2019-01-04-poetry-413482-temp0.4-topk40-penalize0.85-length1024-step64.txt

!git clone https://github.com/shawwn/gpt-2 /content/gpt-2
%cd /content/gpt-2
!pip3 install tqdm toposort regex fire pytz
!python3 download_model.py 1558M
!gsutil cp gs://gpt-2-poetry/checkpoint/poetryxl/model-413482.hdf5 models/1558M/model-413482.hdf5
!python3 src/generate_samples.py --model_name 1558M --length 1024 --step 64 --top_k 40 --temperature 0.4 --penalize 0.85

But, ah! the day of my despair
Is come; and I have lost every friend.
My son is gone from me alone:
He died in his father's arms;
And now, with sorrow and pain,
I look upon this picture spread
Before my eyes--a long farewell."

"The picture that you see before you
Is but a sample; many more
Like it are hanging on the wall
In homes all over Europe.  They
Are sent to every mother who has
A sick child in her hospital tent.
They are an easy way of giving
Young children games that will keep them
In good soothment for their pain and suffering.

"These pictures are sold at prices
That make your visitors fill their pockets
With money to send home again.
There must be millions of these things
All over Europe, hung up in rooms
Of double height, to reach across
Into little children's bedrooms.
I don't blame those who buy them,
It is such nice stuff!"

"Just think, when Mother goes to bed
She comes out like a Christmas tree.
Then she lies down till all is still
Until the angels say 'sleeping'
Till morning comes.  Then she lies still
Till midnight says 'sleeping,'
Till morning comes.  And then she sleeps
Till morn wakes.  She never cries,
Or laughs or screams, or anything.
She just lies there and dreams till
She can remember what she loves,
And then she sleeps again.

"Oh! if you love a woman well,
Be kind to her during her life-time,
Don't treat her harshly when she dies,
For it makes people in the town
Think badly of you.  It is wrong."
So said the maiden gently weeping.
Now the old man felt sorry
For the young girl he had grieved before.
"You are right," he thought, "and I am wrong."

While yet he lingered in the room
Listening to the story, the sun
Was rising o'er the horizon line.
He saw its rays through the windows frame
As tenderly as though they came
From the warm bosom by his own seen.
He tried to rise, but was unable.
His limbs seemed glued to the floor.
He staggered along the pavement.

When he reached the road, he fell prostrate.
Again he heard the voice he had heard
Humbling him ere he reached the house,
Hoping some angel would come to save
Him from his agony.  Again
He sank upon the pavement cold
Not knowing whether he were dying
Or having another's pains.

Suddenly the door opened.
Mary answered softly within,
"Come in."  He entered and found her there.
"What happened?" he whispered.  "Did you hear
About the boy?"  "Yes, I heard about the boy."
"Tell me all about it."  He told her all,
How he had got the boy, how he had stayed
Trying to help the poor boy until
Time went and left him sadly bereft.
"Well, that's very bad," she murmured, "but you
Have done a brave thing in trying so.
Why didn't you stay away? . . ."  "I did try,"
He lied, "but the boy wanted us too much.
He kept saying, 'Let's live together, let's!'
'No, not together, God knows where he'll sleep.'
'Wherever he wants to sleep shall we find.'
'We shall meet once more, dear one, so let's wait.'
'God bless you, Mary, and may God's peace bring you
Home safe and sound, sweetheart, to me.'"

Through the window both could plainly see
How soft and white her forehead was.
Her small hands folded gently round
The lovely head which trembled so.
"This is a precious baby you have,
Its father is here, and I'm here."
"Oh, yes, we're happy now, are we not?'
"We are blessed beyond words, my love,
To know our darling is growing strong
In knowledge of God, and loved ones near.
Our hearts beat faster when we speak
Of Jesus Christ, because he died
To give us daily bread and liberty.
If we work hard in keeping His commandments
Than comes eternal death indeed."

"Oh, tell me now, oh, tell me now,
Do men commit murder for gold?"
"Many do, my husband's lot is one.
But God's laws are higher law than men's.
Gold cannot pay for that, my dearest wife.
Men kill each other for pleasure too,
Deceiving little children in the strife.
Murder is not committed for gold,
Nor for any shameful reason, love.
Who does this vile deed, though guilty grown,
Knows not himself but God alone.
He pays the price with unendurable pain,
Feeling he has done the worst he can,
Killing his brother for greed, whose fault?
God made him wicked; God has brought this misery
On his foolish heart, and hardened his heart
Against his soul, to keep him from the way
Leading his true spirit into light.  Oh, my love,
My worthy wife, be at one with thyself
Esteeming God your Father, lest thou wilt lose
Holding on unto this world with thine own feet."

Slowly he rose up from where he sat.
"I've been thinking," he murmured, "of things
That have gone on before, and will go on.
It seems these angels--heaven only sees
Their state--they are noble women, far above
All women in earth's purity and grace.
They are not worn out, like me, with toil and sinning,
But sanctified and purified by faith.
I must confess something to these ladies,
Lest they should think I yield to their temptations.
But no, I dare not do so.  They are too good,
Too pure for such corruption.  If I killed
One of them, I should a better champion be.
And if I freed one, who is grievously held
Because Heaven gave me power to free her.  Well,
I'll never do such foul, unnatural thing again.
I'd rather die than do it again.  But
These spirits are so great and fair, and I
Know not what would become of me if I did.
For if I slew one of them, I fear
Some day some passer-by might fancy he saw
A murdered woman, and should begin to doubt
All I believe in, perhaps.  Then I should be
Slain, or betrayed, or both.  What's that for glory?
So I'll save them, and myself, the trouble."

Then came a time when Samson lay dead,
Freed from the evil spell Satan cast.
His eyes were opened, and he knew
The Lord forever changed his ways.
From that sad hour began a change
In him, as people say.  From then
Toward the fall of Jerusalem
He grew more brutal, cruel, bold, and strange.
Strange thoughts and lust came back, and blasphemy,
And envy, and pride, and rancor, and revenge.
With the first Canaanites he rebelled,
And with the second Israel's enemies.
And while yet Saul lived blasphemies ran
Like water off his sword, till God at last
Sent him up alive but wounded, and all hell
Flashed up against him, and he fell, and dying cried:
"Lord, thou hast forsaken me worse than all
Believers in Thy Son, who died upon the cross!
Come quickly, I am injured, hurt, bruised, and full
Of wounds, and all because I dared to look
Upon Thee with desire, and put my lips to Thee."
As Lazarus slept among his foes, and heard
Such language, looking forth said he: "What means
By 'us,' Lord, and 'fellies' you spoke yesterday?
Or did Fortunatus turn and miss a rat,
And swear by his riches that he had caught it?"

Said he: "When I get to heaven I shall declare
Full well by whom I am come, and what I mean.
Now go, get thee hence, and let the lady go.
She knows not what she does.  She is mad, and blind.
Let her alone, for I am stronger than she."

Outspake a voice: "Not by thy going, Lord,
Art thou dishonored, but by those same hands
Which laid hand upon thy servants while they slept."
Jesus answered: "Rash souls, which have offended,
Woe to you!  I know that I must suffer much,
Mighty to suffer, and endure much affliction;
But I was wrong when I called you servants,
Being myself but little lower than you.
Go your ways, and do as you find them doing;
I am contented with what I have received.
Take care of Mary, for I have given her
To thee for all time, and here is money enough
At my disposal, to buy her what she wants.
If she be poor, give her bread; if she be rich,
Give her silver; but avoid gold and silver mixing.
Bring her home gifts, large and costly presents,
Gifts of silken ribbon and knots of silk,
Honey, perfumes, spices, jewels, and costly trinkets.
Put by all prayers and vows, and leave her weeping
Her troubles and her sorrows to others.
Oh, weep not, Lady; for Heav'n cannot brook
Those filthy sights and sounds in Heaven, and the anguish
Of unextinguish'd sighs.  This is made the bane
Of many a Christian life; for when the saints
Must grieve in soul, they can do nothing else but weep.
Be kind to Mary, for the love of Him who made thee
Great among women, let her not see this man,
Who is a snare and curse to all mankind."

Here appear'd a messenger, and say'd again:
"Dismiss your fears, and set aside your doubts and fears.
You are disabused and show how ill your fears reflect
On yourself, your loves, and your zeal.  No mortal art
E'er made the maiden an object worthy command
To keep it safe, or to guard it from all harms.
This is a work of wonders, wrought by wizards old,
Though now for centuries untouch'd.  By certain gods
New found, it once was used as a sacred shrine;
No foot may tread on its holy floor without the sign
Of sacerdotal presence.  All the surrounding earth
Is consecrated ground; and when the dawning sun
Seems to shine entire, falls each projecting mountain
Into the surface, so far beneath him lies
That from his feet no step may touch the sodal soil.
Thither, fair Jesus, doest thou send thine Angel guests
To grace the feast!"  On th' other side his Father sat,
His arms folded over his bosom, while he said:
"Love divine I owe thee, and by love I mean
More than by words, that gives me such sublime delight
In good and in ill that I would do thee proud;
So shouldst thou guide me, as by the rule and pattern
Set down in thy Word, though new; and lead me viands
Whereby I may become food for the saints,
Loving them, and hating mine own sin.  In loving them
For godliness' sake, and for their sakes who love
God too, I serve thee with a true heart forward leaning."
<|endoftext|>

The evening shadows lengthen,
The western wind has tottered free
Through flowery fields, and o'erswept the sea.
All night within the dim-lit hall
The busy hum of human life grows still,
Save where the stir of ancient orchestration
Comes from the orchestra's depth, or the low drone
Of bees across the lawn.

Then suddenly there comes a sudden clamor
From the darkened gallery, where stands a woman,
With outstretched arms, and trembling like a child at fear.
She holds up one pale hand; her look is filled with blood,
And her cheeks are wet, and full of terror and pain.
Slowly she takes three sovereigns from the cabinet,
And counts them o'er ere she lays them down again;
Then folds her hands, and walks as calmly as a ghost
Along the room, till she comes to him, and stands
Close before him, and begins to speak.

"Ah, Doctor," she cried, "for God's sake, shoot me now,
Or let me die; whate'er it be, kill me, please,
Or turn me loose to perish in the icy water
Upon the lonely sea-shore.  For the love of heaven
Do what thou wilt to save me from these loathsome pains,
Nor let me suffer death by poison, nor let me live
A cursed life in prison."

He looked upon her with eyes of cold disdain,
And answered, "Woman, thou seemest to think
On things which men will never feel.  Thou dost crave
Immortal life?  Then learn eternal misery!
There is no joy in working for another's self -
It is a path unto ruin.  If you could know
What is the sum of working for another's good,
Your lives would fly away upon their flight,
And you would rather spend your days in idleness
Than in the tortures of perpetual strife.

"But since you ask me about my life before I came here,
I tell you truly, 'tis a tale of suffering worse
Even than the torments of the hell you seek to escape.
Long years ago, ere the time when I am sitting here
By your bedside, I had lived in Asia, and had come
Among the Huns, whom then I despised as vile beings.
They took pleasure in fighting, and we in our duty.
We were sent forth into Hungary to destroy
The last remnants of the Pagan race.  We slew them,
And their towns laid waste.  But they raised a hideous cry,
As if they had been dead already.  Our leaders
Had to flee for their lives, leaving us behind
To our destruction.  We fought and fell upon the field
Beside the enemy.  They fled afar, and left us
To slaughter in our own country.  The land was stained
With many bloody stains, until it seemed as if fate
Had set aside this portion of the world to us
Because we were so evil.  There were slain by us
Many Christians, and children in their cradles.
Our hearts were filled with hatred toward all people
Who believe in Christ, and we were eager to hasten
On to burn churches and slay every man we met.
One fellow was sent out to spy out the country,
And he returned with tidings of what happened there.
When I heard what he told me, I thought of you,
And I began to weep bitterly.  He was right,
You are a wicked woman.  I have seen on earth
No person more worthy of utter disgrace.  You
Are a pestilence of Satan, a plague lying
Right over against this house.  No one shall dwell
Here but must keep himself clean and clothed in righteousness,
Or go to prison.  This is the law of God in Zion."

Then Alma lifted up his eyes to Heaven, and wept,
And said, "O God of mercy!  O God of truth!
How bitter is my punishment for telling the truth!"
And he spoke out again in boldness, saying:
"Amos spake the word of the Lord, and I was moved
To anger.  Let it pass.  What means this spirit?
Has he been cast out from the Church?  Has he spoken truth?"

Alma went back to his cell, and did not return
For seven weeks, and then he declared a loss
Of faith, and confessed that he had been deceived
By Amuletsibedi, who represented him
As an exile from the kingdom.  And he said:
"This man has brought me back into the fold
Of those true members of the body of Christ
Whose testimony can change fortitude to power.
His words bring peace.  His example restores me.
I am strengthened in every work I attempt.
Wherever I take my brethren in the van,
My influence in behalf of Christ grows stronger.
All the Prophets of the Untainted have said
That the Gentiles shall join in fellowship
With Jews, and that in Zion there shall be
Fullness of blessings.  Therefore let him gain
True knowledge and increase in wisdom, lest he
Be hostile to the Saints, and might spread error
Through the Church.  Pray for him."

In Kirtland, Moroni, called the Magi, gathered
Many of the books of learning of that age,
To translate the records of the ancient seers
Into the pure language of the Gospel.
Moroni found among the books of scripture
Much lore belonging to the magicians
Of that dark ages.  Among the books of art
Found among the manuscripts of this youth,
Is that of the Star in the East, now lost,
Which gave its light through interposing wings,
Like that strange light which angels see."

Enoch, the seer, saw the coming of this hour.
He wrote a book, entitled The Vision of God,
Which excited great controversy in the town.
It was boldly printed at Kiskama, near
The site of modern Zionsville.  It quickly sold,
And was translated into English and German.
There are MSS. of this book still on deposit
At various places, and apparently never
Was book like it published before or since;
Its plot, its characters, and its situations
Are gone forever into oblivion.

Alma sought her son's hand in marriage, and he
Answered: "Nay, stand forward, mother; draw no deep
Pleasure from this day's work.  Stand off from men
A little while longer, and look up to the skies.
I feel thy soul is growing upwardly tender,
Worn with labor, yet.  Thy strength will grow more strong,
Thy patience more of a calm contentment kind,
Before thou marry.  I would learn first whether
Thou love me enough to woo me from my mission.
If thou wilt enter fasting into your nuptial bonds,
They need not give thee any abundance.
But those who wed should like each other well,
Nor live unto themselves alone.  If a wife
Will look on her husband's glory and good name
Without envy or rancor, she may well
Expect increase of goods from her spouse's hands.
Let us cast about our necks together in prayer,
And so rest till evening falls.  We cannot fail
To do this, nor yet can we that our joys
May equal ours above.  When night comes down,
Bring home the bride and lead her to her home
In thine own chariot, all delights of life
Presented before her feet, such as by heaven
I have made for myself.  Then let us fall asleep,
Each in the other's arms, under the dome of God."

So spake Nephi, and his father gave assent,
And took the hand of Lehi, and thus they prayed:
"Father, whose heart is grieved with the sore oppression
Of thy sore suffering people, whose sins are washed
From the lidded gaze of thy forgiving eye--
Restore us, thou god of mercy, by thy grace,
Till we may bid the bridegroom farewell."

Thus passed their nights in gladness, held with pleasant words,
Until the close of that happy season.  Then came
The period when calls for recording all,
When every gift and call of life was to cease,
Except the vision high above life's tide.
Lehi, therefore, being the senior, put forth
His hand, and drew Nahom's sketch across the wall,
Upbraiding him with sloth to build up his hopes,
While his son stood idly by, neglecting his calling.
Then Nephi turned aside, and hid his face
Beneath his garment, and repented himself
For the sedentary life he led with levity,
Fasting and repenting with his father.  Forthwith
Their former friendship revived, and olden ties
Of personal liking and congenial culture
Renewed, and the old man's kindred-felt desire
To show them favor.  With all sincerity
He sent them grain and wheat, sweet wine and oil,
Cotton cloth and cornmeal; by the river's side
They built the boat, and on the sea-beat shore
Discoursed of these things.  But Lehi sat still,
Absently glancing at the time with sorrow.
Filled with remorse, his father thus addressed him:
"My son, I miss the full fruits of the Spirit
You brought me, after long and fruitless search,
When I was left desolate, homeless, naked, alone.
Your mind was set on seeking after gold,
And silver and precious stones, and loaded bales
Of merchandise.  Ye were ever alike
 Untaught, alike insensate of your choice
To follow virtue or to steal her peradventure.
Now, then, what avails your training under the sun?
Ye are young, and know not much.  Behold, the years
Fill full the memory of your boyhood's time,
With hope and faithfulness; yea, with all pure loves,
That once you had.  What boots it now to take
Another's property, if ye remember nought
Of the first bond?  Yet ye have stolen much, I judge,
Beyond recall.  Steal no more!  Your Father sees;
He knows how poor your gain has been.  He will restore
All; yea, all beside, though it be in earth below.
Again, the Lord hath said again, I will cause
The heart of no one here to stumble.  The path
Lies open, even that which none hath ascended,
Save only he who has a fallen and contrite spirit,
And humble thoughts, but all is closed, save that there
Is left him nothing to keep him out of Heaven.
What means this gathering of the sons of MOSES,
This family band, round these our righteous leaders?"

Said Moroni, when a faint light across his brow
Made him say, "Sick is their hearts, and hard their minds,
Who come to try their strength against this mighty world,
Against the might of pride, the might of wealth, the might
Of power, the might of cunning, and all evil things?"

Alas! said Alma, weeping, "See, our burden increases."
Said Joseph, "We must seek for Zion ere we die."
Said Samuel, "Her walls already are her dowers;
She shall rise undaunted, unshaken, and unbowed,
E'er the tower of Babel goes down, e'er tyranny crumbles, and men learn
that in the righteousness of God, there is room for all."

Here interrupted Raphael with cold voice,
As one who in the balance hung, "If ye choose,
And if the people consent, I am behind you two,
Thy course must run from hence.  This very day,
Perchance, some prophet, wandering in his anger,
May lead thee on toward greater woe.  The Lord
By an obscure type foretold thine enterprise;
And after it was fulfilled, another person,
A descendant of Ham, declared openly
That he should bring up Samaria's children to build
A city, and give it the name of Heliopolis.
I spoke of this in Hyrcanian times, and e'en
The monarch Agapenor, who at Rome's request
Served as legatee of the Roman emperor,
Was told of this same thing.  And yet ne'ertheless
It seems to suit the ambition of a king
Not so entirely to conceal his purposes,
But such thy course must be, until the land
Grows weary in waiting on thy pleasure."

"O master," said Moloch's son, "what words are these!
These seem like those of false men, whose own desires
Drives them to every lie.  These also are beyond
Distinction, devising rages against a brother race.
Would they but join with us in alliance, their pride
Would sink, and their spirits would be changed within.
Rather than aid, beyond their wishes would be their shame.
Do thou, then, with prudence rule these fiery-hearted folk,
Until they forgive their wrongs, and turn to love.
Seek thou first Jether, whence issue forth the Lusians,
And where Arisba, mother of the gods,
Breathes the pure air of heaven through many regions.
There settled be, that she may live and reign
Unmoved by fear of vanquished realms, and grant
Free entrance into Erebus to her foes."

