If I could put my woods in song
And tell what's there enjoyed,
All men would to my gardens throng,
And leave the cities void.

In my plot no tulips blow,--
Snow-loving pines and oaks instead;
And rank the savage maples grow
From Spring's faint flush to Autumn red.

My garden is a forest ledge
Which older forests bound;
The banks slope down to the blue lake-edge,
Then plunge to depths profound.

Here once the Deluge ploughed,
Laid the terraces, one by one;
Ebbing later whence it flowed,
They bleach and dry in the sun.

The sowers made haste to depart,--
The wind and the birds which sowed it;
Not for fame, nor by rules of art,
Planted these, and tempests flowed it.

Waters that wash my garden-side
Play not in Nat...

(Spoken by Mrs. Chapman.)




    Nay, Mr. Simpson!--'Tis not kind--polite--
To shut me out, sir?--I'm in such a fright!--
I can not speak the lines, I'm sure!--Oh, fie!
To say I must!--but if I must--I'll try!

    From him I turn to these more generous souls
The drama's patrons and the friends of KNOWLES.
Why, what a brilliant galaxy is here!
What stars adorn this mimic hemisphere!
Names that shine brightest on our country's page!
The props of science--literature--the stage!
Above--below--around me--woman smiles,
The fairest floweret of these western wilds--
All come to pay the tribute of their praise
To the first dramatist of modern days:
And welcome, to the green home of the free,
With heart and hand, the bard of liberty!

O rose! forbear to flaunt yourself,
    All bloom and dew -
I once, sad-hearted as I am,
    Was young as you.

But, one by one, the petals fell
    Earthward to rot;
Only a berry testifies
    A rose forgot.

Chess playing Death
-    no, the reverse
Death sitting decked out and self-satisfied
in black no mandatory top hat but a shroud
shouldering a cowl.

There stereotypes end    -
appearances have to be kept up
tho' hardly any cinematic gnarled fingers
of Baron Samedi fame
rather pudgy digitals reflecting
gentile prosperity
(after all, Winners do take all
his fellow satanists bank on it).

Of course, such things are fictitious.
Death plays no favourites (and waits
for no man when rivalling Time).
Still, parlour games are one indulgence.
Hardly comforting to know human beings
function at one purpose
when this Hallow of Hallows puts on the smirk.

Dalliance with the victim is the upshot    -
the chess motif again.
Sift th...

Piovonmi amare lagrime dal viso.

HIS STATE WHEN LAURA IS PRESENT, AND WHEN SHE DEPARTS.


    Down my cheeks bitter tears incessant rain,
And my heart struggles with convulsive sighs,
When, Laura, upon you I turn my eyes,
For whom the world's allurements I disdain,
But when I see that gentle smile again,
That modest, sweet, and tender smile, arise,
It pours on every sense a blest surprise;
Lost in delight is all my torturing pain.
Too soon this heavenly transport sinks and dies:
When all thy soothing charms my fate removes
At thy departure from my ravish'd view.
To that sole refuge its firm faith approves
My spirit from my ravish'd bosom flies,
And wing'd with fond remembrance follows you.

CAPEL LOFFT.


    Tears, b...

Oh, youthful bearer of my palanquin,
Thy glossy hair lies loosened on thy neck,
The "tears of labour" gem thy velvet skin,
Whose even texture knows no other fleck.

Thy slender shoulder strains beneath my weight;
Too fair thou art for work, sweet slave of mine.
Would that this idle breast, reversing fate,
A willing serf to love, supported thine!

I smell the savage scent of sun-warmed fur
Close in the Jungle, musky, hot and sweet. -
The air comes from thy shoulder, even as myrrh,
Would we were as the panthers, free to meet.

The Temple road is steep; I grieve to see
Thy slender ankles bruised among the clods.
Oh, my Beloved, if I might worship thee!
Beauty is greater far than all the Gods.

Pace non trovo, e non ho da far guerra.

LOVE'S INCONSISTENCY.


    I fynde no peace and all my warre is done,
I feare and hope, I bourne and freese lyke yse;
I flye above the wynde, yet cannot ryse;
And nought I have, yet all the worlde I season,
That looseth, nor lacketh, holdes me in pryson,
And holdes me not, yet can I escape no wyse.
Nor lets me leeve, nor die at my devyce,
And yet of death it giveth none occasion.
Without eye I see, and without tongue I playne;
I desyre to perishe, yet aske I health;
I love another, and yet I hate my self;
I feede in sorrow and laughe in all my payne,
Lykewyse pleaseth me both death and lyf,
And my delight is cawser of my greif.

WYATT.[S]

[Footnote S: Harrington's Nugæ Antiquæ.]

I let myself in at the kitchen door.
"It's you," she said. "I can't get up. Forgive me
Not answering your knock. I can no more
Let people in than I can keep them out.
I'm getting too old for my size, I tell them.
My fingers are about all I've the use of
So's to take any comfort. I can sew:
I help out with this beadwork what I can."
"That's a smart pair of pumps you're beading there.
Who are they for?"
"You mean? oh, for some miss.
I can't keep track of other people's daughters.
Lord, if I were to dream of everyone
Whose shoes I primped to dance in!"
"And where's John?"
"Haven't you seen him? Strange what set you off
To come to his house when he's gone to yours.
You can't have passed each other. I know what:
He must have changed his mind and gone to G...

