As Nancy at her toilette sat,
Admiring this, and blaming that,
Tell me, she said, but tell me true,
The nymph who could your heart subdue.
What sort of charms does she possess?
Absolve me, fair one, I'll confess
With pleasure, I replied: Her hair,
In ringlets rather dark than fair,
Does down her ivory bosom roll,
And hiding half adorns the whole,
In her high forehead's fair half round
Love sits, in open triumph crown'd;
He, in the dimple of her chin,
In private state, by friends is seen.
Her eyes are neither black nor grey,
Nor fierce nor feeble is their ray;
Their dubious lustre seems to show
Something that speaks nor yes nor no.
Her lips no living bard, I weet,
May say how red, how round, how sweet:
Old Homer only could indite
Their ...

Oh, teach me to love Thee, to feel what thou art,
Till, filled with the one sacred image, my heart
    Shall all other passions disown;
Like some pure temple that shines apart,
    Reserved for Thy worship alone.

In joy and in sorrow, thro' praise and thro' blame,
Thus still let me, living and dying the same,
    In Thy service bloom and decay--
Like some lone altar whose votive flame
    In holiness wasteth away.

Tho' born in this desert, and doomed by my birth
To pain and affliction, to darkness and dearth,
    On Thee let my spirit rely--
Like some rude dial, that, fixt on earth,
    Still looks for its light from the sky.

It wor th' owd, owd story he towd her,
    Th' story, 'at's owder nor time;
Nowt ivver chap whisper'd wor owder,
    Nowt ivver soa grand an sublime.
For man nivver towd ither story,
    Soa chock full ov magic as this,
For, it shraaded th' young chaps i' glory,
    An' filled her 'at listened wi' bliss.

Th' story had wrought sich a wonder
    Noa ither tale ivver has done--
Two hearts, that afooar wor assunder,
    Wor knit i' a crack into one.
An' still he kept tellin' her th' story,
    Which mooar an' mooar wonderful grew,
(Soa oft its been tell'd its grown hoary,)
    But shoo could hav sworn it wor new.

Shoo thowt of th' angels above 'em,
    Wor jealous o' her, an' him, then--
For angels has noa chaps to love 'em,
    Love's n...

Still thou fliest, and still I woo thee,
    Lovely phantom,--all in vain;
Restless ever, my thoughts pursue thee,
    Fleeting ever, thou mock'st their pain.
Such doom, of old, that youth betided,
    Who wooed, he thought, some angel's charms,
But found a cloud that from him glided,--
    As thou dost from these outstretched arms.

Scarce I've said, "How fair thou shinest,"
    Ere thy light hath vanished by;
And 'tis when thou look'st divinest
    Thou art still most sure to fly.
Even as the lightning, that, dividing
    The clouds of night, saith, "Look on me,"
Then flits again, its splendor hiding.--
    Even such the glimpse I catch of thee.

At midnight, death's and truth's unlocking time,
When far within the spirit's hearing rolls
The great soft rumble of the course of things -
A bulk of silence in a mask of sound, -
When darkness clears our vision that by day
Is sun-blind, and the soul's a ravening owl
For truth and flitteth here and there about
Low-lying woody tracts of time and oft
Is minded for to sit upon a bough,
Dry-dead and sharp, of some long-stricken tree
And muse in that gaunt place, - 'twas then my heart,
Deep in the meditative dark, cried out:

"Ye companies of governor-spirits grave,
Bards, and old bringers-down of flaming news
From steep-wall'd heavens, holy malcontents,
Sweet seers, and stellar visionaries, all
That brood about the skies of poesy,
Full bright ye shine, i...

I.

All’s over, then: does truth sound bitter
As one at first believes?
Hark, ’tis the sparrows’ good-night twitter
About your cottage eaves!

II.

And the leaf-buds on the vine are woolly,
I noticed that, to-day;
One day more bursts them open fully
You know the red turns grey.

III.

To-morrow we meet the same then, dearest?
May I take your hand in mine?
Mere friends are we, well, friends the merest
Keep much that I resign:

IV.

For each glance of the eye so bright and black,
Though I keep with heart’s endeavour,
Your voice, when you wish the snowdrops back,
Though it stay in my soul for ever!