Then spake the Master: "Whom few could please more pleased,
Each listening ear receive with patience.  To thee,
False negotiator, I permit my speech,
Though little it deserve, since myself observe
Little grace in myself.  Let each man see
How little grace in others, whereof he is
One member.  But of the nations, which of you
Appointed chief, depart thou, former head,
For thy home gone astray.  For me too fast
Travelling, doomed as I am to go apart,
My brethren's place accepting, I return.
Ere I henceforth be solicitous about
Cares of this life, carelessly or well-beseeming
Those, whom I leave behind, a blameless life
Will I create.  As in the winter's night
Creatures break out with small way, oft withal
Preparing certain food; and onward spreads
Its number as the sun gives strength and light,
So advance thy kingdom, growing by growth,
By communion firm, till thou shalt everywhere
Control the sacred architecture of hell.
First shalt thou deal liberally, and make clean the floor
From clogs of sin.  Theangledder shall strow the ground
With oaks and hollies.  Thou shalt forbear
To lay excessive burdens upon the poor,
Nor Shame's retrograde authority tyrannize
Over thee.  No fearful gibes, nor bounding tread
Shall vex thy conscience.  On all sides whatsoever
Anew shalt call the just, and on the right Superior.
 long established, and its bounds increasing,
The ancient sinner shall himself observe;
For 'tis hell to wander.  When, monuments
And names of guilt rendered oblivion, the throng
Of sinners, round our line, hath turned eternity,
Our glory, by new mouths embellished, shall prevail
Beyond the decree of God, and shine as Gods
In full perfection, without spot or stain.

Then, while the world, that now seemed blue beyond belief,
Is taken in the Sun of Glory, and awes
His subjects with a mighty triumph, thee, my Son,
Who to the farce of death hast given such play,
Dost take it back again--thy victory is won.
No miracle remains unseen, and none undone.
All things have been done, that might in time be wrought
Upon the world's great stage, and all the wings
Of power, that in the height of empire might
Have lifted thee unto heaven, lean now towards earth.
What has been, that can not be?  All things are plain
To him, who loves his Father, and to me,
Who by my love am held to have shown my trust
In something above my own: 'tis mine to know
He will not fail me, though all worldly good
Become dust, and I become as nought else known.
This only I perceive--that, if my flesh
Were torn from this my Father, in the heavens
Alone, I should still be sheltered from harm.

Now was the hour that wakens fond desire
In men at sea, and melts their thoughtful heart
When returning from some foreign country,
Where the day-star drives the shadows off with its beam.
Within the silent room the morning light
Sprinkled the floor and chairs with golden hue,
That paler grew, when Alice came afield
In all haste to bring me news.  She had seen
At noon the shadow cross the garden wall,
And downhill from there had heard the bell
Tolling in the valley-land of Vauxhall.
Her father, too, had spoken of the brook,
Which, by the bridge, down the hillside gushed,
And over which the white stream went on
Full down the slope, and vanished in the wood;
And how the sun was lost among the leaves,
And how the clouds were blown along the breeze.
She told me how the wild-fowl screamed and fled,
As down the hill the sound struck on the shore,
And how the river swam up faster, higher,
While the dark hills re-echoed the echoes back.
"The village is up," said Alice.  "See, the houses
Are all a-shining like gold!"  And then she showed
A window bright with sunlight through the shade,
Through which I saw the rapid Thames come forth
Rippling and singing toward the bay.
We walked together down the gardens warm
With blossoms, and through branches overhead
Of autumnal trees, whose livelier green
Promised them fruit than ours.  The garden path
Was filled with blooming weeds, and flowers, that shook
Their sweet perfume.  In the freshness of May
They scented us away.
I loved her for her beauty, and her grace,
And her independence; and for her mind
Contempt of what corrupt society,
Government, business, politics, greed, fame,
Relentless slander, envy, persecution,
Industry, traffic, war, destruction, waste,
Neglect of morals, want of virtue,
Illiberality, selfishness, weakness,
Unrestraint, unrestrained desires, and hate
Of duty and truth.
For Truth she despised all save her own.
And the duty of women in general
Seemed but to serve our man; and yet I knew
How much of womanly pride, of vanity,
Of self-seeking, jealousy, ambition, thirst
For recognition, self-will, and effort,
Women cannot always keep within their own control.
There was a spirit in her, as in all,
Whate'er their station, servants of mankind,
Serving ourselves, our brothers, or our sons,
Sacrificing ourselves for others, working
Selflessly, sacrificing pleasure, rest,
Honor, wealth, ease, for the sake of doing good.
It chanced that she had lately read a book,
About the life of Christ; and in her thought
These words stood out bold against the world's way,
The world's narrowness, and the falsehood of a few,
Who made of Christianity an iron law
For all mankind, and set up one world system
From sea to ocean, brother against brother,
Sending terror and strife, blasphemous fables,
Falsehoods, wars, bloodsheds, to stir the world's hatred.
But these few, she thought, did not oppose her plan
Of bringing all nations into one family
Of everlasting peace, sister mother of art,
Artistic brotherhood, artistic sistership,
Brotherhood of labor, brotherhood of science,
Humanity's best hope, and brotherhood of faith.
So she looked askance upon the Pharisees,
Who said that Jesus could not enter in
Because he was a Jew; and she remembered
Herself, once, beneath the temple steps, when,
Amidst the sacred gloom and heat of noon,
With many a longing, lingering step, she hid
Her face before God, and prayed that He would take
My place among the people, and forgive
The sins, the wrongs, the failings, the failures,
The human blemishes, that marred my perfect life.
Then, looking up, she saw the crowd about
The doors, beyond the reach of prayer, and said:
"God help thee, dear Son of Mary!  If thou die,
Thy death shall make no death unto Me."

Oft have I dreamed of that pure hour,
Possessing neither power nor might;
Yet I have felt Myself subdued
By will divine, and humble child of Love.
Sometimes it has been like a calm and golden dream
Upon a summer night, when o'er the whole wide earth
The soft moonlight rests,--a deep and stilly peace;
Or like a far-off tinge of roseate light,
Whence the swift glimmering stars peep, in heaven's high sky;
Or like a storm, when round my soul there creeps
Darkness and tumult, and the gathering air
Is full of fearful foreboding; but at last
To some vast sea of silence, where the strong waves
Break on uncharted shores untrod, till they sink
Deeper and deeper, and the moonbeams pierce
Their icy armour, and the winds are driven
In wrathful battle with the unfeeling stars.

Here have I seen on holydays,
Walking with bare and thoughtful head,
Young men who walk this plain adjacent,
Raising their hands in silent praise
Of Him whose blessed name is love;
And I have thought how strange must be
This praise, this salutation so polite,
If once uttered in reply,
Should be returned to them by me,
An old and wrinkled dame, who do not care
For praise, nor any greeting kind,
Nor am unknown to receive it.

We have been weary ere we came here,
Tired of the ways of this unnatural land,
Where every voice is harsh and cruel,
Every heart false and empty,--yea, every eye
Flames with the fire of spite and evil hate.
We have been weary, and we come again
Tired indeed, but not of work or breath,
But rather of a quiet house and bed,
And dreams that lie too deeply for speech,
And lips that never young life kissed before.

Ah, children, if ye look aloft,
Far over the narrow wall,
Ye may behold a tower arise
Above the roof of Caradoc-dale,
A mighty pile, with brazen gates
That canters open, down the side
Into the vale below.

There, whilst the huntsmen chase the hart
Through forest and field and stream,
They meditate the nuptial vow
Which should bind the husband and the wife,
Bound each to each, until they meet
At resting-place for evermore.

I know not whence it flows, this blood;
Each drops upon the ground is red,
As if his veins ran water white;
Yet cold as ice is each warm vein,
Etherial chill and frost, yet hot
Hot as flame within the veins of Hell.

Oh, what is Life without the kiss
Of its loved mother Nature?  Without
Its mother's smile, the blessing rare
Of starry skies above, of green
Unfathomed flowers beneath, of dew
That showers on every flower of earth,
Of sunsets and the aurora borealis?

What is the Soul of Man bereft
Without its home on Paradise' shore?
No home, alas! for him remains,
His home is scattered to the winds;
Home of his youth spent with wild regret,
Home of his age desolate and sad;
Home of his innocence betrayed,
And of his senses deceived and strayed;
Home of his body broken and wrung,
And of his soul bereaved forever.

Not for us the gladness of springtime,
The bursting flowers and brightening skies,
The joyous hours that bring repose
Unto the heedless living;
But for us the mournful morn
Shall see our souls departing here,
Forever leaving Eden-land.

Not for us the song of bird or bee,
The hum of hive or kine, shall drown it
Within its caverns dark and cool,
Or quench its light within the palm
Or pine-grove eaves alone;
But all things on Earth shall give thanks
To God for this great deliverance,
And turn from strife and outrage
To the path of peace and truth and love.

Nay, nay, sweet Mother, let us not grieve,
Nor waste these happy days thus idly pass,
Nor think of you departed so long:
Thy place is now among the dead,
Thou art no more, but thy spirit lives
With Christ in Heaven above, to whom
Our hearts, all full of sorrow and pain,
Are bowed with imploring fear and shame.

"He is risen!" the tidings brought of thee
Over our hearth and circle sad and lone,
Faintly, and then more loud, and then again
Less faint, till the wonder of the day
Comes back to us in tears of growing years;
Till grief itself seems ebbing from the world,
Till we stand self-conscious in an awful light,
All of us in the presence of death's might,
Self-conscious in the presence of life's too.

So, slowly, oh so gently, thou hast left
Earth's familiar haunts and clothed thy steps with heaven,
Leaving behind thee on her bosom more than grace;
Like some fair dream thou comest, pure and clear,
Soft as thine angel form, and sweeter than thy voice,
Gliding silently through life's bustling scenes,
Stealing along unseen like a starry breeze.

And lo! the very first of human births,
The first bright moment of the mortal birth,
Is ended, and men hail thee Lord and King,
Who wast hidden there, obscure, and bidden to stay
Amid the darkness of the birthing cave,
In deep obscurity and mystery profound,
From prying eyes and careless ears kept low,
For bliss of child-bearing, since thy word
Bids Adam seek Gilboa with his wife.

And lo! the next of infant deaths, the last,
When life draws out the little span of time
Whose bars are drawn inexorably nearer,
Where thou wert born--in lonely Gilboa far
From man, and nearest heaven--to be our guide
By many paths and many ways to faith and truth,
And cross the Abyss and reach at last Uphyr,
Beyond which lies the blackest abode of blight.

Then must thou speak, and tell us how thou wouldst dare
To walk with God, and teach the wise and just
How best to live and die, nor lying call
Thy deed remorse, though guilt by right should win
The praise and awe thou hast lost since first man fell,
Since first man called thee to himself and chose thee lord.

There is a road, a broad and gentle way,
Through fields and woods, where never trod a tread
More patient or more innocent than thine own;
A road wherein the burdened hearts of men
Have often traveled, and their memories still
Still keep the footprints they have made when young;
A road wherein roses yet bloomed and wasps
Were hatched, and fountains of delight were found
Before the ruin of sin and misery.

I know not if 'tis nobler to strive
With Fate, or if 'twere better to bend
Our minds unto the will that sits above,
But knowing that we must, and having trust
Only in ourselves, to look without pride
On what others may do well or ill,
To feed our spirits with whatever air
May lift or lower, giving us complete
Sight into Truth's immensity.

Oh, if thou couldst but hold thy course untrod
Content with any lot assigned,
'Twould enrich the earth with plenty come the end
Of this brief life, and make the after days
Rich with happiness, and shorten the weary night
That we are watching for, while on the brink
Of every tide of troubles Job had patience,
And so may wisdom have his patience too.

Yet he also knew how much was owed
To contentions and sharp words said
Among friends, who cannot understand
One language, and must therefore baffle thee,
Who can not understand another.
What comfort has the world to offer?
If thou art satisfied with thine own,
Why dost thou murmur and disquiet?

As one who knows he is to go before
Some mighty thing undertaken,
And feels its danger and expectation,
Dreaming about it all the while,
Eager to see and to be a part
Of the vast machine he does not know
Until the last detail's ready,
Thus I, faithful witness of God's will,
Am here to show thee what shall be,
Thoughtlement of man's undertaking,
His work and dominion, what shall rise
Out of his hands, and over what,
Or through what dark infernal ways.

First, a few choice selections from my Poems:
Most of these poems were written in the Spring
And Summer, ere I went to school,
While still in that unfashionable area
Of Sussex, near Ashbourne. In those days
No books were read save Bible, Talmud, Gospels,
Philosophy, and Indian tales. My learning
Was bred upon the ground, the stones around,
Old roads where carts went rustling across
To bring in hay or water. The birds and bees
Dissolved all letters in their honey sweet,
And rocks were names for beasts and trees. Now
They've ceased to be names and things, and now
We write them down, and every creature
Abides by rules and roman emperors
Made up out of parts and moments and quarters,
Which sound like Latin till you're sick with sounds
So I studied grammar in my teens,
And then taught myself Greek and learned Averroes,

And Aristotle, whom no child can learn
Save one left school because his parents fear
The taunts of the other children, so I learned
To hide my grief from others, which was enough
At that time, and write verse in basins and sew
Upon the wall, where I'd drop some drops
Of tears on people's faces as they passed.
These childhood memories are very tender,
Like tears of springtime, or like raindrops that fall
In sunny weather on the grass of May,
Making each leaf a little parallel line,
Or flowers grown tall 'cause their dying year is long.

My early reading was poetical,
Poetry of Spain and Italy,
And Dante, and Tennyson, and so forth.
For me, there's nothing like the Spanish poetry
Of Pedro Almodovar, Miguel de Cervantes,
Juan Sarmiento, and all the rest.
It made me feel young again, like a boy
Returning home from abroad, or like me
When I came back from college. There's an author
Whom I follow to this day, and always find
Attractive, and who makes me feel as glad
As if I were a hundred years younger,
And half as strong, and half as brave, and all
A thousand times more intelligent. His name
Is Byron. He lived in a different age,
And wrote in a strange, unpoetical vein,
Not known to us, and yet admired by many--
Perhaps much less, but admired, and his songs,
Just like his writings, seem to cheer the heart
And brighten life at least as far as ours
By making us love, in spite of sorrows,
Things worth loving still. And if there's anything
Irrational or abnormal in men,
It's the hope that soon all the world will share
Their passion and their genius. It's quite absurd;
There never was a history of a nation
From beginning to beginning free and fair,
Except that history of mankind goes on,
And nations arise, and suffer, are destroyed,
Are born, are dead, and then revived. It's natural,
And surely there's something in the thought of being
On the earth and having a chance to show what one can do
With a pen, and be heard, and be understood.
I don't know what it is; but somehow there comes
This feeling of immortality when poets
Take leave of reality, and lead us on
Through all the pleasant illusions of song.

Yes, yes, I'm sure,
You'll say, but I prefer to think of men
As individuals, and treat them kindly,
And let the record speak for itself. But hear now
A word I have to lay upon your head,
Because you keep getting it wrong. You'll say,
"He only leaves them what they buy." Well, yes,
That's true enough. But what else could he do?
He couldn't give a fig for all the praise
Your pages have been giving him, and are still
Praising. Couldn't he tell the difference
Betwixt a chisel and a brain? He tried
So hard! He carved so perfectly well, you know,
That everybody said he was a fool,
And a terrible artist, and such talent wasted.
But he wasn't any of these things. He just happened
To be a crank who chipped pebbles and made pots,
Until a chancefell to look at his work, and there
His folly was plain to be seen. So now
Let's suppose that we are fools just like ourselves,
And that our talents are wasted, and wasted utterly,
Because we kept trying to make a pot of clay
Instead of using our abilities to reach
The fruits of achievement. Let us suppose further
That all the chisel-chasers are dull stoners,
Who spend their lives seeking the perfect pot,
While we, who are gifted artists, keep on dreaming
That we can make a pot of straw, or something.
What would happen if we stopped striving for
Perfection? Would Nature smile upon us?
Would Art be saved? What a horrible calamity
If all the chisel-chasers died of stupidity!
Well, you see how it is. To stop trying to carve
Perfection means to stop wasting our powers.
We've got to face the fact that our potential
Struggles between two opposing motives:
One is the instinct to survive, and cling
Closely to the things that love us; the other
Is the instinct to create, and strive to melt
All objects down to essence, until the atoms
Of matter are reduced to a state of chaos,
And laws of nature break down. This is why
Man is not satisfied with the poor hut of mud
Where he may huddle safe from danger; he wants
Something better than mud. He builds himself a palace
Bigger than the greatest king who ever reigned,
Lifts the gateposts up and builds a wall around it,
Building towers and turrets, keeping watchmen on the wall,
Watching all the time that no foe come near the gates.
Now, if he fails in building a house that is good
For shelter, does he sit and whimper like a child?
No! he builds another house, better and bigger,
Buys out the land where the old house stood, builds it higher,
Surrounds it with walls and moats, and castles rise up all round it.
Why does man want to build? Because he knows
Survival is the motive force in all his acts.
He builds because he is afraid to live
Without the fortress at his disposal. The soul
Must protect its possessions. If he dies without friends,
Or enemies, within the fortress he has built,
Then does he feel an emptiness, a void inside,
Which grows into despair and loneliness and sin.
Build the fort against all foes, and outside the walls
Make strong alliances to help him in his needs.
Better alone to struggle for happiness,
Than with others to fail and to degenerate.

How big a dreamer I am!
When last I looked at my watch I saw
That time had gone almost ten minutes faster.
My hair stood up for fear, and my heart beat thick.
I must go and fight the battle over there--
The little town battle over there.

I climbed the ladder to the roof,
And turned on the light. There were thousands about me,
Waving, cheering, waiting, eager to be led
Into the battle. They lined both sides of the street,
And farther away there seemed to be hundreds more.
There was shouting, music, clapping of hands, crying
of children, laughing, applause, all kinds of noise.
It was a great crowd, but I didn't see anyone.
I went along, expecting to see someone, anything,
But seeing nothing more clearly every day I grew doubtful.
Was this all there was to it? Was it all a delusion,
Like the beautiful dreams I used to have,
In which I met some wonderful person,
With whom I did wonderful things,
Even though I knew in my bones that nothing would come of it?
Perhaps it was all a wicked joke,
This longing to believe that somebody loved me.
Maybe I'd be killed in the war,
And then nobody would miss me.

I sat by the fire,
Reading a book called "The Joy of Living,"
Looking through the photographs
Of the people passing through the village,
Taking the road to the country school
Each afternoon. In each one
There seemed to be a glimpse of a smiling woman,
Showing her gilt head, rosy cheeks, and gentle eyes.
These flashed before me as I read.
They thrilled me back to life.
I wanted to follow them wherever they went,
To stand beside them at the turn-back point,
To hold their hands so tightly in mine
As I felt their lips against my own once more.
But I couldn't.
I tried to write a song
To tell them what I felt,
But in the end I gave up,
Saying that I could never again
Share their joy, my pain, or my vision of heaven.
I sat by the fire,
Reading a book called "The Joy of Living."
A voice said to me from beyond the stars,
"You cannot cross the dark with candles."
<|endoftext|>

'Twas the night before Christmas, when all through the house
Not a creature was stirring, not even a mouse;
The stockings were hung by the chimney with care,
In hopes that St. Nicholas soon would be there;
The children were nestled all snug in their beds;
While visions of sugar-plums danced through their heads;
And mamma in her kerchief, and I in my cap,
Had just settled our brains for a long winter's nap--
When out on the lawn there arose such a clatter,
I sprang from my bed to see what was the matter.
Away to the window I flew like a flash,
Tore open the shutters and threw up the sash.
The moon on the breast of the new-fallen snow
Gave the lustre of midday to objects below--
When what to my wondering eyes should appear
But a miniature sleigh and eight tiny rein-deer,
With a little old driver so lively and quick
I knew in a moment he must be Neddy the frost.
His neck was white and crisp, as you'd see in a kennel;
His shaggy ears were black, like his coat;
On legs icy and bare from riding across the hills
He seemed some kind of a pioneer or adventurer;
His nose was very broad, the nostrils spread widely;
His tail was as long as a broomstick, and as straight;
And he wore a red cape, fastened by a loopy knot,
And a pair of wooden shoes, with iron buckles laced,
With silver laces, that kept falling down on his top--
By some devilish plan of his naughty mother.
I laughed when first I saw him, in spite of myself;
For I remembered how, as a baby, I rode him;
And I realized, too, how happy he'd make me,
If he would let me take him riding every morning.
''Tis no use!' cried Neddy, throwing his reins aside:
''Tis no use!  I can't ride up high enough!
See, now, how I fall--too low I sink!--
Oh, no use! Oh, no use!
Why don't you shoot me, Miss Kitty?
I'm falling, oh, so slow!
Now, now, 'tis time to cut the string.
Cut it, cut it! oh, Miss Kitty, do!"

