee: be still.
The night tho' clear shall frown
And the stars shall not look down
From their high thrones in the Heaven,
With light like Hope to mortals given
But their red orbs, without beam,
To thy weariness shall seem
As a burning and a fever
Which would cling to thee forever.
Now are thoughts thou shalt not banish
Now are visions ne'er to vanish
From thy spirit shall they pass
No more like dew-drops from the grass.
The...

Be with me, Beauty, for the fire is dying;
My dog and I are old, too old for roving.
Man, whose young passion sets the spindrift flying,
Is soon too lame to march, too cold for loving.
I take the book and gather to the fire,
Turning old yellow leaves; minute by minute
The clock ticks to my heart. A withered wire,
Moves a thiun ghost of music in the spinet.
I cannot sail your seas, I cannot wander
Your cornland, nor your hill-land, nor your valleys
Ever again, nore share the battle yonder
Where the young knight the broken squadron rallies.
Only stay quiet while my mind remembers
The beauty of fire from the beauty of embers.

Beauty, have pity! for the strong have power,
The rich their wealth, the beautiful their grace,
Summer of man its sunlight and its fl...

No matter how costly or flimsy her dresses,
The angel you honor with your kind attentions;
No matter how foolish her wardrobe inventions,
You love her, or say so, from slipper to tresses;
But, presto! you call her the greatest of sinners,
Though smiling, she treats you to badly cooked dinners;
Which proves where the seat is of men's best affections,
With which 'pon their honor they extol us as wives,
And treat us at dinner with sagest reflections,
Of beauty, and duty we owe all our lives
To you, noble lords, of this mundane creation;
Which, judging from some things they tell us,
Was made for the creatures of this trading nation,
Who make it a business to buy us and sell us,
Like 'Erie,' or 'Central,' or other such stocks;
With care, when they bid for a very 'Miss N...

    I dreamed my toenails
    were ivory
    and elephants came to trade for tusks
    ... Then went conveniently off to die
    ("shed this mortal coil") in a
    cutter-shed stacked high
    like firewood.

    II
    I dreamed Landover, Maryland
    was the site near the
    Pentagon. People got wind of
    the scheme and grew intrigued.
    Twigs shattered in the moonlight
    as curious onlookers tried
    to peek-a-boo into the shed.

    III
    Raisins were left out
    to dry as
    token offerings.

    IV
    Mafioso members and other hardcases
    wanted to elbow in
    but stiff military types
    eminently incorruptible, said
    "no dice" made, naturally,
    of ivory turned a
    ...

("Puisqu'ici-bas tout âme.")

[XL, May 19, 1836.]

Since everything below,
Doth, in this mortal state,
Its tone, its fragrance, or its glow
Communicate;

Since all that lives and moves
Upon the earth, bestows
On what it seeks and what it loves
Its thorn or rose;

Since April to the trees
Gives a bewitching sound,
And sombre night to grief gives ease,
And peace profound;

Since day-spring on the flower
A fresh'ning drop confers,
And the fresh air on branch and bower
Its choristers;

Since the dark wave bestows
A soft caress, imprest
On the green bank to which it goes
Seeking its rest;

I give thee at this hour,
Thus fondly bent o'er thee,
The best of all the things in dow'r
T...

Lad, and can you rest now,
    There beneath your hill!
Your hands are on your breast now,
    But is your heart so still?
'Twas the right death to die, lad,
    A gift without regret,
But unless truth's a lie, lad,
    You dream of Devon yet.

Ay, ay, the year's awaking,
    The fire's among the ling,
The beechen hedge is breaking,
    The curlew's on the wing;
Primroses are out, lad,
    On the high banks of Lee,
And the sun stirs the trout, lad;
    From Brendon to the sea.

I know what's in your heart, lad,---
    The mare he used to hunt---
And her blue market-cart, lad,
    With posies tied in front---
We miss them from the moor road,
    They're getting old to roam,
The road they're on's a sure road
    And n...

A silly shepherd lately sat
    Among a flock of sheep;
Where musing long on this and that,
    At last he fell asleep.
And in the slumber as he lay,
    He gave a piteous groan;
He thought his sheep were run away,
    And he was left alone.
He whoop'd, he whistled, and he call'd,
    But not a sheep came near him;
Which made the shepherd sore appall'd
    To see that none would hear him.
But as the swain amazèd stood,
    In this most solemn vein,
Came Phyllida forth of the wood,
    And stood before the swain.
Whom when the shepherd did behold
    He straight began to weep,
And at the heart he grew a-cold,
    To think upon his sheep.
For well he knew, where came the queen,
    The shepherd durst not stay:
And where that he durs...

What is the explanation of the strange silence of American poets
concerning American triumphs on sea and land?
Literary Digest.

Why should the poet of these pregnant times
Be asked to sing of war's unholy crimes?

To laud and eulogize the trade which thrives
On horrid holocausts of human lives?

Man was a fighting beast when earth was young,
And war the only theme when Homer sung.

'Twixt might and might the equal contest lay,
Not so the battles of our modern day.

Too often now the conquering hero struts
A Gulliver among the Liliputs.

Success no longer rests on skill or fate,
But on the movements of a syndicate.

Of old men fought and deemed it right and just.
To-day the warrior fights because he must,

And in hi...