V.

Yet I will but say what mere friends say,
Or only a thought stronger;
I will hold ...

Where once the red deer, wolf or bear,
Pursued by hardy Indian braves,
Lay low, in cunning grove or lair,
And listen'd to the rolling waves.

Where once the maple and the beech,
In nature's splendor tower'd high,
Far, far beyond the white man's reach,
Was this lone spot, in years gone by.

The lofty bank, and level plain,
With wide-mouth'd maitland stretch'd to view,
Look'd out upon the inland main,
And back, where virgin forests grew.

No harbor then, nor water-break,
Made by the mind and hand of man,
But fast into the rolling lake,
In nature's course, the river ran.

No pennon stream'd from lofty mast,
No ships were there, propell'd by steam,
For then, instead of whistle blast,
Was heard the lordly eagle's scream.

    'Tis hard, my friend, to write in such an age,
    As damns, not only poets, but the stage.
    That sacred art, by Heaven itself infused,
    Which Moses, David, Solomon have used,
    Is now to be no more: the Muses' foes
    Would sink their Maker's praises into prose.
    Were they content to prune the lavish vine
    Of straggling branches, and improve the wine,
    Who but a madman would his thoughts defend?
    All would submit; for all but fools will mend.
    But when to common sense they give the lie,
    And turn distorted words to blasphemy,
    They give the scandal; and the wise discern,
    Their glosses teach an age, too apt to learn.
    What I have loosely, or profanely, writ,
    Let them to fires, their due desert, commit:
    Nor, when...

(Translation by Moolchand)


Be still, my heart, and listen,
For sweet and yet acute
I hear the wistful music
Of Khristna and his flute.
Across the cool, blue evenings,
Throughout the burning days,
Persuasive and beguiling,
He plays and plays and plays.

Ah, none may hear such music
Resistant to its charms,
The household work grows weary,
And cold the husband's arms.
I must arise and follow,
To seek, in vain pursuit,
The blueness and the distance,
The sweetness of that flute!

In linked and liquid sequence,
The plaintive notes dissolve
Divinely tender secrets
That none but he can solve.
Oh, Khristna, I am coming,
I can no more delay.
"My heart has flown to join thee,"
How can my footsteps stay?
<...

Thou, heedless Albion, what, alas, the while
Dost thou presume? O inexpert in arms,
Yet vain of freedom, how dost thou beguile,
With dreams of hope, these near and loud alarms?
Thy splendid home, thy plan of laws renown'd,
The praise and envy of the nations round,
What care hast thou to guard from fortune's sway?
Amid the storms of war, how soon may all
The lofty pile from its foundations fall,
Of ages the proud toil, the ruin of a day!

No: thou art rich, thy streams and fertile vales
Add industry's wise gifts to nature's store:
And every port is crowded with thy sails,
And every wave throws treasure on thy shore.
What boots it? If luxurious plenty charm
Thy selfish heart from glory, if thy arm
Shrink at the frowns of danger and of pain,
Those gifts...

Paris.

At length, my Lord, I have the bliss
To date to you a line from this
"Demoralized" metropolis;
Where, by plebeians low and scurvy,
The throne was turned quite topsy-turvy,
And Kingship, tumbled from its seat,
"Stood prostrate" at the people's feet;
Where (still to use your Lordship's tropes)
The level of obedience slopes
Upward and downward, as the stream
Of hydra faction kicks the beam![1]
Where the poor Palace changes masters
    Quicker than a snake its skin,
And LOUIS is rolled out on castors,
    While BONEY'S borne on shoulders in:--
But where, in every change, no doubt,
    One special good your Lordship traces,--
That 'tis the Kings alone turn out,
The Ministers sti...

Though not a breath can enter here,
I know the wind blows fresh and free;
I know the sun is shining clear,
Though not a gleam can visit me.

They thought while I in darkness lay,
'Twere pity that I should not know
How all the earth is smiling gay;
How fresh the vernal breezes blow.

They knew, such tidings to impart
Would pierce my weary spirit through,
And could they better read my heart,
They'd tell me, she was smiling too.

They need not, for I know it well,
Methinks I see her even now;
No sigh disturbs her bosom's swell,
No shade o'ercasts her angel brow.