Then off he rushed to the door, and kicked it after me,
So hard that it opened quite a foot;
And we flew back, I on his back,
And we tumbled into his gilded cage,
Where he beat and bit me till, scared, I screamed,
And fell into his dustpan, where I lay,
Scared, trembling, and half dead,
All for lack of a little green bird.

What a bright sunny day it is!
It feels like summer in here.
The trees are bending over all about,
Waving their hands in the air,
And singing in tune, with every note,
Just like ladies' tongues, that weaves
Its beauty round about us.
The birds are flying around everywhere,
Circling, fluttering, settling, rising,
Like dancers, in a dream,
Round, round, in a beautiful ring,
Or dancingly moving slowly along,
Half seen, half heard, in the breeze.
The sun shines brightly on the sea,
Through the mist of the morning dew,
And glitters upon the reeds by the shore,
That curl and shimmer in the shade,
Like many golden chains that a queen might wear.
The wind comes blowing up from the South,
Like an angel, calm and fair,
Who moves softly, breathing love and peace,
Whispering, "Peace to you!" to the world below.
The waves dance lightly, gently falling,
Their feet fast asleep, while their hearts go forward
Unto the sunshine of tomorrow.
The boat sails merrily away,
With naught but the stars between its prow and home,
And I sit silent, looking at the sky,
As if I thought I saw them somewhere there.

There's a magic in the winter light,
Like the gleaming wings of a dragonfly.
It makes one feel small and insignificant,
As if a gnat had floated down upon one.
No, nothing could be finer than this life,
Could anything be more pure, more dear?
This is the way men look at each other:
"How foolishly romantic!
You pitiful, delicate flower!
To think that another living thing,
Another being, thought of you at all!
You poor, frail, exquisite thing!"

They tell me that you died yesterday.
Perhaps they are right.  It does seem hard
To die, and yet die seems the only thing.
I wonder will you be well read in Greek
Before you die?  Do you know that Homer says
That Prometheus stole fire from the gods,
And gave it to mankind for pleasure?
Do you remember how, once, when you were young,
We took a trip to Thessaly,
And climbed Mount Pindus, and went hunting in Greece,
And came back by train?

Yes, that is right.  You understand.
I am going to write a letter home.
Dear Mom, how nice it'll be when I get there!
I shall find all my friends there, and they'll say
How charming to see you again.
I shall have wonderful times, I know.
My grades will improve.  I shall learn something.
I shall become a better man.
Dear Mom, I hope your health is good,
And that you lead a long and happy life.
May God bless you always, and keep you cool
Along the road to old age.

He is not coming back any sooner
Than he has lived in the past few years.
Is he still sad and lonely?  He must be.
But what is the matter with him today?
His eyes are shut, his head is bowed.
Something has happened to him.

When he talks to you, you know he means business;
When he draws you out a piece of paper,
You know he is writing a report.
Does he ever talk to your mother?
Does he send letters to her, too?
She thinks he is ill, she knows he cannot speak,
Yet he writes so often, so politely.
Has he been working lately?

Did he leave some things behind last week,
In case he should come back and find them there?
He must have forgotten something.
Maybe his briefcase.
Maybe his purse.
Maybe his keys.
<|endoftext|>

"A Song", by Edgar Albert Guest [Living, Death]
If you would know what death is
Be brave enough to wait awhile
For the call that never comes.
Bide your time, nor complain, nor weep;
Learn to live without, before you die.

If you would know what life is
Look through a tiny hole in the grass
And hear the pinprick click of bone.
Watch the sparkles as it pierce the gloom
Till you can hardly see the darkness glow.
Then let your body drop, then run
For the far side of the hill or plain.

If you would know what you are worth
Ask yourself what part you play.
What do you bring to this world?
Where does your contribution end?
Are you wanted now, or did you help
Once, and then were ignored because you were unknown?

If you would know what life is really about
Give your whole self to service now;
Let your heart break with sorrow now;
Take courage, turn and try again.
Life is short, and service is sweet,
So take your chance and laugh at despair.

If you would know what death is
See with fearless gaze and keen,
Not the blind old brute who stalks the street
Shouting his errand, but you,
Death, standing at your full height,
All your might displayed,
Pressing forth your lips and staring straight into mine.

If you would know what you are worth
Go from place to place, from scene to scene,
Never rest on any one spot.
Travel the highways and by-ways,
Pass the rivers and the mountains too,
Laugh at the signs and look aside
At the little white houses nestled in the hills;
See how pretty their gardens are,
Hear the shrills of the mocking-birds' music,
Feel the breath of the cedars brushing your face.

If you would know what it is all about
Come from your distant places, strange and far,
With the hunger of a wanderer on;
Bring the wonder and bring the mystery,
Sweep the earth with your shadow, till no spot is bare.
Fill the hungry soul with all that's best,
Make a gate through which its mighty destiny may pass.

The night is growing deep,
And the day is dying fast;
No more of shining suns,
Now the sky is black and cold.
The wind has ceased to blow,
There's silence everywhere.
Only the dripping leaves
Cry aloud in pain.

The night is dark and deep,
The wind is hushed and slow,
Silence is everywhere.
Still the rain descends in showers,
But the trees are silent all.
Only the dripping leaves
Cry aloud in pain.

It's bedtime, little son;
Your mother's arms are round you;
Lean on her shoulder, son:
She will tell you stories, child,
About the bear and wolf.
She will tell you tales
Of the fire-flies in the ferns,
And the silver moon on the stream,
And the beautiful stars that shine
Through the summer air.

Little boy and girl,
Sleep in your cozy nest;
Sing lullaby, and cuddle close,
Till sleepy eyes open again
To watch the starry sphere.
We don't need no stethoscope,
No needle to see if babies breathe;
We only want our milk,
And we don't care what it costs.

Oh! there'll surely come a day
When you'll think it queer
How I'm always preaching at you,
While living in this nice house.
I've got plenty of money, yet you still
Require your mattress and your bowl,
And when I ask for a new dress
You say my price is high.

I know it's silly of me
To be fretting over such things;
But I am truly sorry, dear,
That I haven't a million pounds.
Do you understand, darling?  I beg
You'll buy me gifts when I am poor,
Until I get my money settled down
So I can settle down myself?

When I was a boy and Daddy had money
My mother said she'd give her jewels
To the man that could keep him away
From the bad boys in town.
Daddy thought that was very funny,
But Mother disagreed,
And so he bought me some rings anyway
On my birthday each year.

When I was ten years old and all of us
Had our little slice
(Which meant we each got one piece)
Our daddies took us out to eat,
And they made us pay.
They gave us pennies instead of sweets,
Or let us spend the gold,
And if we didn't use it right away
They threatened to throw it away.

Sometimes it seemed like home,
Those meals with Daddy;
He treated us kind, and we had fun,
And never worried after.
But sometimes he couldn't wait,
And so we ran away.
And if we saw the shadows grow
By the wall as we came out of school,
We knew we had to run faster--
For if we stayed an instant longer
They would take us back in.

Oh! there'll surely come a time
When you'll feel quite sad
That you have no share in having gold
Before your friends do.
For then you'll wish that you were rich--
Just because of all the bother
And worry that comes with having lots.

Don't suppose that work is something
You can put off until later;
You must work now while you're young
To learn proper habits, skills,
And to develop healthy strength.
Work builds character, makes people good,
Has many happy sides to it.

Some folks say they wouldn't miss it
If they didn't work;
Well, I might not agree,
Though I love to be able to read
And go to bed early.
Then there's the matter of work-life balance
That parents should discuss with sons,
Who should grasp the fact that work brings strain
That some must suffer alone.

A man who works full-time must earn
At least $2.00 a day for his board;
In cities the figure rises higher.
Letters should be sent home explaining
Why the allowance is less than before.
This shows a lack of calculation,
Or a man who thinks money everything.

Many workmen are skilled and brave,
But most men wish they could quit
Because they are tired or broke or poor;
They would be just as glad and proud
If they had money to spare.
Money is merely what we live by,
But work is what we die by.

If you must work, make sure you do it
With the best of intentions;
Make every effort that you can
To serve your fellow man.
Help those in distress, but first of all
Think to yourself how you would act.

Be prompt with help, but don't delay;
Give time and money where you can
To those in deepest need.
The worst suffering goes unseen
And doesn't often show its face.
Most people would rather sit down
Than do some real work.

There isn't much pleasure in working,
Except to those who do it.
It gives you human joys and cares
That none of us wants to know.
Those left without opportunity
Are apt to pine and moan.

If you find that you are worn out
After a day's hard work,
Try to rest in quiet places
Where you won't be disturbed.
Relaxation will bring results
More quickly than trying them alone.

Have you ever heard of the Golden Rule?
Of the saying "think of others' needs"
You'd think it true enough from those who practice it.
Yet does anyone ever observe it
Unless forced to do so by poverty?
Does any one care about the pain it causes?
No one!

There's nothing in life more foolish than thinking
That doing something means giving up something else.
Life is a cycle of constant turning,
And whoever gets in the wrong place
Is apt to fall into the wrong track
And end by getting farther from what he intended
Than ever he has gone before.

If you want happiness, go into business;
It's a sure thing, it always is,
Although you may fail at first as you shall
Another time or two and so again,
Till you get used to failure and sorrow
And learn to look upon each as a teacher
Of new ideas and methods of conduct.

I've known great successes too oft to doubt
That they brought with them greater sorrow.
Great wealth is a paltry thing to men
Unless it buys us peace of mind
And keeps our eyes on the horizon.
It's easy to hoard when times are bad,
But much harder to see their advantages
When prosperity smiles once more.

I'm not against working when the sun shines
Or a clear day sets before my task.
I'm only against idleness
When work is dull and dreary.
I am for labor when the days are long
And for play when the hours are short.

My heart aches in the mornings
As I rise and brush the sludgy sink
With bleached soap and suds
From the tub and showerhead
So dirty and gross and beaten
That I sigh at the cheerfulness
Of the cleanliness of spring.

The birds sing sweetly all around me,
Their notes are low and tender
Like words I never wrote,
And I listen for their voices
Until their music fills my soul
With deep contentment and delight,
And I feel as though I were
Among the hills of home.

The evenings are warm and inviting,
With lights that twinkle and spurt
And lovers bounding like rabbits,
Whose feet are lithe and fleet,
While the scent of roses hangs in the air
And tickles like firecrackers.

The little goldfish swim about
With giggle and gurgle
And dance their little circles
On the white cloth of the table
While the wine and food steam and curl
And caress each guest beneath the table.

O world of radiant sunshine,
How far above you seem
The clouds o'er the sea,
Above the rooftops of New York
How high and distant they fly.
Your beauty seems almost painful--
For all the rain and mist.

O world of golden skies,
How near you seem to be
To souls that wander, lost and free,
Through fields of corn and wheat.
Though all below seems dark and drear,
Each height and hill is bright and fair.

O world of sparkling dews,
How near you seem to be
To women whose lips are wet
And cheeks that blusher are
Than mine or thine or even hers.
We smile because we're happy
And strangely jealous of each other.

In the middle of the night
A woman called out: "Who's there?"
A man answered back, "'t is God!"
Then she whispered, half in fear,
"This is no dream," said she.

He took her trembling hand
And held it tight.  He knew her
Too well.  And then he said,
"Dear, let me take you to Him."
She looked into his face
And saw His eyes of blue.

They walked along side by side
Towards the heavenly gates.
His arm about her waist,
He murmured softly, "Come, Sweet,
Before your husband comes.
Oh, wait till morning light.

God knows how many years
Since thou and I have sat
Here close-kissed and fast asleep
After His holy supper."
Her head rested on his breast
As if it would forgette him.

At last He led her to a chair,
And laid His hands upon her hair.
His voice was calm and lowly.
"Woman, why hast thou forsaken me?"
She turned her face away and cried,
"I cannot love thee!"

He smiled, and said, "Believe me, child,
I have been lonely too.
Once I had none but these eyes
To look on me.  Thou art cold,
And sayest out thy prayers alone."

She looked into his eyes of blue,
And saw His eyes of red.
Then like a flower awakened,
She rose and down the stairs
Into the quiet night withdrew.

I know a poet who is blind.
All his life he has lived through;
Blind from his cradle, deaf from his ear--
Never having seen the sunlight fall
Upon his infant face, nor heard
The sounds of living folk, save only
The sound of passing rivulets and whispers
In the happy, joyous garden where he grew up.

Still from his eye the world looks grey;
Yet he can paint with magic skill
The mirage land of Eblis,
The cavern ancient Magdalene,
And the fairy city Lirith,
The mountain path where Parrahmtys strays,
And Silenyi's wondrous tower,
And over which flies Thalaba
An eagle flying at rest on its string.

There be poets blind who write no less
Than the best that man can do;
Nor need there be a rhyme or ring
In syllables to make good the word
Eblis made great once over Arabia!

But still his songs are sweeter than words
By all men sung or said;
Shall ever singer gain a triumph
Worth more than this man's song?
Ay, and much more, since 'tis himself
That sings, and all the world can hear.
<|endoftext|>

When the moonlight trembles on the casement,
And the shadows on the wall are long,
So long shall our sorrows grow longer
Ere the sun again shines on us!
Then let us take heart again, and think
What the future may bring;
Let us laugh and sing, and raise a cheer,
And remember days gone by.

It will come when it must come,
Whatever the future brings;
It will pass away like dreams,
Like a fragrance vanishing
Even while we stand and think
Of the past, so beautiful!
It will pass away like tears,
Like grief that lasts till morning,
Or as pain that grows to age.

No matter how bleak may seem the way,
If one steadfast step onward go,
One true soul within us lives
Will the darkness fade before our feet
With the radiance of its glow.
Not a cloud shall conceal us from the day,
And the crown of glory shall surround us then,
While our pathway on earth thus lies clear.

Remembering friends who died for their country,
Those who fell fighting for freedom and right;
May they guide us always on our way,
Keep us faithful as the cross of Calvary.
Gladly will we follow them to the end,
Loyal to the core, untiring heart.

Spirit hath not wings,
Soul is bound in clay,
Breath dies in death;
But Love doth fly,
Making itself unseen,
Making us hope in faith,
Giving us strength to dare,
Scattering its bright dew
Over hill, over plain,
O'er desert of sand, o'er green grass of clover,
On valley, glen, forest, field.

Love doth fly,
Saying: "Behold I have brought
Work without work, peace without peace,
Beauty without beauty, fame without fame,
Longing unceasing without longing,
Wisdom without wisdom, power without power;
Do ye love me?"

We may not love it,
Its hand is heavy and chill,
Its touch is cold and dead,
Its shadow falls across my heart
Like the shadow of Death.
But oh, O Love!
Hearken unto me!

Why should spirit pine and pine
For things below the sky?
Life is here above the sphere,
Sunshine and rain and laughter;
Why should spirit sigh for something higher?

Why should earthly hopes and fears
Make thoughts of heaven an ill?
Is there no place on earth to lay one's head
Where sitteth God forevermore?
Why should spirits waste their breath and blood
Looking upward toward the skies?

They would find Him not,
Forget Him not,
Find Him not if He were risen!
Surely He is risen,
Resurrected, raised,
For He Himself has spoken: "My sheep live in thee!"

"Son of Man! Have you seen
The elect's home of silver shine,
Where lamps of gold are burning bright?
Have you heard the chime of golden bells,
Underneath the fair mansions old?
The halls are hung with richest hues,
Gold threads and pearls abound,
Golden statues stand in rows;
The windows gleam with many a gem,
The marble steps adorn the stair.
The floors are polished bright with gold,
The pillars sparkle iron,
The friezes are richly carved,
The roof is overlaid with brass."

"Son of Man! Have you seen
The parrots in the trees,
Who chattered round in play,
Their tongues wagging evermore?
The peacocks everywhere
Are gaily strutting forth,
Each peeping out with small ear
To catch some little phrase
Some bird among the leaves
Catches in his flight;
And every flower upon the bowers
Is opening wide its eyes
To listen for some new-born sound.
The streamlet murmurs with the reeds,
The river sways in the flowers,
All speak what goodness they can--
Only the whitest lilies hide
Their hands behind their loveliest heads.

"Son of Man! Have you seen
The ladder up yon mountain build,
Which those who love the Lord ascend?
There they that talk against Him may dwell,
Yet they whose hearts are pure and true
He gives His light to see God's face.

"Think you none will trust you now?
Nay, Father, look and learn!
A poor widow sits at her door,
Her children lie about her room,
She cannot put them down at night.
Her house is empty and rotting,
Her husband is far on the wilds,
Far from her pale child, her gray child,
His name and fame are with the dead!

"'Tis well that thou art strong.
I knew thy father well,
Strong was he in bow and spear,
In helm or hauberk fine.
Now let thy sword be shining,
Smooth its sharp edge again,
Let thy shield flash back the lights of sun,
That all men may praise God's name."

"Son of Man! Have you known
The sweet young maidens well?
Sweet were their voices, soft their smiles,
Kind their looks when praising God.
How sweetly ran their words,
How gently did they kiss
Their dear God, when they would tell him
Of his tender mercies!

"Well do I know her--she
Whose voice so softly spoke
God's glory day by day;
When the wind came whispering
Through the branches overhead,
She went forth to meet the storm,
With a smile on her lips, and a prayer
Upon her bosom pressed.

"Then she saw the whirlwind,
From out the cloudlets flying,
Straight she knew the tempest coming,
Knew the dark wrath of death.
Straight she bowed her head,
As on her mother's grave
She had prayed her life to pass,
And the angel of God
Blessed her soul with joy."

Lift up your heads, ye gates, and open wide--
Ye steel walls of Jerusalem,
Your angels come down to lead us in.
See how our feet are hungry as the deer
After the spring is over!
See how the snow lies deep as on the height
Of Caucasus, and blinds our eyes!

Open wide your doors, and take them inside you,
And feed us with your slow but sure repast,
Before the Advent Party comes again.
Our stomachs need a steady food,
And your tables must be covered
With meat, and bread, and wine,
So shall we reach the Promised Land.

We have left our homes too soon,
But they are far away,
And far away,
Since we left our dear homes,
On the blue Lake Michigan,
To seek the Holy Land.

Our childhood's time is gone,
But we remember it,
Like the leaves of autumn tree,
Or like the last red leaf
On the withered branch
Of Christmas Tree.

It is winter in the city,
But we sleep warm in rooms
Built 'round by brick walls;
And the fire shines bright in rooms
Builded 'round by brick walls.

'Round the gate where Jesus stood
The Last Supper took place,
And we watch the sunset glow
Wherein fades away,
Once more, once more, that holy scene
Where Jesus met his friends.

The stars are twinkling above us,
The shadows are lengthening,
The Bridegroom's lips are moving,
The Angel's are singing,
The Advent hymn is rising,
The Hallelujah chorus,
While the Advent candlelights
Are dipping low.

Oh, this is pleasant dreaming,
For the Master is here,
And the Church has calling me,
And the Church has granted me.
My heart is at home, and gladness
Has filled my sleeping cell;
I am at rest, and hope is crowning
My Christian living.