The good intent of God became the Christ.
And lived on earth--the Living Love of God,
That men might draw to closer touch with heaven,
Since Christ in all the ways of man hath trod.

    While Europe's eye is fix'd on mighty things,
    The fate of empires and the fall of kings;
    While quacks of state must each produce his plan,
    And even children lisp the Rights of Man;
    Amid this mighty fuss just let me mention,
    The Rights of Woman merit some attention.

    First on the sexes' intermix'd connexion,
    One sacred Right of Woman is protection.
    The tender flower that lifts its head, elate,
    Helpless, must fall before the blasts of fate,
    Sunk on the earth, defac'd its lovely form,
    Unless your shelter ward th' impending storm.

    Our second Right, but needless here is caution,
    To keep that right inviolate's the fashion,
    Each man of sense has it so full before him,
    He'd die before he'd wrong it,...

When rose the cry "Great Pan is dead!"
And Jove's high palace closed its portal,
The fallen gods, before they fled,
Sold out their frippery to a mortal.

"To whom?" you ask. I ask of you.
The answer hardly needs suggestion;
Of course it was the Wandering Jew, -
How could you put me such a question?

A purple robe, a little worn,
The Thunderer deigned himself to offer;
The bearded wanderer laughed in scorn, -
You know he always was a scoffer.

"Vife shillins! 't is a monstrous price;
Say two and six and further talk shun."
"Take it," cried Jove; "we can't be nice, -
'T would fetch twice that at Leonard's auction."

The ice was broken; up they came,
All sharp for bargains, god and goddess,
Each ready with the price to name
For ...

Dust unto dust,
To this all must;
The tenant hath resign'd
The faded form To waste and worm
Corruption claims her kind.

Through paths unknown
Thy soul hath flown,
To seek the realms of woe,
Where fiery pain
Shall purge the stain
Of actions done below.

In that sad place,
By Mary's grace,
Brief may thy dwelling be
Till prayers and alms,
And holy psalms,
Shall set the captive free.

I know not in what place again I'll meet
The face I love - but there is not a street
In the wide world where you can wander, sweet,
Without my finding you, with those great eyes;
Nor is there any star in all the skies
Can give you shelter from my pitiless love.

God strikes His Church, but 'tis to this intent,
To make, not mar her, by this punishment;
So where He gives the bitter pills, be sure
'Tis not to poison, but to make thee pure.

    The world of dreams is all my own,
    Wherein I wander - free, alone; -
            And each weird, fervid fantasy
            Is dearer than earth's joys to me.
    The waking world I share with you;
    And yours, as mine, is the ocean's blue.
            For us both spring's early flowers are fair,
            Or the cold stars gleam through the frosty air.

    But in the world of dreams I rove
    Over sunny fields, or in shaded grove, -
            Such beauty your eyes never saw -
            And all is mine without let or law.
    Ah! the hopes and fears that come and go
    With my flying fancy, none may know;
            Though unsubstantial, it seems
            My real world - this world of dreams.

* Won by the "Allies" during the Crimean war though with great losses in killed and wounded.


Rejoice! the fearful day is o'er
    For the victors and the slain;
Our cannon proclaim from shore to shore,
    The Allies have won again!
Let our joy bells ring out music clear,
    The gayest they've ever pealed;
Let bonfires flames the dark night cheer,
    We are masters of the field

But list! dost hear that mournful wail
    'Bove the joyous revelry?
Rising from hillside and lowly vale, -
    Say, what can its meaning be?
From Erin's sunny emerald shore
    It trembles upon the gale,
And rises with the torrent's roar
    From the birth place of the Gael.

Fair Albion, too, in every spot
    Of thy land of promise wide
Is hear...

When swallows Northward flew
    Forth from his home did fare
    Guy, Lord of Lanturlaire
        And Lanturlu.

Swore he to cross the brine,
    Pausing not, night nor day,
    That he might Paynims slay
        In Palestine.

Half a league on his way
    Met he a shepherdess
    Beaming with loveliness,
        Fair as Young Day.

Gazed he in eyes of blue,
    Saw love in hiding there
    Guy, Lord of Lanturlaire
        And Lanturlu.

"Let the foul Paynim wait!"
    Plead Love, "and stay with me.
    Cruel and cold the sea,
        Here's brighter fate."

When swallows Southward flew
    Back to his home did fare
    Guy, Lord of Lanturlaire
        And Lanturlu.

Led he his charger gay<...

The falling of a leaf upon thy way,
The flutter of a bird along thy sky,
Thou God, to whom the ages are a day,
Ev'n such, alas! oh, ev'n such am I!

So long the time, O Lord, when I was not.
And ah, so long the time I shall not be,
So strange and small, so passing small my lot,
I cry aloud at thine immensity!

Will not thy garment brush the leaf aside?
Wilt thou, eternal, look upon the fall
Of one poor bird? Or canst thou, stooping wide
From thy great orbit, hearken to my call?

0, little child— 0, little child and fool!
My planets are my gardens, where I go.
At morn and eve, at dawning and at cool.
To see my living green and mark it grow.

I know the leaves that fall from every tree,
I know the birds that nest those gardens through,