Unmarred by grief her angel voice,
Whence sparkling wit, and wisdom flow:
And others in its sound rejoice,
And taste the joys I must not know,

Drink rapture ...

I

"Begone, thou fond presumptuous Elf,"
Exclaimed an angry Voice,
"Nor dare to thrust thy foolish self
Between me and my choice!"
A small Cascade fresh swoln with snows
Thus threatened a poor Briar-rose,
That, all bespattered with his foam,
And dancing high and dancing low,
Was living, as a child might know,
In an unhappy home.

II

"Dost thou presume my course to block?
Off, off! or, puny Thing!
I'll hurl thee headlong with the rock
To which thy fibres cling."
The Flood was tyrannous and strong;
The patient Briar suffered long,
Nor did he utter groan or sigh,
Hoping the danger would be past;
But, seeing no relief, at last,
He ventured to reply.

III

"Ah!" said the Briar, "blame me not;
Why sho...

For joys the hours of earth bestow
With sorrow thou must pay.
Though many follow close, yet know,
They're loaned but for a day.
With sighing in thy laughter's stead
Shall come a time of grief,
The load of usury bow thy head,
With loss of thy belief.
Mary Anne, Mary Anne,
Mary Anne, Mary Anne,
Hadst thou not smiled upon me, thou,
I were not weeping now.

May God help him who never can
Give only half his soul;
The time comes surely for that man
To take the sorrow whole.
May God help him who was so glad,
That he cannot forget,
Help him who lost the all he had,
But not his reason yet.
Mary Anne, Mary Anne,
Mary Anne, Mary Anne,
The flowers that my life had grown,
Died out when thou went gone.

And thus declared that Arab lady:
"Last night, where under the wild moon
On grassy mattress I had laid me,
Within my arms great Solomon,
I suddenly cried out in a strange tongue
Not his, not mine."
Who understood
Whatever has been said, sighed, sung,
Howled, miau-d, barked, brayed, belled, yelled, cried, crowed,
Thereon replied: "A cockerel
Crew from a blossoming apple bough
Three hundred years before the Fall,
And never crew again till now,
And would not now but that he thought,
Chance being at one with Choice at last,
All that the brigand apple brought
And this foul world were dead at last.
He that crowed out eternity
Thought to have crowed it in again.
For though love has a spider's eye
To find out some appropriate pain --
Aye, thou...

A gray day and quiet,
With slow clouds of gray,
And in dull air a cloud that falls, falls
All day.

The naked and stiff branches
Of oak, elm, thorn,
In the cold light are like men aged and
Forlorn.

Only a gray sky,
Grass, trees, grass again,
And all the air a cloud that drips, drips,
All day.

Lovely the lonely
Bare trees and green grass--
Lovelier now the last hours of slow winter
Slowly pass.

Hear the loud swell of it, mighty pell mell of it,
Thousands of voices all blent into one:
See “hell for leather” now trooping together, now
Down the long slope of the range at a run,
Dust in the wake of ’em: see the wild break of ’em,
Spear-horned and curly, red, spotted and starred:
See the lads bringing ’em, blocking ’em, ringing ’em.
Fetching ’em up to the wings of the yard.

Mark that red leader now: what a fine bleeder now,
Twelve hundred at least if he weighs half a pound,
None go ahead of him. Mark the proud tread of him,
See how he bellows and paws at the ground.
Watch the mad rush of ’em, raging and crush of ’em.
See when they struck how the corner post jarred.
What a mad chasing and wheeling and racing and
Turbulent talk ’twixt the wings of the yard...

1

Hold up thy head and crush
    Thy heart's despair;
From thy wan temples brush
    The tear-wet hair.


2

Look on me thus as I
    Gaze upon thee;
Nor question how nor why
    Such things can be.


3

Thou thought'st it love! - poor fool!
    That which was lust!
Which made thee, beautiful,
    Vile as the dust!


4

Thy flesh I craved, thy face! -
    Love shrinks at this -
Now on thy lips to place
    One farewell kiss! -


5

Weep not, but die! - 'tis given -
    And so - farewell! -
Die! - that which makes death heaven,
    Makes life a hell.