No longer from church absent,
I miss the sweet observances,
But I feel within my breast
Such inward ache as ne'er before
Was heard by human ears.
Not the same rapture glides o'er me
When I attend the service alone,
Nor when the choir sings out its song,
Nor when the organ sounds sweet,
Nor when the Advent wreaths are burning,
Norwhen the candles shine.
Oh, such a voice is mine,
Which the earth never before hath heard,
Which tells of the birth of Christ,
Who died upon the tree.

Oh, such a feeling is mine,
Such an emotion full of blisses,
As when my eye is raised to heaven,
Or rises to catch some heavenly ray,
Or when the Advent candle burns,
Or when the chimes of church are ringing,
Or when the Advent star is shining.
Oh, such a sky is my ceiling,
Above whose high clouds the sun's rays
Glide slowly smiling through the night.

Oh, such a feeling is mine,
Such an excitement of delight,
As when I hear the Advent psalm,
Or catch the organ's sweet refrain,
Or when the sweetest melody
Comes from the nativity.
Oh, such a spirit breathes around me,
And fills each room with gladness,
As when of old the Saviour came
To dwell among us poor.

Though I walk through Rome's crowded streets,
And ascend her lofty towers;
Though I sit on her splendid thrones,
Or sit in her most fair gardens;
Yet, oh, the less I love to stay
At any palace or throne,
The lovelier places are for me
Where Christ is made manifest.

There in His mercy-bought hands
He laid aside His sacrificial robes,
And dressed His temple with men's tears;
There in His precious blood men bled
In obedience and in fear;
There He was crucified, and there
All-sacrifice, all-shame, adored Him.

There, on His cross, men saw the Cross rise
From the hot dust, and burn so brightly
That all who saw must wonder,
Whether their own lives would decay,
Or the first spark of flame destroy it.
Then rose the Cross from out the fiery blaze,
And still, as if 'twere not melted,
Burned round about, till all the air was bright
With flash of gold and silver light.

What though no golden trumpets call me,
To go forth to the battlements?
What though no golden banners float,
O'er the green fields, behind the fountains?
Still let me wander by those marble steps
Where Mary sits, contemplating,
Her soul's great work already half begun,--
Half done, alas!--by one who knows not sin,
But follows gladly after God.

What though no golden trumpets call me,
To bring the news to Lancay town?
What though no embroidered flag be flown,
By mountain or river side,
Beyond the Iron Bridge which spans the Mersey!
Still let me wander by those marble steps
Where Mary sits, contemplating,
Her soul's great work already half begun,--
Half done, alas!--by one who knows not sin,
But follows eagerly after God.

"A sonnet is a pie," said Emily Dickinson,
"An apple a dish,
A diamond's a gem,
A happiness is a loaf of bread,
And a man without morals a brooch."
<|endoftext|>

Hark! the lark at the door sings all day for Mary,
Sings for Elizabeth, comes up higher and louder,
Till you can hear it bursting with joy,
Breaking its notes upon the morning gray:
Hurrah! hurrah! for John!

Now up again for Peter,
Larks flying, twittering,
Thinking of nothing else but John and Mary!
See them flutter, and beat their wings,
Fluttering, beating,
Like little birds that wanton in the nest.
Hurrah! hurrah! for Peter!

Hark! the cuckoo calls all day for Peter,
Sings for Elizabeth, breaks away to laughter,
Till you can hear him roaring loud,
Broke into strings, like violins,
Hurrah! hurrah! for Peter!

Now down again for Paul,
Prophets, singing, prophets,
Up again for Peter,
Little children, he's preaching unto you!
So soon shall the nations see it,
Lo! the sign is come!

Hush! the lark is singing for Mary,
Sings for Elizabeth, thinks of nothing else,
Only to sing and sing for her.
It sings of the blessed Mary,
Blessed is Mary,
Blessed be her mother.

Go down again for Paul,
Prophets, singers,
Sing for him, sing his name,
Sing with your voices together,
Till you have heard his message,
Hurrah! hurrah! for Paul!

Now up again for Peter,
Prophets, songsters,
Down again for Mary,
Little children, he's preaching unto you.
So soon shall the nations see it,
Lo! the sign is come!

Over my body and under
My broken heart there lies a chain,
Which none can loose except they will;
And unless that people come,
Whose hearts are as hard as stone,
I'll lay myself and my child low.

Who goes there?  Who goes there?
Why do you gaze at the sky?
Is it the wind that you sigh?
Or is it the snow?
No! it is Death, and we feel it now.

Death comes to the house unwonted;
Children sleep without their mothers;
Everywhere silence reigns more deep;
Sun shines, but shadows fall apace,
Even where trees are set a-bloom,
On valley and hillside and plain.

You who were happy once, wait for years;
You who loved much, life has only brought
Pain and sorrow and woe;
You who were strong, lie wounded and weak,
And I am alone and old.
Yet time will bring you another birth,
Another life, another love.

When the last evening silvers the west,
Shine on our lips the star of rest;
Let us but keep the faith, and close
Our eyes on Evening's face,
Ere the night comes down with chilly dew,
To hurl us to Night's eternal throne.

The sun sinks low, the twilight falls slow,
Slowly o'er our spirits steal the shades;
Oh! let us only grieve with those who know,
In days of peace, what seasons of pain!
For Time will lead us through the same dark way,
And when he leads to Darkness, we must ride.

Come home, O Love!  Come back,
From the far off Eternal shore;
Nevermore to wander, nevermore
To roam from thy own sweet land.
Home, home, O Love, come home,
Home, forever, evermore!

Love is a wandering fire,
That seeks a sombre grove,
To curl its flickering wing around;
There, in that sacred shade,
It quivers in contentment.

Love is a spirit flower,
That blooms within this heart;
Its golden glory beams around,
With inexpressible grace.
Home, home, O Love, come home,
Home, forever, evermore!

Dear, though thine eyes are hid,
Oft by me in dreams thou stand'st;
Some loving thoughts about thee play,
Of home, of love, of bliss.
Then, dear beloved, if thy breast
One moment opens to mine,
Turning my soul to hers, say--
"Though clouds enshroud the heavenly Sun,
His smile is light enough for thee."

We two were born on opposite sides
Of a narrow earth, which mountains frame;
Both toiler in the fields--we understand--
But ne'er the shadow of each other fell;
Nor did we hear one common sound
Through the long summer hours,
Save the sounds of rain and rivulet,
That came at eventide to wash
Our stalls and thatch our roof:
Our childhood was an orphan's lot;
Each year that came with pay
Was fortune's gift to us;
And so we grew up with no need
To kiss or to quarrel,
But with a joy in everything,
A health in labor, and a wit
Responsive to requital,
And a hand in every matter
We looked to see fulfilled
After the coming of the morrow.

Yet, though our ways were apart,
Loved voice and look together came;
And though all earthly hopes had fled,
Hope lives in all mankind
(As a bright bird does in a twinkling),
And though men curse and scold,
Yet God loves not ill.
He gave us life that we might serve
His holy Cause,
And He will bless us in our work,
Whether it be good or bad,
If we look to Him for help.

Ye who have struggled with your fate,
What words can reach ye to your heart?
How can ye express your longing
For that rich hope, which yet is nigh,
Whereon rests despair? How can ye tell
Your fathers' tears how great were theirs,
For that fair land beyond the sea?
<|endoftext|>

The morning-light is clear and blue,
The early birds are singing gay,
The lark is soaring above the town,
And over the green landscape dim
The dappled sunrise burns;
So hey, then, sing!  The world is young!
Sing hey, then, sing!

The ripe, red dates drop from the tree
Like ripened fruit from the bough;
The bee is humming round the rose
And murmuring among the flowers;
The lamp is fluttering in the hall
And burning softly there;
So hey, then, sing!  The world is wide!
Sing hey, then, sing!

I saw him once before,
As he passed by the door,
And again
The pavement stones resound,
As he totters o'er the ground,
Recalling that place.

They say that in his prime,
Ere the pruning-knife of Time
Cut him down,
Not a better man was found
By the crier on his round
About the city.

But now he walks the streets,
And he looks at all he meets
Sad and wan,
And he shakes his feeble head,
That it seems as if he said,
"They are gone,"

Till a kindlier word
May perhaps some day give place
To sorrow's tone;
For after him I've heard relate
That he was a good man's son,
And that those years are long ago.

When the frost has whitened the rills,
And the scarlet berries grow,
Or the moss has grown under the stone,
And the wild roses blow,
Then the jessamine lifts up her head
In her beauty of bloom,

And she paints the dew with new power,
Or the mist sets many a flame alight,
And the geraniums nodding by
Are all lit with pink;
While the roses lift up their heads
High and higher,

And they know that the Springtime is near,
And the time for blossoming is nigh,
When the June moon is hung high with cloud,
And the stars shine out in heaven,
When the mignion reaches its height,
And the crocus bursts into bloom;

And the days grow short, and the nights grow long,
And the days die like dews,
And the hours seem long, and the hours are weary,
With the weight of hours;
And the days expire, one by one,
Until the Winter comes at last,
And the nights are longest still.

Oh, what is Summer that you come not
Upon this earth again?
You brought the sunflower's lovely seed,
And the flower sprung up and grew,
But you cannot bring me back my love,
My sweetheart of old.

It is not growing like a plant,
Making food of mortal soil,
Sprouting forth without restraint,
Grown bold in forest and thick wood,
Without control.

It is not conquering nature,
Nor making war upon night,
Which makes me question your claim,
Who boast of perfect life.
You promised me ecstasy,
But you brought but pain and care--
Why do you keep the past?

I am tired waiting for you,
Stung with bitter weeping,
Wishing the woods were lying
Under your very feet,
And that I stood beside you
At the beginning of the tale.

There is something stronger than desire
That bids me wake your name,
Something more divine than death
Climbing after you,
More beautiful than song,
Than the dawn in singing foam;
I would watch it leaping far away
Into the golden sky.

I would sit here dreaming and sobbing
A hundred years together,
Knowing that the dreamer dies,
And wakes to nothingness,
While the year slips swiftly by
On an endless trackless sea.

I would stand where you began,
And find within myself
All that is yours to take and leave--
Yet never lose forever
One trace of your soul's light;
Knowledge, and knowledge only,
Of the truth that lingers still.

What is the secret that you hide
Deep in your heart,
Some treasure you have guarded so,
So carefully,
That no one knows it, not one,
Not even you?

Is it the wealth of love or gold
That holds you spellbound?
Is it the star of faith that you
Hold so close to your heart?
Is it the strength of youth's ideal
That throbs in your breast?

No, it is not these things,
But something deeper and rarer,
Something that can never perish,
Something that will come again--
Soon, soon, when the right hour comes,
And the darkness ends,

I think it is the sound of bells
Calling men home from work,
And the voices of women calling
After the swift feet go by.
I think it is the sound of waters
Whose depths a little child may see,
Whispering a lover over his shoulder
As he skips along.

I think it is the call of birds,
Calling out their message to the trees,
Calling home their nestlings to the boughs,
Calling far off the full-grown birdmen
Calling back across the ocean seas.
I think it is the cry of children breaking
Through the heat and clamor of a summer night,
Breaking through the silences of twilight
To bid other children come.

I think it is the sigh of flowers,
Opening wide their fragrant doorways
Before the warm light of the rising sun;
The sigh of grasses waving their hands
Over the yellow cornfields of the vale;
The cry of waterfalls falling down
Their silver cascades below;

I think it is each thing that you say,
Each word and every sound and breath,
Together breathed in harmony,
Together stirred in rhythm and measure,
Till I hear the world begin to sing,
And feel the heavens respond.

I think it is the stir of all these things
That sends a language upward,
Transforming the common things of earth
Into divine sounds and words,
Mingling with God's voice as one speaks
With one who has known and touched God's power.

Out of the dark of ages,
From the silence of the dead,
Speaks a voice that none may dare to heed:
"Woman!  Wretch!" It was the Lord of hosts
Upraised His arm on the high tower
Where the Woman Prayerful sat,
And heard her prayer, and rebuked the man,
For having gazed upon her charms
In the forbidden place.

He went down from there to the deep
And terrible river of death,
Whereon the souls of sinners wailed
In torment of woe and pain,
And heard His word, and died in bliss,
And met their doom of pain and wrong.

They saw Him in Galilee,
And in Anna, and the hills
Where John baptized, and they said,
"This man shall heal our eyesight";
Then we beheld Him in flesh
By many thousands seen,
And by the Spirit in every nation,
And felt His touch, and knew His eye,
And followed Him to be healed.

We know what He did for thee,
Thou first and greatest miracle;
How He died for thee and us,
Giving Himself a sacrifice
For our transgressions, and then rose
From the grave to set us free;

For thou alone were necessary
To bring this healing about;
For without thee, couldst not be
This great effect ever wrought;
Nor without thee couldst thou conceive
Or raise thy mind to look above
Unto the heights wherein this art
Begins to reach its utmost power.

When first from Nazareth I came
Across the Jordan into Egypt,
And crossed the circuit of the land
Which once had been well-loved of him,
Who now is hated of mankind,
Because of thine inheritance,
My Master told me how Herod
Had sought to slay the Child before his birth,
And how he suffered for the sake
Of Simon son of Timotheus.

"Thy blood should be my atonement
For all the sins done by me
Since first I murdered made thee mother,
And brought thee forth for a slave
To serve for food and toy to those
Who ate not on the goodly table
Where thou wast wont to sit."

"Master," she answered me, "and what
If any soul repenteth and is glad
Of his sin, doth it make any difference
What house he comes from, or whence he is,
His blood must wash against mine own,
Before the Lamb of God shall take His seat
On the throne of glory in the sky?"

"It makes no difference whatever," said he,
"Whether the sinner be old or young;
To the stain of the same reformation is the same,
Washed or unwashed, black or white; but woe to that
Who blasphemes the Holy Ghost while he lives;
He hath around him where Christ dwelt a veil
From apostasy and perverted thought.

"But when he lies beneath the cold world's loss,
And beholds his day of sorrow pass,
And sees the fulness of his wrath fulfill
The heart which he deceived, the lips which denied,
The last bitter draught which he will quaff,
His very life-stream eternally
Shall turn to gall and bitterness.

"Hearken, O shepherd faithful unto the King,
Whose name be glorified!  I tell thee, do
Righteously, and do the commandments of God,
Though small thy store, and poor thy strength; yea, seek
No earthly good, nor treasure-trove gold,
But in thy vesture wear a heart untold
In holiness, and lay bare thy breast
Unto the Father, for the more He loves thee,
So more will have thee holden of His care.

"Give all unto the poor and needy, bless
The fruitless rich's wine, and let thy rest
Be in the lap of humility;
Take heed to guard thy heart from the scorn
Of worldly men; remember what hath past
Is forgotten, if thou keepest humble
And use well thy childhood's years of grace;
Love them that love you, bless the broken hearts
Of mothers, and the widow's mite; but say
To ev'ry ill, 'A clean heart make still,
An open door, and rest me near it.'"

Forthwith he spoke, and left the bower, and sped
Like lightning through the airy vale below;
And angels led him to an everlasting bed,
And laid him in a garment of purest white,
And cast a cloud about him, and His sleep was sweet,
And He woke with the morning, and His face was bright,
And round about the earth were shining clouds,
And the seven seals of heaven sealed his head:
And over all the earth was silence deep,
And on his eyes there streamed eternal streams,
That none might hear the sound of rumblings waves,
Till God arose, and walked upon the sea,
And called his creatures, and gave command
That a ship be built fast by the ark,
With cubits ten long, and cubit high,
And a breadth of nozzle one inch,
And a beam of no less than twenty feet,
And a square keel, and mast of forty stakes,
And a crew who none but spirits knew.
They sailed away through seas unpaid,
Unsought, unheard, and unseen;
And a little while, they sailed, till God
Bade them stop, because the work had begun
Too soon, and too great for mortals weak.
Then suddenly, as on they sailed,
God sent a terror through their souls,
As a sword through any deer's heart.
The tempest rolled from pole to pole,
And darkened all the waters round,
While the ship's whistle smote on man's ear,
And they heard the groaning of the chain,
And the stroke of time, like some hard hand
Breaking the link of age against youth,
And saying, "Begin again, begin,
Or never cease until thou achieve
Imperfect, but so much enjoy."
They stopped, and tossed up the foam again,
While the storm roared loud, and lashed the wave
Till her timbers creaked, and her shrouds rustled,
And they felt it coming, and they knew
There was nothing in the world worth fighting for.
Yet they rose up, and fought on, and gained
A foothold on a craggy ledge,
And there, amid the fury of the blast,
They saw two mighty enemies die;
Two giants, whom the Lord had raised anew,
When the world was new, before the foundation
Of this our realm, to punish our crimes.
One there was slain in fight; the other fled,
And lived to strike a vengeance through three worlds--
For he beheld, when the giant died,
The ruin of his race, and satiate sat
With knowledge of his death, and could not rest,
But fled into the wilderness, and sought
Through out the days to come, and now was grown
A pestilence among mankind, and now
He stood once more within the confines of Zion,
And reigned through kings, and ruled the people well,
Until God sent his only Son, to save
And to fulfil His words, which said, "All flesh
I deliver into thine hands," etc.;
Who came to Judea, to Jerusalem,
And the temple mount, and all the land of Israel,
And to subdue and lead back to Heaven
This dim remnant of the house of David,
Ere its final hour should seem to be.
But first He suffered many things
To be done in secret, things yet to be,
Things past imagining, impossible now;
Prostration, prayer, suffering, martyrdom,
Mightier sufferings than mortal man has known,
Dying for truth, and shedding of his blood,
To save and to build His holy faith, etc.

From out the mouth of hell,
Came flying Satan, swift as wind,
And said in anger, "It is enough!
Those millions I have gathered at my side,
What are their numbers? Have they reached Aganippe
Where Paris has his fortress? Are they come
To fall upon the faithful host arrayed
Before the ramparts of Carrhae,
Which Joseph of Nazareth governed well,
Though betrayed by Flordelice, son of that godless king
Who made him lord of all the country nigh Capri?
Are those hundreds multiplied at my word?
Come forward then, ye men of valor, peer of gods,
Stand forth, and see what resistance they offer!"
So spake the fiend, and swifter than the wind,
In the dark night, thundering down fire-slowed tracks,
Swept on its way, nor stayed till it had reached the fort,
And sallied forth, and sallied up the wall,
And climbed the battlements, and stood on every stone,
And hurled itself against the gate, and burst it down,
And Rinaldo saw, and sprang to meet its force,
And seized its feet, and with his dagger hit it thrice,
And drew the weapon from its body, and threw it by,
And shouted, "Behold what power defies thy rod!
Thou hast conquered me, thou art triumphant,
Thrice accursed dog, and I am vanquished!"
Then with his brand new cutteth [the traitor] twice,
And thrice the poison outgaspeth; and his limbs
Fall ominously stiffen'd, and his eyes grow dim,
His breath comes in painful slumbers on his lips,
And his head sinks on his breast, and his soul flies forth,
And falls beneath the doors, and open lies the gate.
Rinaldo follows with the deadly thrust,
Nor stands the blade in vain, but cuts again,
And thrice again, and makes the neck bleed wide;
At length the monster drops its dead weight, and dies
Into the dust, and leaves his broken limbs behind:
Then turns about to where his companions lie,
And draws his sword, and strives to cut their heads off,
As oft if haply chance a guileful thief should do,
Who sees his golden locks, and sees his gold, and knows
That all the wealth of France is at his mercy,
Would rob the helpless owner of his very hairs.

Him followed young Rinaldo, who no less
Had heard of Spada's deeds of prowess, and how
They were avenged by him, though an hundredfold
By him requited, being himself the chieftain
Of all the band, and of the wide domains beside.
No coward fear his blow, no fear is theirs,
For he is valiant, strong, and cunning, and knows
His foe by heart, and loves him for his own,
And would bereave him of his friend and life.
"Speak!" cried he, "my noble comrade, speak!
Why dost thou fly, when shame demands thee here?"

Spada, who loved courage, answered him, "I fly,
Not for myself alone, but for those I love,
My comrades, whom their chief protect and guide.
Their lives hang by my single arm, mine arms
Protect them, and if I slay these, I gain
The prize I seek; or let some other die,
Or do such death as I may, I shall not lose."

With that he held his ready drawn sword,
And rushed upon the creature, whose surprise
Made him forget his friends, his country, and self,
And cast aside his gentleness, and pride,
And gave himself to desperate revenge.
He struck him full, with forceful blows, and these
Were like those of Ciriatto's hammer-blow,
Whose ruin was Spada's world's great doom;
For he had sworn never more unto man
To quit the castle walls, which he had won
From false Elda with her treacherous sire.
Now through the living flesh he drove the steel,
And there overcame the cruel giant once,
And so much earth went crashing into bone
As mountains raise above their ruins deep.
This while Rinaldo from the door descends,
And bids the damsel close it fast, and bade
Close the portcullis, lest any barbarian
Should enter in, and hurt the ladies there.
But she forbade this, saying, "Alas!
Such violence you might provoke among
Those gentlewomen, and yourselves be slain;
Your castle thus in war should be employed.
Let us retire together home,
And there our wounds receive medical care."

Yet said the youth, "If we wish peace, and yet
Would gird this castle with such weapons hard,
We will go hence without this fortress' help,
Unless you shut the portal fast beforehand."
The maids assent, and closed the heavy casque,
Which kept the two in fight still joined.

When Spada sees his comrades fail,
Firmly he holds his ground, and well defends
His host, and gains a victory thence;
But when he sees his troops decay,
And that his time is come to yield or flee,
Astonish'd, sad, and pale he stands,
And rears his shoulders into a hump,
And takes a huge bulk, that evermore
Is known by the name of Castell Otho,
Inventress of many strange devices.

Thus changed he little while his shape,
But took another coat of skin,
And with a crooked shank made a spear,
And armed his tail, and called his kite, and
Spread abroad his flying hoofs in air.
These acts of daring, deeds of skill,
So bravely did he perform,
That the proud Saracens are afraid,
Conquered they feel, and trembling fall.

Meanwhile Rinaldo, having broke the force
Of the bold champion, who had lost his steed,
Springs at him with such velocity,
As if he ran by quickened flame,
And strikes him with his fists and feet,
And tears his body with the utmost pains,
Till from every part his senses wash.

The fierce Saracen, when he perceives
Rinaldo wounded sore with poisoned blade,
Leaps forth with all his strength, and breaks his shield,
Wrenches from his head his helmet sharp,
And cleft plate, and mail, and harness torn,
And rends his valiant courser's limb away:
Then, overborne by weighty mass,
Falls prone on belly up to knee.

Nor falls he soon; for Rinaldo rises
Again, renewing the assault,
And now the knight has done him grievous wrong,
And done him worse than death or black ill could;
For, breathing heavily, his eyes he raised
Unto the heavens, and prayed God to smite
The murderer of his kinsman, who pursued
Unlicenced and unlicensed, he said.

"O father, what good end was this?
What harm was it that I endured?
Was no better cure devised by me?
Did none attempt it, or dare, or dare?"
-- And answering thus the aged priest,
Who till then was silent, spoke aloud:
"It seems your thoughts, your fancy take
Another's house to attack.

"You think that cowardice conceals
Its guilt in you, or fails to discover
That you have injured no one:
And so your vengeance would ensue
On every wight beneath the sun.
But 'tis enough that you have wrenched
From off your hands the weapon's stain."

While yet he spake, the paladin
Had laid his mighty brand away,
And stretched out both his arms to heaven,
Exclaiming, "Good brother, hear!"
And rivalling voice to him replied
The martial sister of Rinaldo,
Spoke thus, with blushing cheek and blushful eye:
"I am not one, who, if a foe
Hath caught my squadrons, dares let slip
My post and forces, for the sake
Of others' safety.  This I say,
Sirs, by your leave; nor do I wreak
My wrath upon an empty suit."

He, smiling, answered her, "Nay, ne'er
Shall I this quarrel here depart,
Till these your suitors, to mine aid
United are restored,
And I behold them bleeding, dead
Or maimed, on the paynim side."
And crying out, "May Christ defend
The right, whate'er of guilty pain
They bear!" the knight untwines his cloak,
And gives it to the friar.  He next
With busy hand, himself composed,
Collects and sets apart for each
Some certain sword-rust, which within
His scabbard heals the bent steel.

Next he repairs the broken glass
To its former credit, and again
Passes the same light spectacle
With open, eager face; but when
He views anew the paladine
And courtiers drunken with delight,
He feels new fury swell his soul,
And bids his squire the trumpet sound
Once more; bidding be it heard
That Palaestrina's foes may know
Their fate, and pity bid them rise
And give some succor to their king.

When this is seen, the knights around
Give instant heed unto the word,
And routs thick as autumnal leaves
Are flitting high and fast between
Thick ranks of helms and tiaras;
While loud the trumpets braying clear
Make earth and heaven resound.

Paler grows Rogero than before,
And pale as any corpse that breathes
Must come the day's end; for grief and shame
Summon all our life to an ending;
And, like a thing possessed, his mind
Is clouded, and his limbs move slow;
Yet will not he delay to break
Those horns, lest haply they should bleed.

At once the warrior blows the horn;
And ever and anon the blast
In thunder makes the sky descend:
Not half so keen the sounding horn
Which Hidraort gave into Charles's hand,
(Whose blood was justly vainly bought)
By him usurped and violated,
And used by him ingloriously.

Rogero, hearing the bugle call,
Stands still, nor lieth down to feed
His wearied eyes, but stands advanced
With parted lips, where hangs the shield,
Wherewith his foeman might have fought;
And there without moving word or blow,
Waits, like a brave anchored ship.

Now less than nothing must be known
Of palmers' lore, who well have read
How in close fight a man should ward
A blow, whose point may fall at need,
If left entire; nor that of force
Against a stronger man not weak,
Though able to injure, denied;
So skilfully can the wind
Windward bend the buckler round.

This work requires much skill and art,
As e'en the broadest axe or spear
Brings less success than negligence.
Nor is it enough to shun the blow,
The champion needs judgment as to when
To turn, and how to ward the stroke;
But little wins in war alone,
Without good counsel also served.

Rogero, though himself unaware,
Has thither turned his steps several ways,
Lest he should fail in the assault;
And now, while standing many miles
Beyond the reach of the descending storm,
Begins to doubt if he shall slay
That virgin or offend in her defense.

She from her courser bears aloft
Upon her shoulder what appears
An iron chain, three fathom long,
Rod and reel, all alike concealed,
Together bound in one another;
Which she extends to distant lands,
And, having made a way for them,
Departs without further words or thought.

It chanced that, through that passage overgrown
With brake and brambles, poor Muleteer,
Who wandered late from his first abode,
Was by the noise and stir disturbed,
And finding himself in danger, sped
Before the rest; who seeing her gone,
Turned to return whence he had came,
Upon the sudden that the damsel bore
Into the forest dark and dread.

There, being far behind the rest, he found
-- As well he might -- a damsel gay,
Who seemed to take pleasure in the chase,
And, following her, sought to keep pace;
Until she overtook her, and then
Her arms about him were extended;
"And art thou come," said she, "come hither,
For surely wilt thou me affray?

"I am thy sister!  Ah, my brother, say
What means this outrage on thee, who art
My only and my most beloved son?"
"Nay, nay!  I would," replied the other,
"Would love thee more than either of these."
"Then, hear me, daughter," Rogero cried,
"Would that I were both of us together!"

And thus began the maid to woo her sire:
"Dear father, since thou gavest me a bride,
Fair as the sun that lights the world below,
And after death didst send me forth to roam,
Seeking a stranger husband, here I stay;
Since thou, with loving heart, hast given me home
In happy time, and granted me content
To dwell beneath thy roof, and share thy reign.

"Oh, grant my prayer, and yet again restore
My youth and beauty, which were dearer far
Than all the wealth of Araby or Persia;
Or all the store that greedy Pluto hoards,
Hiding his theft therein; or all
The gold that kings obtain from captive sands
On Persian mountains; or the stores that lie
Underneath the northern stars, or else
All the incomparable gems that deck
Arcadia's lofty hills."  He replying spake:
"Wise is thy wit, and prudent is thy speech.

"But hence, away!  I cannot suffer thee
Heretofore to wander to and fro
In such unhallowed air; within this land
Is forbidden to tread, outside, tree, stone,
Or shadow.  Away, and shun those foes
That wait around to do thee mischief; see,
They approach, and mock thee with their shout."

When she heard him, straight the youthful deer
Left his mother's side, and turning fled
Across wide wastes of water moorish sand,
O'er riven cliffs, and crowded dikes, and dun
Deserted plains, till at last he felt
Safe seated on an island, shaded clear,
Wherein were herds of cattle feeding.

And there he stayed, until the morrow's dawn,
Feeding on fruit, and grazing on the grass,
Till he had told the tale that they required;
Then took his leave, and soon reappearing
Brought back the damsel.  But before the knight
Had loosed his horse, and put his weapon into use,
He was attacked by two savage dogs, so fierce
That none could tell whereend the strife began,
Each daring to assail the other's life.

One at the neck, one at the flank Rogero smote,
Crashing their teeth against each stanchion-band:
Dizzied the dogs fell, and struggling with their pain
Their jaws were full of blood, but no retreat
Could be had thenceforth: for still the other hounds
Raged on, nor knew the worthier foe remained.
So the boar doth open fight declare, whereon
The stag has oftentimes been fain to yield,
And oftentimes has changed his faith, and cast
His weight and strength about, but turns not back.

Rogero smites one, and then a second, then
A third.  The beasts are pressed to precipices,
Nor howling any can endure, though light
And fearless.  No strain may him sustain,
Whose forehead strikes the flying blow.  'Twould seem
As if the dog had feared the better part,
And turned aside at the first onset, but
That not in vain, for he was slain
By the good sword of its master.  Such show
Of furious rage was shown by them both,
Such fury was in Hector and in Rodomont.

Rodomont, who saw the instant fate draw nigh,
(Because the dog would pass beyond his reach)
Fiercely stretched out his arm, and made his blow.
The tooth alone was lost which served to guard
The throat; but through the shoulder the strong lance
Was driven home, and pierced the bowels down below.
Blood spurted everywhere; and there arose
A hideous shriek, such as when wind sweeps over fields
With rain, and every bough and bush in sight
Shrinks shudderingly.  This terrible sign was that
Which showed that death was near; and here the king,
Who might have taken some comfort, found it not.

Hunger now possessed him, and he raged
Even as a child whose anger takes a rise
Against his nurse, who does him ire and hate,
And makes him impatient, afraid and sore;
And while his eyes wax dim, he casts them round
Upon the field, and, mad with spite and wrong,
Spurs his courser on, and rushes headlong on
Before the enemy.  With Rodomont's blood
Was mingled Phlegyas' life-blood, and the blade
Smitten was Rodomont more than the other;
For Phlegyas escaped, for he had left the peer
Behind him, when he sped, and followed him
Only to aid his brother.  Nor did the king
Turn from the twain whom he met, but cried aloud:
"What boots it now with these to battle joined?
If thou art Rodomont, who used to guide
The swiftest chariot in all our host,
Why flinch thou from the combat?  Leave to them
The car behind, and give thine own to drive;
I will pursue my road, and seek my band
Among the multitude."

To whom the warrior thus: "Thy fear is vain,
Unworthy of a valiant man like me.
My heart within my breast is burning bright
With exceeding heat; and ne'er was mortal wight
While Saturn ruled the heaven and Olympus shook.
I will not fly or turn aside; I follow
Thee, Sir Knight, whose great prowess none shall doubt;
For never from the field I yielded place
Unto another knight, unless compelled
By mighty numbers.  Thou say'st that we are few;
Say, what is true,--and who knows most, himself!
But this I know, that should the Moorish host
Number us all, with battlements adorned,
We yet should fail of victory, because
Our champion is too brave."

King Agramant replied: "It is true said,
That we are few; but if the palm be won
By others, 'tis only by the hand of God.
Now therefore perish one and all along
This army, who refuse our succor.  If you
Be unwilling that I chase these dogs that gnaw
At the skirts of Spain, I will go myself,
And will bring down many more, who shall slay
These Moors and all their allies."

Thus saying, his whole person he drave
Into a shape resembling that of a wolf.
Great wonderment was expressed throughout the camp;
And Gama, who the strange adventure heard,
Believed that Rodomont had perished quite,
And deemed the monarch dead, upon the spot.
But, as before was seen the color pale
Over the visage, and the cheek wore a shade
Darkened with sweat, so much more abashed and scared
He seemed to stand, and moved his lips in vain
To utter a word, until the sweat ceased entirely.

Then, leaping forth, he rushed against the foe,
And struck Rodomont so well that his right thumb
Became a stump, cut off where the nail went through.
Grimly he vaunted, shouting: "See, see that hand
Which once extended touched the ring, no longer mine!
So fair a thing was never done of old!"

Rodomont caught up his hammer, and smote full
On the blacksmith's nose; but he, whose dread was then
Less of himself than of the paladins, drove
His fist back sharply, driving the hammer to earth
Hard after Rodomont's fist, and broke the crown
Of his left ear, so that his brains gushed out.
As the two warriors fought, and sprang back again,
Each wounded in various parts, each fearing loss
Of hand or life, the Tartar turned his eye
From one to mark the other, and cried loudly:
"O shame to Spain!  O shame to Hercules
(Whose name this day has fallen from the roll
Of fame) and shame to chivalry!  These foes
Resistless strike, and though cleft by my hand
Are not so broken as I am by mine work.
Would that I were eighty years of age,
So might I fight them as they would fight me!"

Meanwhile the Moorish king, amid the throng
Of slaughtering foemen, cast between his feet
A long staff, and said: "Haste now, lest they
Should urge their flight ere you can cast your spear."
Forthwith he hurled it; but the shaft flew wide
Of its mark, for before King Mandricardo
It fell. And as he saw the weapon glancing
In the king's direction, he turned his back
And drew up his foot, and said: "No further speech;
Draw to the attack till every Moorish head
Is pounded into bloody pulp."  Thus he spoke,
And manduc'd his men; and straightway they advanced
With shout and cry, and pierced the ranks of France.

And now the trumpet sounded warning, loud and clear,
Through all the host, and soon the people fell
Back on themselves, and coward fled from fight.
Nor Mandricardo stayed his flight alone,
But followed far, for he esteemed it best
His second effort to make, while his first lay
In ashes.  Thrown among the rout was he,
Who tugg'd his stirrup down, and in haste retir'd.

When his fellows saw him hurrying there to fight,
They yell'd aloud, and casting loose their armour,
Cast themselves before the vanquish'd foes.
One and all, their palms were stretch'd out, and thus
Spoke through the clamour: "If thou hast power to do
Aught else to us, save us from the pain
Here given, and let us live, as we have liv'd.
Too long we suffer, and ford doomd by thee
Condemn'd to death.  No need hath he, who does thee
This service, to be watchful or to fear us,
Since thou art bound to him by solemn oath."

So they, with such great fury, strove who should be
The first to fall; and none could match the zeal
Of Malagigi's troop; whence issuing forth,
They made their horsemen seize the pass, and there
Slay them with sword and fire.  The remnant flech'd
Their arms, and yielding to the conquerors' hands
Joined their friends, and ten thousand Moors laid low.

Caught in the middle of this fierce encounter,
Ran Ladas, whom the Christian knights in time
Granted their champion.  Before the rest
He stood, and with the courage of a man
That feels the wound which kills the sense, he cries:
"Amazement seizes me, when I view
Those warriors, morion'd warriors, that about
Me swirl a smoke, that obscures the sun,
And those behind me precipitate a gloom,
That makes me almost turn mad with fright:
So blind am I, and what is more, so blind
To what the foremost says, that he fails to bring
That contradicts his tale."  He continued,
"I know not, nor are ye able, at this point
To distinguish, so distant from their guilt,
Whether they lunged to kill, or falchion'd hurl'd
Their weapons.  Give place, and let us down
The bridge into the river," -- (the water rais'd
Its roar beneath them) -- "for if they were
Lunatics, much rather had they lain
Squatting in the ditch below; for here,
I trust, they would have deserved that fate."

"Not necessarily," replied the groom,
"Whate'er their crime, they shall not 'scape our vengeance
By reason of their wile.  Vengeance is no beam
Exempted from hell; and where 'twill most avail
Is wherewith 'tis hardest to strike, and darkest pressed."

Thus spake the groom, and troubled in his mind
Remained the pious monarch; for the crowd
Were pressing hot upon him, and his pride
Tore him anew.  But while he perplex'd himself
Yet more, and look'd what answer might be drawn
From either side, above the intervening space
A voice came thundering: "lest thou shouldst feel
The deadly blow, that deals the forfeiture,
Dismiss the thought;" and then again was heard:
"Let him who nothing barrs thy fortress, follow
Espoused to ruin, go!"  Such the sounds,
That mixt with horror, whirling dizzily
Threw mine guardian unto the very brink,
Whose bed too steep was, and whose winds infuriate
Blow fiercely, chafing his strong-wheeled car.

Wherefore he cried: "O Father! why intent
Upon me, that I should so alone
Defend myself?  besides, who knows my way,
My secret travel?"  The silence added doubly
To his apprehensive mood, and he began
Again: "It little profits, that for one
I care so well, another without so well
May justly seek to justify his cause,
While good or bad so ebbeth balance between
Both changed but in its aspect.  If thou please,
Show me the traitor."  He thus: "Naked I stand
Before thee.  Thou must surely see and hear
Already enough: how once not so I act,
 and now so poorly.  Seen from Tuscany,
Once arrived at speed, mine odorous breath,
Through warm moist air, smites the temperature;
Now from Catria 't is sunk, and in pace
Useless, far overtask'd of earthly powers.
How long will it suffice me, after say
These piteous words, until the night arrive,
For cleaning the altar, where, entrailed and drear,
The priest, I thinking, sucks the venomed snake?
With thee I trusted to have endur'd the storm,
And joined in marriage, and in glory join'd.
How can I wed, if loathsome be the bride?
Do you, mother, help me!"  She to her son
No longer than was enjoin'd she did attend,
But with her hand on his arm, she whispered: "Care
Behold!  that through ambush thieves may not seduce
The helpless prisoner."  Onward she mov'd,
She as was chance, or guided by the guide,
Who other way oppos'd; so proceeding, found
The guard conspicuously absent one:
When she with eager voice: "Master!  where is he
So delayed?"  He answering spake: "Forth into the wood
Pursuing a miry beast, the fiends have snatch'd him."

UPON the utmost verge of a high bank,
By craggy rocks environ'd round, we came,
Where woes beneath more cruel yet were strown.
Scarcely the top, or bottom thick with sand,
Was left, where now the solid base was seen.
In act to climb, my hand was show'r'd to die,
And to continue levell'd, before me was pluck'd
Off the rough boulder with ease by some power
Given forth from Sorrow, which when I saw, towards
Thebeyond all earthly things skill'd I ask'd :
"Why toucheth he such pity, who none sees?
What misery is his who bears it?"  At each knee
The shade descenten made, with looks of torment,
 And said, "Vanity, illusion, veneer
Of the real thing!  It was like this when I
First appeared, and breath'd forth being, matching with God.
I flippant looked, like faith, before I fell.  That Eye
Which is the pledge of heaven, and in it walks,
Life and death, love and mercy, held me up,
And smote me, down I fell, and forever leave
Among these rocks.  Thereafter, not less
Disparaging than profane, people gave
Me a name, lest [they] should suppose me born
Cursed, and unworthy birth amongst them that live.
Thereafter still the sun and moon and stars
Made dedication to the world with song;
And lamps were kindled o'er my grave, and flowers
Greeted therein, but not with homily or psalm.
Therefore your disrespect does me evil;
You think no time nor place is left to teach
Your piety.  Go to, and on the way say
That I am dead, and by what means they fell."

His words perplext the sorrowful shadow:  back
It recoiling drove a distance almost half
The journey of thy body.  What he told
Were said, and she returned new bitterest throes.
Said I to him:  "This is he, who cries aloud
Against the malice and treachery of men,
Because with falsehood they do his honour damage."
He answered:  "Yes, in our common race with these
Him error and natural weakness fall under.
But tell me; in his own soul was there ever
Actual hate or envy, or what proportion
Ranged within the bosom, for the two opposing
Parties against one another?"  Like to the rest,
I saw the smoke of anger, curling behind,
Ere answer had been made, whereat I heard:
"If ye desire to know," said he, "then let these
Fire upon the ground at whichever side
Commit the blame."  With eyes intently fix'd
I on the front of him inquir'd, whence they both
Glazed (each bugle alike) with combined rage
Exerted us toward the mountain.  Our progress
Was retarded by the clouds, that on us hung
Chang'd with additional wrath, while we thither
Descended:  and thus the sire bespake:
"O thou!  who to this maze of blind alley ways
Dost invert thy gaze, and see the path beforehand,
Whoso among the patrons here present sits,
Money-changer!  him will I first notify
That himself and companions come out on this side;
Then send, that he come onward, and keep close watch
On either side, if haply there he find any gate
Open, or negligently left, or misdelivered,
Or lodged in any sloth, or neglected, or defective."

With fixed adoration, and a heart
Inexorably fastening on the man, whose word
So giv'st grace, 'twould seem ne'er move others to delay
Their return, till all circumstances be fully known.
From him doth then depart, who hath renew'd
Its bands of magic, and its rays of sacred light.
Here good Gherardo turn'd his steps, our route
Next following, near the summit ourselves
Survey'd of late diminishing, when rarefied
We grew in height, and through chasm after chasm
Had measur'd of cold horror steep'd.  Thenceforth
All lightness was gone, and with strong step on high
Toward the renewed mountain bent his eye.
O'er us new loftier peaks were looming large
At last, never yet so lofty reached:  and Heav'n,
To welcome him, her highest arch emit'd.

Laugh'd then a spirit, while we in mute surprise
Throbb'd with laughter:  "Laughing makes clean flesh
Feel little of the joys that breed decay;
And how, if such as make themselves their flight
From great debauches, iligants repent
Fast dying?"  To whom thus replied:  "Ah!
For that which erst thou scoff'd, now prove; and learn
Nor heav'n's purer air, nor Heaven's sweet dewie springs,
Cause to die.  Those, whom thou remembrest
From earth departed, did so habit us
With the gross air, that more than thousand years
Our form did change distinctly.  But today
For all those changes was our shape chang'd
Again into their original, quick,
As {127a} they, who from their nature further did revert
(Those only, whence current thought of ours doth flow),
And especially such as in this course did ship
Through the open deep."  Then to whom I answ'ring stated,
"Ye are quite mistaken," said he, "who deem
The oceans thus dethroned by Earthsself Can rise again.
Nothing can return to naught, nor upward move:
Such impartially by tender ties enjoin'd
Aye unto all, bad or good, that each may gain
Just mastery over self.  There is an order,
Enchantment says, amongst things sensuous perceived,
And of the primal things most prominent is this:
All hath its rank, and every member works
The member of all else: be sure, then, the mind,
Whose powerful influence I bear, set forth
Arithmatic truth: not in vain it seeks
To teach us how one stroke of the hammer
Is effected, and how many there be
Who pass for whites upon the dunghill turf."
Then he, who led us, saying, "Sorrowful path!"
Began to tell his tale, and I did follow.

"Now, reader! think thee clearly why we spake
Of the previous generation; and the cause
Why we did not enter: for the mingled blood
Of man and bullocks is dark in Hell.  A way
There is from hither, not unlike that, only less strait,
And twisting around a single rock: men, bulls,
And swine, along this way do endlessly throng:
And thou mightest there have peep'd at them, but that 't was forbidden.
Here dipp'd out, at times, the lazy bovINE does rest
Upon the mossy stone; and O! how lean and hideously
Do some look figure, resting on that common bedding!
Obliquely some their foreheads can reach above,
Absorbing the straw into their bellies:  some their necks
Between their legs bunched, like steeds that cut the mead:
Some sweeter wool go soft gliding across their shins:
Others squat:  and some fall over, lying flat,
Cross-wise or cross-long.  Eager appetites
In paunches of these the trenchers heap, home-sent."
He saw us no longer, and had despatch'd us straightway
With warning muffled sound.  We stood not still,
But sorrowfully went on, half lost amid the crowd.

"Ere from the wall thy foot shall lift, thou shalt see
Baffinning lovers in haste, before thee standing,
Each armed with off-spread finger:  thus they will entice
Thy eyes with fair looks, feigning smiles they know not what;
Another wile another time will ply thee,
By showing what thou wouldst not:  and a third band
Will fall back, concealed, to show thee, ere thy stay
Be shortened, a long one, where the flock is thick.
They will entice thy heart, with love's own fire, to burn
So deeply, they will turn hard hearts to stones.  They will take
The fondness from thy breast, whose unwearied care
Whet thine arm o'er rough ways:  and they will sow,
Within thy breast, seeds of grief and of despair.
When thou hast been by these tortured many hours,
Thou wilt come where those unhappy hold the reins
Cannily thrown to them, by means of those who drive
The wretched vehicle:  and thou wilt view, within
That train, one fixed melancholy matron,
She, from whose brow plumed winds the whirlwind of ill,
Black-handed, ever driving fortune's wheel
Crude through her chariot:  she will bid thee leave
The other, and come after her, and ask
What thou wouldst hear; yea come! speak!  She cannot fling
Her words away:  she bids full bitter fare
Adieu to wine and minstrelsy, to gold,
Glorious office, peace, and gentle airs,
And all the world's delights.  She bids thee rue
Far more than she has heard herself told
Since great Alpheus left Cithaeron safe.
She bids thee weep, so that thy drops shall stream
Like to the Rhone:  and she shall make thee weep
Forever:  and for her sake forsake
Friends dear, and gird thee with a cruel sword,
That as thou goest, cutting throats, thou tread'st
On the heads of many.  The ungrateful land
Shall give thee nothing save thorns alone,
If she may find a Trojan face to feel
Pity when she cuts thy hair.  Thou art condemned
To wear that iron badge forevermore,
As thy conquered front shalt witness, till
Thine everlasting locks grow silvery down
Before the sun's heat.  And if thou should'st swear
A oath falsely, and another sworn
After thereof, both verily and truly
Affirming, such power shall be among
The gods, that either never shall those parts
Of thee appear again on earth, or once
Once done, shall never happen.  But if here
Thou supplicate any god, he shall deny
His worship, and utter scorn for thy distress.

"I am aware that in our place of birth
All things are given for liberty, and for
The right to choose whom we please, and to adjust
Our destiny, and alter our condition:
Wherefore it is not without record the fame
Of Ida and her roseate shrine.  There came
Minerva, who came from out Ades too,
Which bubbled up in fury one day behind
The walls of Troy, because Achilles there
Had slain his sheep in cold blood, and now there
Was blood upon the fresh-turned soil.  Then the shades
Of night arose and hid the daylight there,
And the wind raised the spray on every hand,
And drove it on the herdsmen's wings aloft
Into the sky, while over the city-walls
The sable rain beat upon them from the clouds.
Then Peleus' son, the glorious chief, was moved
Beyond all men in might to pity, and cried:
'Oh ye Trojans, let your compassion rise
Full to its height now, lest the Fates drive us on
Apart hence, nor let a people more my kin
Arise to battle for this blood.'

"'Go then,' he said, 'before the ranks are broken,
Yield you yourselves prisoners, and withdraw
From the fight, leaving the dead within the gates
For Priam's children to succour at their pleasure.
Let some brave man stand guard whilst others fly,
Or else the dust of death shall blanket all the field.'

"Thus far he spoke:  but in the midst of all
There came a dauntless maiden forthfrom the rest,
Fair-hair'd Amarynceis, daughter of Aretias,
Who had in charge the cattle of the herd, and saw
The blood upon the trampled ground, and heard the cry
Of slaughter'd horses, and the groanings of the drivers.
With vengeful thoughts she went into the press,
And smote with her sharp spear the belly of a lion,
Son of Hippolochus, who lay relaxing in the kennel,
Whose mouth was open'd, and who seem'd half asleep,
(Not like a lion slumbering) when she entered.
Swiftly she slew him, and amid the bloody vomit
Leap'd upon his knees, and thus she spake to him:
'Amphialus, oh forbear! oh shrink not from me!
My father sent me to implore thee, oh forbear!'

"This said, she seized her sharp javelin, which were 9 in all
Her weapons, and struck the laden guts of the beasts,
Until they fell headlong to the ground, and quaked
In agony.  On this she sat down, and ate
The entrails of the slaughtered, and satisfied
Her thirst, by drinking the dark blood, and rested there.
But Aretiaous, son of king Ptolemyus,
Followed close, and saw her eating the fat,
Nor stinted even for the precious bane of bread.
They stood before her, and the youth thus began:
'Why, wretched creature! is it so? that thou hast eaten
The heart of a wild beast; and in thy stomach
Hast grind'd the marrow, and hath lain upon
The flesh of other men's slain, and drunk the blood
Shed by the wretch that killed thee, and hast no shame
To sit down beside the altar of the goddess
That gave thee food, and comforts thee with her rites?'

"So they in anger looked each other in the face,
While from their mouths they hurled their javelins, and they hit
Each other's temples; yea, and I was ware of both
At once, though 'twas hard for breath, that battle raged
Beneath the high Doric pillar, where the sons
Of Greece and Troy did oftentimes retreat, when
One host seemed fatigued, and needed the help
Of sleep and food.  But when they knew each other well,
Troy rushed with shout and clang of armour on the foe,
Leading with fierce havoc the chariots of Greece.
As when two steeds clash on mountain tops, and one
Has drunk deeply of the stream, and seems nigh fain
To topple o'er the sides of the deep abyss,
Yet breaks his neck with weighty whip and reins,
And scours with desperate speed through thickets brown;
On such a windward shore the hosts met fiercely.
Some leapt on ships and took them by the prow,
Others on foot fought on the wet sand with blades
Pricked in haste against the stiffened limbs of bulls.
Some clad themselves in greaves of firm gold, some
In doublet mantles flowered white, or triplets
Of purple hue, some in helmets and some bare,
Some with shields grappled arms, and some with poles
Strung athwart the axletree their stubborn hands
Strove to break asunder.  Forth the earth shook
Under their feet, and shuddered, as under snow
Black ice comes to and fro.  Shrill sounds rang round
And fearful shrieks arose, and many a fiery spark
Spired upward to the ether.  Some wrestled down
Strong men with outstretched hands, and some threw them down
Hard to the solid turf, and some with twisted cords
Carried great stones up toward the roof above.
And some drew swords, some struck with blunt and knotted whips
Upon the reddening sodden bulwarks, while some
Smote with stones on the lower side, and some with sticks,
And some with leaves and branches cracked beneath.

Meanwhile AEneas, ship returning home,
Had lost Ulysses in the sea and main,
Where rough winds blew and waves ran highest.
He, following on the current, reach'd Amphissa
And plough'd his way along the beach, but found
No sign of Minos, nor Triton's caverns, where
His bull had fed, but all deserted, save
A little fish left swimming in the sea
Fast-frozen within the horns of a huge tree.
There too he found the bones of a hero old,
Who lived in those days, Tydeus, whom the Greeks
Have chanced to lose, but whose name was treasured down
By Neptune, ere he cast him into the deep.
These things the wise old man, wandering back to shore,
Lifting the bones, inquired about them, and cried:

'"O son of Laertes, noble Diomede,
How came you to die upon the bitter seas,
Without one pitying tear to ease your pain?
Did heaven, or the stern Euboean powers,
Forbid you to cross the foam, or doom you death,
Or leave you faint at the end of your voyage,
When you return from the unknown regions far,
Scarce knowing whether you have been harmed or spared?"

'"My friend, I neither know nor care to know,
If fate has befallen me, or if the gods
Have sent me to the uttermost of my troubles.
I care not, myself, how the Muses feel:
It were better than to suffer these afflictions
Without a remedy.' This was his last words."

Then answered Telemachus, "Old man, none other
Can speak of this, than he who was himself;
Therefore let him relate his tale.  What god
Ordains that we should now go forth, and seek the house
Of Orestes, and his daughter, both together?
This shall I do--at least I will order it--
Before the coming of my father."

Thus spoke Telemachus; then in his hand
He took a piece of tawny bronze, long, wide,
And strong, which there was none of the Phaeacians
But would covet, so eagerly did the king
Encounter with it the gift of Pallas.
He bade Minerva take the golden wand
Which she had made for her own honour's sake,
That she might pour rapture on the suitors,
And make them love again and give alms.
The wand was full three fingers' length, and held
Two eyes of dragon form, and like a dove's they
Sucked the olive oil before the altar.
From off the board he wiped away the dust,
And bade the servants spread the linen fair
With fleeces and with wool of blue, that he
Might choose the garments for his sons and daughters.
They wrought at once, and thus Helen dealt
In choosing out their goodly raiment. They laid
Down their long dresses, and chose their shining locks
In fair multitudes, and gave their sisters fair
Dresses by turns, and loosed the strings of rich robes
Around their waists. Then they led them forth to view
Their splendid cloisters and their flowery lawns,
And placid springs, and fountains running wine.
So on they went till they had seen all
Their glories, and the sun set, red and hot,
On the cold sea.

Now when they were come
To the harbour entrance of Pylos' isle,
There where the folk lay sleeping, then the queen
Began the strangers to escort, and said:
"See here our honoured guests; release thy fear.
Men say that thou art come thither to see
Ulysses, but the truth is more sublime.
We are his friends, and hither shalt thou come
At his desire, and with his blessing bless
Our hearts once more. Go then with speed; the ship
Hath no untoward gale, and we have store
Of food and water, and a valiant host
Ready to aid thee. Come, dear guest, abide
Here in our palace, and obey my voice.
First will I send thee one, who shall say everything
To thy liking, such as thou wilt hear, and bear
Thy orders heedfully. If any word seem wrong,
Beneath my direction it shall be righted.
Another shall be thy interpreter,
One who shall write all things down, and shall be his
Helper, and thy witness against the others,
Till thou hast heard, and seen, and learnt what is best."

She spake, and called Telemachus, who came
Leading Mercury, her lord, as swifter than light,
Leaving the court through the upper porch, and found
Minerva waiting at the inner gate. She stood
Quiet as iron, while with quickening pace
Came the swift prince, and bearing in his arms
The stranger goddess, whom he knew not, named her,
Telemachus. And even now she stood fixed
As in a vision, and her hands were folded
While she looked down from heaven, and thus she asked:
"Why, O my child, hast thou, herself, arrived
Home after much travel, and encountered dangers,
Even as thou sayest? From thy native land
Where met thee never man? Where met thy ships?"

"Mother," replied Telemachus, "in my flight
Through many lands, I have met with every one,
Yet never yet did I find one born of men,
Or dwelling among mankind. All the world
Was open to me; I went to many places,
Pursuing my way through the vastness of the earth.
Only the goodness of great Jove preserved me
Amidst all danger, for the goddess Thetis
Sent me a fair oar, that none should follow after,
Made of some fine gold, bound with the gift of Diana,
Forging it with her silver hammer; so I ran
Out upon the deep, and breathed the fresh air amain.
A sudden thought, however, distracted my mind,
And filled my heart with grief. My mother died,
My aged sire left me to mourn for his death,
And now I wandered o'er the unfathomable seas,
And saw the smoke arising from the houses of men,
Who had perished in their houses by the blow of Troy.
I could not bear to look on any more the sight
Of human corpses, and I turned my thoughts from woes
Beyond human measure. There came, however, to mine
An immortal messenger, by the name of Hebe,
Whom I entreated kindly, and who sweetly answered
All my questions; and she told me to go to Tenedos
And seek the golden fleece that Neptune has his hand
In, that he may obtain his heart's desire."

Then wise Telemachus answered, "Nurse, of myself
I speak, though indeed it were hard for me
To ask or order anything of thee. But tell
Me of this godlike stranger, if indeed he be
The very man whose advent into the house of Gods
Have lifted up my soul to an unnatural height,
And kindled love within my breast, which was before
Like to a lifeless thing, now that it is healed.
Say also, 'He is gone hence, nor can he return
Until another spring, the due season being long,
With breezes wet and warm, works its healing change
Over the eyes. So soon shall he at last arrive
At Pylus, and at his own country?'  For now
No longer do I doubt but that he lives and reigns
Already, and hath already been received
By the old kings into their mansions, there to sit
Among them at his father's side, and enjoy
His full entitlements, ere he comes to you.
But tell me truly this, and truly too--
Is this the first time that ye have met together
Together, and that ye have both held conference
With one another, since we sailed away
From Peleus? for nought I ever read of
In book, or heard of, how ye met each other
Ere that ye left Ithaca, or how I
Watched you from afar, when Idomeneus
Sailed forth with you from Imbros onto the main.
Tell me true, and be no whiner about it,
What brought us again into one place--me,
Against your will, leaving you all lonely,
Alone with people and sea-gang, what the cause?"

To him answered Helen, "Menelaus, son of Atreus,
This too seems just. Were it a thing of ease,
There would not have been a single instance
Of your making excursions, either on foot,
Or trailing in a chariot, or following
Some dromond. But ye are bent, it seems,
Upon a journey far-fetched, and fain
Would ye establish yourselves wherever -
Yea, though ye came to a foreign land,
Would they not treat you with obsequies
Forevermore? Ye must endure to wait
Till some day come when, having crossed the seas,
Ye reach the land whereof I tell you now.
And when ye stand within your new abode,
Men shall remember how ye came hither,
How you sat us down beside the ships,
And ate the bread of strangers, and drank
Unfermented wine, and gave it us who sent
You on the perilous errand. Then, too,
When ye come thither, ye shall hear lamentation
Of those who died in pitiless war, and of
Those who suffered tortures in the hands of foes.
Then, too, ye shall see, with sorrow pressing
Your hearts, the monuments of heroes fallen
By Trojan hands, and by Athenian spears,
And shall behold our city, and ye shall weep
Before the temples of Achilles,
Father of thyself, and thou shalt vie
With weeping women round about the graves
Of Hector and Patroclus, whom the host
Of Greece hath slain, and whom their bodies keep,
That so the memory of these might perish,
And ye might pile up for the Trojans a mound
Where Menelaus, son of Atreus, may lie,
And lay the bones of Hector, hero bold,
Who was beloved by us all, beneath the mound
Which now lies overgrown and useless, since
The morn has overtaken me, and the day
Has fled. But come--set here the tripod, and take
These loaves of smooth loaf, that yet unbroken are,
For I made them all myself, and baked the crust
As for a wedding feast, and laid the flesh
Between the saffron rolls, that ye may eat
Without the fear of ravening dogs, and find
A savour like to nectar in your drink.
Take care of these, lest haply while ye feed
On these, the foul vermin, the insatiate night
Should touch you, and should make off with them all,
Or cast them to the eagle, bird of prey,
That sits upon the towers of Troy, or to the hounds
Whose mouths are in the fields of Thrace, or to the birds
That haunt the wooded and desolated regions
Of Stratia, or the river Tumarius;
So may ye pass a whole twelve months undismayed."

She spake, and set the bread upon the board, and took
Her seat by Nestor's feet, and bade him fill
A mixing-bowl with wine, and drew her knees
Apart apart, and took the meal in silence,
While to her heart she sighed, and thus expressed
Her mind as hers were the guiding star
Of action and forethought: "Ah, why, oh why,
Hath he departed? This man, if he were mine,
Might give me children, and delight my wife
Lest he return, and share our pleasures with us,
And he would serve our people well, and fight
Our battles, and defend our soil from wrong.
He is not of the ignoble race, nor himself
Can boast his parents' wealth; but good gold
And precious raiment he needs must buy, to clothe
His limbs in armour, and furnish others arms.
I could not bear to leave him on the road
Firm-bound, nor follow after, but I knew
My mother would outlive me, and that soon
An aged woman like herself would wed
Some young man fit to command great forces,
And I would have been a hindrance, and a stain
Upon the house, and on myself. So I said
To Clytius and Eurymachus, the best
And most intelligent of all our friends,
'Let me abide here till my mother comes.'
They consented, and themselves provided
All things requisite for our stay, save sleep,
Nor would allow us to want for such.
But we, poor women, slept in the hall,
Clytius and myself in an upper room
Beside the fire, while they without kept watch
Night and day, and dealt us meat and drink,
And bade the servants bring their guests away.
But when the twelfth month had gone by, then
The old king called a meeting of all the Phaeacians,
Saying, 'Friends, there is a matter that requires
Concern and attention. There is a ship,
Pleased with her fortune, which at anchor rides
Near the town, and brings many goods from Spain,
And pays her sailors, and her cargo sells well.
Now let me call together all the men
Professed to be able to procure a prize,
And bid them come, with ten galleys behind them,
And build a galley under my own eye!
If Neptune, god of the deep, will grant us peace,
And grant us glory, I will put forth my force
In battle against some neighbour nation,
And will obtain both gold and renown.'
Amphinomos gave this speech, shrewd of tongue,
Son of Cteatus, skilled in all the arts
Of pleading, and of eloquence the best.
Thus he began: 'Old chief, indeed thou hast spoken
Arguably, and wisely too, concerning war,
War, methinks, where ships meet combat in the air.
But let us think; what is our country's fame?
What do our fathers tell of Peleus and Achilles?
How Aias slew him, and Achilles drove him back
From Troy, and forced him to retire into the mainland,
There to live out the remainder of his days in tears?
Then how shall we answer when the suitors ask
From us the means of conquering Argivemen,
When so often, by the might of Peleus' son,
We've driven them before our walls, and borne them back?
Shall not one then of us tell the others,
Why we're stronger far than they believe,
And can easily vanquish, whatever foes
May try us? For this too much doth seem
Their ignorance, and not their respect,
For we alone are valiant men, and hold
No years a mean magistrate over thee,
Argives, though so many thy honours boast.
Not only are we younger, but we bear
Honour higher, and more reverence among
Thy people, than thine own daughters have,
And no small honour are we also paid
With gifts and stately presents. But, since it seems
Ungrateful ever to forget or slight
A wise counsel, or a deed accomplished well,
Be mindful always of the ancient saying,
By none but Hermes given, that never fail:--
"Great gifts are useless, and little gains are dear!"
Therefore be mindful of this text, and know
That greater deeds than these unto thee belong
(Which, when thou see'st, no weakling can forget),
And that the gift is yours, which none but she
Who loves thee, can give, or you, or I, or God.
So shall ye fear nothing, and your hearts be strong
To conquer enemies, and to subdue
Those who hate and scorn you, and to drive afar
All foreigners, and weary alike the proud.
This is the greatest blessing that a king
Could wish to guard and cherish within his realm,
To keep it pure of all blemishes vile
Or vicious, and to feed his people right,
With wholesome laws and just administration,
Through whom all blessings flow, as flowing should
From perfect waters whence justice flows,
Till it runs o'er with itself into heaven.
Yet if any mean person or base traitor
Should presume to harm you, first destroy him,
Or hound him home with chains, or kill him with shame.
These three are fools who strive in vain to die
Before your faces, or to fly before,
Or to oppose you, or to work you woe
On earth or in the heavenly cities."
Such were the utterances of the seer,
Then of himself the prophetess added,
And said, "Nurse, my heart tells me a tale
Unseemly to relate, nor with ease is told
To any other than to you or me:
I know not if the words are known to you,
Or if they're unknown to any else.
Hearken then to what I now disclose,
Lest in your ears it ring against yourselves,
And ye lose the most precious boon you have,
Your children.  When Zeus on high decreed
That mortal birth should cease, he framed for you
An aident plan, by doom severe to pass
Out of your hands; yet ere this could be,
You plotted it, and conspired in an evil hour.
For when two lovers are united,
Each other and themselves are such again,
Nor long those lovers love, whose span is short;
As soon as old age appears to end their life,
They separate, and each to death goes forth,
Leaving to another, as he was bound,
The wealth of him that begot him.  And even thus
Were your lot destined, had you not been wise,
And kept the oracles of Jove from man.
E'en while your husband was by fate constrained
To choose the lesser path, and hither came
From Tiber stream, and filled the land with blood,
He would have done so still, and to his bed
Had died without a sorrow for your sake.
But when at last the gods made choice of you,
Even then your husband was not true to you.
Wherefore the more should you magnify his name,
Since he has fulfilled pities past number,
Having slain such numbers of the foe.
But come! Your task is ended here, and rest;
Let us away, my mistress and myself.
Lo!  Aphrodite, Goddess sweet and fair,
Is straying through yon garden, looking pale,
Like one who hath lost her way.  Come, call her back,
And show the way that she must travel o'er,
For she must leave the nectarous fruits a-flower,
And all the flowers that glorify the mind,
And follow after young Telemachus,
Whom she hath taken into her company.
She hath promised marriage; let her fulfil
Her word."  She spake, and vanished out of sight.
Now when the child of morning, Phoebus, shone,
And brightly the sun appeared, then did she
Look down into the sepulchre, and there
Seeking somewhere the son of great-hearted Menelaus,
Discerned not the hero's bones, although they lay
Opposite the stone altar, close beside the mound
Of golden tripod, where his mother had thrown
New flowery charge upon the sacred ground.
There too was buried Nestor, shepherd of the people,
Whom Menelaus, glorious son of Atreus,
Was wont to honour with perpetual feast,
In memory of that time when he was born
Among the Danaans, leader of the host,
Father of many warriors.  There above the soil
Both these men lie low, and evermore beneath
The lightnings burn, and ever whilst we live
Do we await the onset; for the soul
Of the terrible god of battles comes not down,
By force of arms, unburied; but he leaves behind
His throne, and coming like a autumnal star
Shines and departs, bearing with him all of war.

So spake the daughter of great-hearted Agamemnon,
Who left the body of Hector, and stretched forth
Her beautiful hand unto her friend, and prayed her:
"Oh, take this spirit which lies on either side
Beyond reach of human effort, and fill its frame
With strength of will, and of the inner sense inspire
Its spirit of reason; since thou hast found the head
Of thy dear lord the mighty Chief of Troy
Impossible to valourize, and art come
Here to restore him to his native land."

Then good Anchises, ancient King, replied:
"My girl, my dearest wife, no longer stay
Thou with the dead, and learn to use thyself
In battle; for thou mayest hear the voice
Of him whom God delivered from the fane
Of hateful Cerberus, that waits for thee
Ever, pitiless guardian of the slain.
Go then, my child, go forth, for thou shalt find
A faithful friend, and those whom thou desire
Will help thee.  But I bid thee hence, and bide
Within the walls, till day dawns.  Now mark
How thou agreest to thy own dear country's fate."

He spake, and led the way before him along
The dark fragrant slope, and turned aside to speak
To Peleus' godlike son, "Son of Laomedon,
Take heed how thou address'st me, lest some power
Wilt bring about thy bitter death, if thou
Dost in thy speech accord with what is right.
I will not slay thee, though in might and truth
Armed with all weapons I seek thee to destroy.
Yet do thou know that in the days gone by
No other than thou held'st Achilles in contempt,
Seeing that he surpassed thee far in size
And youth, and dwelt among the Trojans in pride.
Alas for thee!  because thou err'st now, and mak'st
Wrong of prophecy, and hast changed the doom
That stood of old around thy city, making
A clog for thy neck, and whelm'st in the dust
The fame of Priam, Achaia's high-born king,
And her whole race!  For never more shall men
Brag of their birth and lineage, as did they of old
With tongue or hands.  And lo, our city lairs
Not with her heroes of bygone times; nor yet
Have the Argives learnt to have respect
Their forefathers, once the lords of all the world.
Ah that Apollo would himself transform them into fawns
And toddling babes, and send them wafting o'er
To Ida and the heights of Olympus, that so
They may regain their native home again!"

Thus spoke the father of the gods, and rose
From off his seat, and laid his sceptre on the table,
Saying, "Sit here in splendour, sons, while I speak.
Behold this sceptre, made of gold, immortal,
Which I have girt about me, living and dying,
Since first I won it from the immortals, who gave it
As a trophy over one that had been born
Borne hitherward.  This sceptre hath won three contests
Over two thousand champions, and brought back
Threefold the gift of victors.  Thou hast also
Shaped a shield, and these three rewards are thine--
For these things Zeus grants to thee, O man of might!
But tell me, ye Argives, why should ye be afraid
Of foes within your gates?  Behold yon wall,
Wherein the Achaeans built three battalions
Equal in number to that which here remains
Pledged to us by Paris, and he has given
These numbers none.  Why are ye thus intent
On fighting without all others, when ye know
We are the mightiest army that earth supports?"

So spake the son of Tydeus, valiant Diomed,
And straightway answered him, saying: "Old man,
Our fathers taught us war with wisdom, and we knew
Tydides erst, the son of brave Cretheus, well.
Let him relate us another hero's deeds,
If he can.  But ye abound in courage, for
Your hearts are hard set upon it.  Ye behold
This host, where each stands facing you, and they say
That ne'er the like was seen by mortal man.
Yea, though the brazen towers that crown ye reek
With blood, yet are ye bold, and the lust of fight
Is strong within you still.  All Danaan spears
Should prance and rattle, and the Lycian bow
Make gladsome noise beneath your feet, and all
Your hosts should feel the weight of Juno's wrath
Who leave untaken Troy, and dwell in Stygian gloom,
Unless the Gods vouchsafe us victory."

Then said Eurypylus, "O friends, beware
Of boasting too much.  Not every chief
Can match the gods in skill or valour head
Against the mightiest.  The Fates ordain
That few number conquer in a conflict such
As this, but great ones triumph.  Let each
Contend like man for his best reward,
Nor let the vanquish'd take away the glory
Unknown to them which should belong to Fate.
Herein perchance may one hope of life remain,
That thou and I, at least, severally may bear
Unto our houses the full dues of praise,
While goodly gifts are offered in his house
By those whose thrones our prowess hath assailed.
But ye yourselves must needs assign to each
His place of rest, and speedily convey
All whom Jove hath fixed upon his road
Forthfrom the camp, and down the dusky ships
Leading our chariots.  Him no force of foes
Hath ever yet overcome, nor any arms
Save those which Earth herself may seem to hold
In trust for mortals.  Thereby see thou
How narrowly indeed we may escape
Evils both manifold and numerous, if we
Retire in safety up to our homes
Out of the cities, and keep ourselves secure
Within them, and her walls remote from war."

"Up then," cried Agamemnon, "forthwith
Renounce ye all the evil customs of the Greeks,
Ye that now serve in Agamemnon's host,
Or in the host of any other lord.
Come, therefore, and share with me the feast
Ordained by Jove, and kept by Saturn's son,
Until his voice be heard by other hosts
Ordain'd to hear.  Then will the elder kings
Call on me, and I shall not be denied.
The day is fast approaching, when the host
Of Ilium shall be swept forth from sight,
Into the farthest remotest regions
Of the wide Tartarian wastelands,
There to make settlement with the Gods
And save her sanctuary from the hands
Of ravenous wild beasts.  Forthwith, then, go,
Uprose my herald, and obey my words;
Lest haply some Achaian, seeing thee
With food graced, should do thee traitors' hate,
Glad to do thee sting in service of Greece,
Cross thy path, and rob thee of thy strength
To check their further march; for many there
Will seek to enter by our gate, who scape
From bites of lions or of wolves in war
Upon the mountains, or by prowling birds
When secluded from their nests they sit,
Singing amid their rocky dens.  And lo,
What need to warn thee?  They that would enter
Must already have come; for nought delays
Till morning shine upon the hills of heaven."

He said; and Pallas left the hall, pursued
By Dian's influence.  She sped across the plain
Like swift-winged bird through azure skies,
Whose pinions sparkled as she shot along.
At once came near enough to speak with him.
"Dardanian," he said, "why com'st thou here?
Not having thither, think I that thou com'st
For mine escort; but, if so Bele'stius sends,
I go alone.  Thou know'st how near the town
My father dwelt, and how the city stands
Among the tall poplars.  We were boys together,
And grew into men alike.  Thyself perhaps
Mayst ask of Asteropeus why I did send
Thy body forth, and took not thy helmet with me,
Which with these eyes I see before me hanging,
A helmet wrought most marvelously, with plumes
And studs of gold, and golden plate above,
And golden wreaths around it.  'Twas his work,
No one else's, and I took care to hide its worth
Amid the treasure of my rich chamber, lest
Some hungry mouth should seize at it, thinking to feign
Its loss to me, and give itself a jest.
Yet I forgave the poor fellow, since he made
No mockery of his comrade's death.  But now
This head,--what could it matter had it been
Of copper or of burnished gold, or silver,--
Is lying towards us, lifeless, by thy side,
Dead as thy own heart was dead.  O wretched man,
That thou hast brought this sorrow on thyself!"

She spake, and vanished.  Then the king turned round
To slay the hero, but Apollo stood
Before him, clad anew in mightiest green
Of Aegaean blossoms, crowned with waving vine,
And breathed immortal vigor into his soul.
As when the oak's dark roots, long rooted deep,
Have suddenly sprung upward, uprooting much,
So at length the mighty Titan king had risen,
Shaking the earth beneath him like a cloud,
And rushed into the open fields of light.
Then Thetis knew what secret spell had moved
King Menelaus, and she bade her sons
Go quickly and bring laurel branches, and on them
Their shining crowns of olive, for his funeral.

But when the Argives saw Helen again,
They shed a bitter tear, and all the camp
Mourned over her, while the women wept aloud.
Nestor first asked her, saying, "Why weeps the land
Thus desolate and deserted?  What grief hath driven
Her to remove from her fair country thus away?"

Then answered Nestor, Gerenian knight, and sage:
"Nearest of kin to King Priam fell therein
Orestes, a prince renowned far and wide;
Who slew his rival in the race without peer,
Eurymedon the king, whose realm stretched from shore
Untroubled to the walls of Sparta, far and wide.
Even such a fate hath Laertes met, whom fate
Hath scattered far and widely o'er the earth,
While he hath lived content amidst his home
In peaceful Tirynthos, and ruled the house
Of Godlike Odysseus, great beyond measure.
Now, therefore, let the queenly maid receive
Once more the kindly gifts which late she gave,
Or never more may woman strive to rule
Over the nations, and to keep the laws
Of nature.  Nay, let the godlike son return,
And honour paid to him by Peleus be repaid."

Therewith he led the way, and Helen followed,
Where the high tomb of Ilus stood, and stood
Beneath it.  There they laid the bones of old
Great monarch, and with flowers and incense burned
The corpse, and mourned him, and in robes of scarlet
Went mourning to the city, and unto the gods
Made prayer, and laid the bones in urns of gold
With purple draperies over them, and there
Laid many a gift, and thereupon a cup they set
Upon the altar, and withal they poured out
Pure wine, and cast lots among them who should there
Most generous offer.  Forthwith came next the rest
From every part, and gathered about the dead
Anew, and kissed his brows, and wept, and made moan
In lamentation, till the goddess, grey-eyed
Pisistratus, began to speak unto them words
Of painful sweetness.  "Friends," said she, "since none
Will take thee any heed of all those here,
Ye who are wise and good, come up behind
Me still, and sit apart, that ye may bear
Each one his fill of sorrow, and may hymn
Aloud their common woe, until the whole world
Sorrow for Ate, and pass in silence on.
So shall Telemachus learn shrewdly to judge
What is a friend's neglect, and what a foe's.
For not even thine will I commend too much
To his eager feet, who oft must go alone
Into the depths of evil, if haply there
Rest not utterly the souls of wicked men,
Whom evil will hath seized, and stern necessity
Binds hand and foot, no hope of change affords.
Come then, and sitting henceforth apart from me
Keep your wonted ways, nor ever leave my grave
Unroofed, though indeed ye would that I,
Being younger, should remain within the house
Hereafter, and look after all my steps and mine,
Not once ashamed to see thee, and to tend
Thy bed and dishes, which were yet dainty things.
But other care attend you, both day and night,
How ye may live, and work, and give yourselves
Up to the town, where many a lord and lady
Knows me some favouring of thy kind.  But now
It were best, if ye could all agree upon
Some fitting penance for this sin of thine,
Since unceasing tears have wrung mine eyelids dry
Through gazing on the folly of thy life.
Lo!  thou hast left me, and for three days past
No tidings of thee comest to me at all,
Nor shall I hear thereof, until perchance
Some sad event betide thee, and my heart
Be filled with anguish sore.  Yet I rejoiced
Much in thee, and had purpose already
That, ere these spots of dust upon my head
Were washed off, I would embrace thee again.
But now, behold!  the time is at hand, at last,
When thou shalt pay the due ablution of death--
A sacrifice most grievous, which, by the might
Of Hercules, thou shalt not be able to avoid!"

Then did Poseidon, shaker of the shores,
Shiver as around his nod the billowy sea
Swiftly its reverberations leap, and seem
To quake and tremble with a voice: but he,
Deep knowing the future, knew that he was fated
Never to achieve his object of revenge,
Although the Cyclops were himself his own slave.

He spake; and the sea, convulsed by the shock
Impended, burst beneath the rushing wave,
Which thenceforth was called Oceanus, so nam'd
Afterwards into Brundusium, whence we come
Spell completed of the spell.  The deep rang
Again from midmost Tauridosa, whence flow
Both streams of ocean, and mingle sands, that form
Cities upon their banks.  Then the prophetess,
Seized of the god, whose voice the nodding crag
Haphls, thus cried aloud her importunate cry:
"Help, O Zeus!  Save me, that I may succor thee
I am a woman, and cannot brook to die.
Yet shalt thou suffer for the cruel thing
Which thou hast done, and whosoever sees thee
Shall wonder and know how greatly thou hast err'd."

Zeus, whose counsel nothing aught could bend or sway,
Thus replied to her: "Thou art an alien,
And never didst belong to this accursed land,
Where thou shalt surely perish by a doom so mean.
But tell me, and the truth plainly reveal,
Why do the Cyclopes feed and cherish thee?
They will not let thee go, because they foresee
That thou wilt one day fight against them for gold,
With terrible weapons, and such arms as thine.
Tell me of their city, and the name by which
Their nation is known.  They call themselves the Nymphs."

She answered him: "Nymphs I have been of old,
Ere this earth was formed.  All glimmerings I saw
Of the supernal glory, and sublimer flames
Flamed underneath each starry pearling, and above
The creeping creatures, that with plaintive whispers sang.
From those eternal fires, wherein the gods
Sleep in rapture all their countless years, I rose,
And dwelt among the mortals, heedless of the shame
Such knowledge brings.  When now my years had passed
In ripe fullness, and my body had borne me
My perfect age, a man of Troy, Hyperenor,
Daughter to Datis, charioteer of Juno,
On a fair morn said he to me, 'O Faun!
Sweet faun!  Thou marshest not here below with rosy hue
The air of heaven, but still afar dost wander
In search of plunder, seeking for herself
Some graceful ornament with which her face
May deck itself.  Come, follow me, that we
May seek thee out amid the herd of Troy.'
So saying, he bound me with a golden cord
Into his coursers, and sped with speed
Toward the Straits, while from our ships across
The watery plain we launched and took our places,
All who were left behind.  From before the helm
Sailed Peleides, bearing still his battle-gear,
As though he wanted strength to quell the foe.
Behind him came Menelaus, at his side
His wife laid, as he had sent her forth
Before the rest, to bear his armour and shield
Across the waves.  On either side the crowd
Went forward ranks, and every Trojan gave
Order that the ship should be coop'd within the cave.
There, silent, sat the Trojans, nor dared show
Resistance, but await their fate in peace.

The sire of gods and men then spoke in council:
"'Twere better far," he said, "'tis sure, that we
Should take the fort now, than after lose
An hour's respite, when the Trojans' courage fails,
And Hector, wounded, comes towards us armed
With flame-wreathed sword.  Better, from the field
Now calling for assistance, to draw
Down the huge pile of stones, than wait to see
Our foes ascend the wall."  Thus having spoken,
He sat; and next arose Pelagon, son
Of Pirithous, brave in fight, and whom, erewhile,
His prowess had induced to leave the fleet,
For country and friends.  But o'er all the court
Achilles stood with bowed head, with downcast heart,
While grief his soul had driven forth all feeling.

Then rose Achilles, and in strong defence
Of Ilium's town he put forward these arguments:--
"Great King Jove, transcendent Lord of all,
Great Father, endow thyself with might
To drive the Trojan hosts away, and give
Peace unto us, who without thee would have died
Even in the very first fray.  Grant that we
Win glory and renown on the plain, and check
The headsman's hand, and save our wives and little ones.
This would I willingly sacrifice to thee.
But if some other fortune shall betide
To bring about our utter destruction, know
That I myself will hold the cause in hand,
Nor turn mine eyes away till I shall see death touch
Those noble sons of Priam.  If it must lie
That I must fall by force, then make the foe yield
These our well-defended walls, and pay the price
Of slaughtering us upon the shore.  To you
Be Heaven's will wherever it may judge best!"

Then spake again Theoclymenus to him:
"It is indeed meet that we should take thought
How we may die, rather than that the foe
Have ground us utterly to dust and blood.
Yet if the dead are better than the living,
And we must yield you victory, then at least
Strike ye your swords into ploughshares, and destroy
Both Priam's house and palace, and his sons' abodes;
Take also this woman; she has done no wrong."

Thus arguing, they went to work to break down
The mighty works of godlike Hector, and himself
Set fire to many an attic and many a chamber,
Lest haply should some Dardan come along
(So great the number that were slain) and smother
His victims in the blaze.  They slew the men
When they were brought together, but when all
Were burned to ashes, then they set the bones
Of noble Hector in the temple of the God
Apollo, and in that shrine entombed them.
They burnt the women too, because they were more numerous.

Afterwards, when the city was entirely destroyed,
Their hands being wiped with earth, they returned
To Phthia, grieving greatly.  There was a man
Famed Cisseus, son of Hippotas, whose high fame
Had been throughout all Hellas, and particularly such
A people as this whereof we tell; and he had
Two daughters, daughter Helen and illustrious Polydore,
Whom he loved exceedingly; and it happened once,
As 'twere in ill omen, that they were seen to kiss.
Himself also loved them passionately, so that he
Would often lead them at night to his own house,
Where he would feast them on a royal meal of meat
Which Hephaestus' sons ofttimes made them out of all
The meats which dwell around Phrygia.  These two
Were wont to dance before the doors of their father's house
In graceful posture, and to call each other " darling "
And " lovely sister " continually, while they both
Were yet young.  Now, however, both of them had one
Other object, which was to go up into the house
Of Peleus, taking from him his entire property
By means of stratagem, until they reached that sum,
Which was the limit beyond which they could raise.
And thus they doomed to death themselves both, since neither
Could find another to fill the place of either's self.

Cisseus then, being urged by appetite of gold,
Went up into the upper chamber, and there lay
Sleeping, tittering, as he lay within his bed,
Seeing the day of doom approaching, and he laughed
To think how Thetis came thither herself to try
If her husband even was alive or not.  Meanwhile
Ilioneus, who was invited thereto by Helen,
Strove with his wife for a gift of precious things
From Agamemnon, that he might be persuaded
To let her enter the house unharmed, and to remain
There in possession of her wealth, till she should be married
To him; so Helen would obtain much honour
Unto the house of Aias.  She therefore took
A golden cup and filled it with wine, and said:
"Ye kings and princes of the Achaian host,
Attend now to what I say. We will make trial
Of every one of you, whether within the house
You will keep your mistress or slay her to preserve
Your own repose. So shall my skill be known,
So shall my power be perceived, and so shall he
Who hath killed her be abhorred of us all.
Begin ye then, and call forth all your strength,
Till I return home to my mother's house at ease,
Having given proof thereof in fight, whereunto none
Is able to withstand me. Stand not about
With arms aloft, lest some valiant man of Troy
Approach to strike you with his spear, and slay
All in the hall; for methinks, though here we deal
Death to the foeman, yet the Achaeans
Will save their lives. Lo, here Achilles stands
Ready to smite us down, and slay his foes
At sight of us.  But hither turn your eyes
Even now, and see if any of the Trojans
Are left alive, whom Achilles may command
To stand and face him, and to stand and fight
Beside him undismayed. If so be that any
Perish in the conflict, I will give thee charge
Not to besiege their wives and little ones
Too long, nor to afflict their bodies sore
With the torture of the racks and painful wheels.
For whosoever of the Argives is left
May speedily bring succour unto the Greeks,
That we may be content to leave them not
Alone, nor without succour tormented. Yea
I will instruct thee further, and will tell thee
What sort of thing thou shalt do. Depart now,
Ereforasting, ere the dark-prowed ship
Hath reach'd the fair country of the Greeks."

She spake, and the assembled chiefs obeyed.
Then rose Amphinomus, and went his way
To summon to their council all the Grecians' men
And dames.  They all went forth without delay
Into the inner court, and stood arrayed
Before the throne, by Nestor's daughter led
In splendour and in beauty, beautiful as dawn
Of day.  Not otherwise did the queen of heaven
On the bright headland of Ida stand, when first
She heard the Trojan words, and saw the host
Of Greece drawn out upon the sea's broad breast
By warlike Menelaus; for that was she,
Or else among the Olympiads she seemed,
Nor less than does this woman, goddess-born.
But when she saw the assembly, straightway
She cried aloud, and cast her voice abroad,
"Friends, Lords, Senators of the world, to whom
Am I a stranger?  What has brought me hither?
Has patient toil found me in an alien land,
Or haply hath a stranger's blood been shed
Against mine age, in battle on our soil
By those against whom thou madest war,
O Romans?  Hath a foe murdered thy son
Or husband?  Have my hands not rifled his house,
My hair cut off, my beard plucked off, my locks
Coarse wool mingled with water?  Has my tongue
Been mute in speaking to thee of peace,
Thy traitors?  Hath my hand in fighting strangled
Some champion?"

Meanwhile the aged father Anchises,
Out of respect to Priam, and to all
His people, spoke not, but sat weeping, all
Except the young Lycaon, for his youth
Was still untried, and had not tasted fate.
But when they knew the godlike prince was come,
They gathered round him, and with voices high
Invited him to speak.  He began:
"O friends, I trow that many have died,
Both by our side and by the Trojans'; yea,
The time will soon pass over from the present
When such as these were ever guests of Rome.
Therefore, since thou wilt take no thought beyond
This day, while others sleep, let us agree
How best we may accord with God, who knows
What things are meet.  Let us rather seek to frame
A more enduring bond between us twain,
Leaving future times free to mould anew
Their government according to their will,
As prosperous or as sown with misfortunes.
Let us devise for ourselves a counsel,
If it be lawful, and let it be our task
To lay before the senate and the Roman state
An order firm and perpetual like-wise
Set up between us, as a shield to guard
Our common life and persons, and as a fence
Unto our children, that when either one
Shall go to war, the other may remain behind.
Whither wouldst thou fly?  Wouldst thou not stay and fight
Here, where thine honour is concerned?  Wouldst thou
Live to return a slave?  Is there hope to win
These lands, which lie between us and Cilicia?
There is Aetion, the rich king of the folk
Cretan, who will keep us in awe and right,
And keep his word; neither shall he fail
To send us gifts at season due, and will
Grant whatever we may ask, though it be hard
To gather provisions hid in mountain woods
Far from our own towns, and to endure
Toils unnumbered, travelling over hills and mountains.
He in truth will save us from the threatened harm
Which threatens us now, if Agamemnon thus,
Seeing that he is minded to make trial
Who of the Achaeans is the bravest man,
Doth battle for himself and dares to strike
Against the Trojans.  But, brothers, I perceive
That thou wouldst, first, the sons of Atreus seek
For their destruction, and then, themselves,
The Danaans.  If thou refuse to deal fairly,
We too must turn away from thee, and hence
Must go the spoils of foes conquered.  To us
Will Agamemnon bid his heart be turned,
And bid him slay the sons of Atreus even
Before the face of Ajax, if so he can
Slay them in fight, and make the mother bear
Her brave child into exile.  Therefore let each
Strive to be wise, and fear the Gods no more,
Since Jove in full his might has poured down fire
Upon his enemies."

Then rose again
King Agamemnon, whose angry soul took fire
At the sight of his brother.  Up sprang he
With his resounding spear in air, and smote
Eurypylus, spearing him amid the throng
Of combatants; for the point went clean through,
And the bowels forth of him gushed out the gore.
Down fell he staggered forward on his knees,
Giving the body back to men and Greeks,
While Agamemnon drew the arrow out
From the belt wherewith Eurypylus had clung
In combat to his breastplate.  Forthwith the host
Of Troy shouted loud, and shouting clamoured louder
Around Achilles' valiant son.  Then spake
The King to Nestor, "Up, friend, and call the chiefs
To council here; set upon me now the lot
Of victory, if the Achaeans hold their ground
And give me room to move about."

Thus did he say; but none of all the rest
Permitted entered into the assembly hall
Where the great kings assembled; nay, not one
Could find a place therein; for the whole land
Of Greece was stirred with the news that Agamemnon's host
Had sacked the city of Priam, and that thence
Achilles dwelt and noble Hector held his home.
So there the chiefs sat sorrowing, sore against their will.

Meanwhile upon the beach stood forth two youths,
Brothers, one far the stronger, but the other
Well skilled to ward the ships and to defend
Huge barks from damage.  When they saw the chiefs
Together there together sitting, they cried out
To one another, "Come hither, morality,
And to Achilles ye shall both be wont
To sing a tale unto his eyes.  Ye know
The story of the Cyclops: how he raged
Unmoved by food or drink or any word
Or threat of God, until at last a bolt
Crashed through his throat, and his flesh was flayed
And trodden under foot by dogs and kites
And birds of prey.  And now ye tell him this:
'Cyclops, thy doom is come, who dared defy
Thy father and my father Zeus, and now lies dead
Before thy feet.'  So do ye twain declare
What things are good for men!"

"My brother," said he, "the tidings thou hast brought
Tell also to the Argives, and to all mankind.
Ye have restored to men the mighty dead;
Ye have sent envoys to implore the foe
To spare your ships; yea, and ye have built up
A city and raised an altar to the Lord
Among the town-dwellers.  Nay, rejoice with us!
This thing is good for you and for all mankind."

But answer made the other, "None of all these
Are good for any man, neither king nor stranger,
When the same sins beset them.  Gifted with power
By godlike Aeacus to wreak his vengeance
On the accursed race of humankind, he
First slew the son whom Menoetius' daughter bore,
Meleager,--meanwhile her lord as yet alive
Lay waste and slain beneath Ilium, and her belly
With traitors torn, and her blood defiled;
Nor ever she received aught of such disgrace
As now she bears, condemned to shame and scorn,
Hated of all nations, and odious to the gods.
Yea, though some pity of our woes were left
Remaining in her, she would never show it;
She loved herself better than her husband, yea,
Though he slew her and polluted her, still she
Would have gone over to the foe, and given
Her life up unto the bitter fates.  For this
I am the messenger.  Now take ye this man
And bind him hand and foot outside the gates
Of wide-set Ithaca, that we may see
If indeed the Danaan host be fled,
Or only such small part thereof remains
That still they dower the soil around the walls
With grains, while ours are scant to yield them bread."

He spake, and led the way before him o'er the sand,
Till they reached the threshold of the city, where
They found the noble Odysseus bound, and stood
Beside him, waiting till the hosts should bring
Their armour to the multitude, and each man take
His arms, and lay them down without dispute.
Then straightway they departed to the house
Of Clytius, old and trusty, and within
Went after their fellows, gathering them one by one,
And slaying many; but those that escaped death
Were scattered abroad, and those that fell in fight
Fled fast away across the plain.  Thus the day
Was spent, and so the night too, light was shed
Upon the darkness of the sea, till dawn appeared
From out the east, and all the stars; then rose the shout
And cry of men pursuing, and the North-wind came,
Driving the waves before him, and their breasts were loosed
With joyous noise, and with a sound like thunder on high.

Now when the fair Sun had reared himself aloft
In air, and stood among the starry ones,
All heaven was radiant, and of Hades fear
No more was; for Hades had been overcome.
Thereafter, when they had all long since passed
Out of the world, and perished one by one
Within the womb of Hell, the bones of these
The earth would hold, if boundless it might,
For ever; and the voice of men returning
Would rise like shrieks of horror to the sky,
But never again would echo from on high.
But now the fair light of dawning grew and spread
Over the broad sea, and with it rose the cries
Of heralds, calling the people to assemble,
And the clangor of the rattling shields of Rome;
After which the matrons, and the youth and maidens,
Plying their daily tasks, began to gather round
At Tiber's sacred fountain, whence they heard
Again the clamour rising of the Trojan host.

Meanwhile the King upon the beach of windy seas
Waited the issue of the day's work alone,
Alone, because no ship of theirs with bended prow
Came sailing into his sight, or tipped her horn,
Which is the token of fellow-worship.  All day
He mused and watched, but could not make the sun
Appear, nor foretell the close of day, until
It seemed the dark had closed already through
The vast of water and the dry land far behind.
So there he sat, and moaned amid his pain.

Thou knowest how on the steep of Ida's hill
King Agamemnon smote his ploughshare, and the flail
Razored the stubborn grain, and the sharp-pointed sickles strowed
Like snow-flakes whirled together, while the dogs of hell
Scoured through the fields with hoofs of terror, and the flames
Burnt random, and the winds of Heaven beat at the doors
Of heaven, and the deep thunders bellowed overhead:
How, when the storm was over and the rain was done,
Noblest of all mankind that kingly home he built
Amid the untilled wilderness, and erected halls
Where kings may sit to rule the mighty of the earth;
How he begat sons who made their name great among
Maidens and men, and held their sway from Aeacus' flood
To Herod the Great; how he died, the chiefest of them all,
And what befell him in the land of the living here;
What treasures he brought thence, and how he left his throne.
These things befel him, and thus the wise men told
To Menelaus son of Atreus, girdler of the crown,
When once the King turned from the tidings of success
Into the depths of grief lest failure must befall.

"Haste, Menelaus, haste thee home," he cried, "where God
Is come to help us; for our hopes lie in thy hands
That Priam's burg may fall, and Troy yet survive,
Though shame and grief of women be no more.
Go, haste thee home; for surely thou hast earned the right
To give to thine own wife this wedding gift divine,
A priceless jewel--thy own Paris, whom we loved
As brothers, as our kin, and shared alike our wealth
And distress. Thou art honoured like the gods above,
Or men bereft of friends, for thou wert faithful friend
Till now, and shalt be so to the end."

Thus spoke the King, and raised his hands in prayer
Above his head, and said he hoped the Gods would grant
To both of them Paradise, and that his child
Should grow to power and prestige, and rule the Greeks
While Paris, slain by treachery, lay unburied still
Before the Scaean gate. But Ascalaphus,
His brother, seeing that grief waxed stronger still
For Paris, drew apart the brotherhood
Who sat around him, and began to speak: "Friends,
Kings, and chiefs of Priam's house, I see too well
This thing must be. For kings are mortal, men even less.
We have borne witness to Achilles, and to you
Our kin, that none shall outlive him, least of all
Whom fate hath taken suddenly away. Yet why
Shall not the body lie where it fell? What man will drag
Behind a corpse to Troy the dead man's armour, plates
And gifts, and leave his horse and weapons? Nay then,
Let us rejoice, for Paris is no longer death's prey.
I saw him fall, and saw my father laid beneath
The arms of Hector, and my mother weeping sore
Because she saw me not, and prayed that I might die
To save her heart from burial. So I breathed my last
In battle on the Trojans' side, with Troy's renown
By my death vindicated. Now, therefore, let each one
Gather up his armour and much noble spoils
Lost in the fight, and take his stand without the walls
Until the time for parting comes at last, and then
Lead back his troops unto the ships, leaving here
No valiant man to battle for his country's sake,
But only cowards and cowardly scum that fear
To face the foe."

Then Nestor of Gerenia, lord of chariots, spake:
"Menelaus, son of Atreus, leader of the host,
Would that ye were as good men again! The Greeks
Are worn out with toil and labour, and need rest
From combat with the Trojan foes, if any such
Still linger about, or if some other chieftain,
Beside their fleets, have sought them out and provided
Armour and gold. Let Paris bring his steeds
Up to the ships and put them in array;
If any Greek should there remain unconquered,
He should go back rejoicing and tell all the tale
Of all that he has suffered in the chase
Against the Trojans, till he came hither himself
To share the banquet and to take part in the feast."

So said he, but Helen's spirit within him burned
With longing to behold her husband, and he sighed
And answered, "Nay, beloved, nay; for nevermore
Will I behold mine old lord, nor catch again
His dear voice, nor his dear form. Ah, yes, indeed!
Such grief is ours to know that ever we grew
Up close beside one another, and his soul
Loved us in days long past; but now the hand
Of Death is upon us, and we cannot meet
Again. Who can say whether on the morrower
Death will hide the sun, or if fresh sunlight
Even in the shade, some god will quench its light?"

Then Menelaus of the fair hair asked her,
"Woman, daughter of great-hearted Peleus,
Why weepest thou? dost thou not care to join
Yet further the war in Troy?  Thy heart is hard,
Thou knowest it, woman as thou art, to yield
To such a doom, and spare thyself and those
Thou holdest most dear. Dost thou not hear the voice
Of Agamemnon, king of men, who calls
His people to the field of battle, many thousands
Already there, with horses and with warriors?
They will follow thee, for thou art pitiful.
Come then, let us hence, and leave these tears aside,
Else with a bitter pang we shall soon enough
Be driving o'er the camp, and thou with me
And Aias, and the thousands following them,
When they have pierced the ranks of Troy with swords,
Shalt be among the foremost to fall,
Ere yet the Argives shall have learned what manner
Of men they are."

Then didst thou lamenting answer him, saying:
"As for me, oh monarch, mighty prince,
My heart is broken, knowing thine own abode
Is far the larger, yea, and loving thee
More than I dare speak. Yea, though I were to lose
All else, if thou shouldst win this day, I would go
Alone to Ilios, and abide there with my sons,
Who now are orphan'd, since my eldest has died,
Oetheus, ere for four years come round again,
Unwedded, young, and handsome. Oh that Zeus would send
A heavy thunderbolt, or lightning, to destroy
Yon fleet, before it reach'd the city gates!"

She spake, and as she spake her eyes downcast
Fell fixt upon the ground, and uttering a moan
Sigh'd through her nostrils flame forth flames of anguish.
Swiftly she swooned, and as she dropp'd her head,
Her lovely tresses all around her fell,
Nor stayed she one single clasp, by which the earth
Was held together, but like a veil was speedily
Swept off, by some strong wind wafted onward by the force
Of heaven's eternal whirlwind. Thereupon the Greeks
Mourned over her, and as the hours went round
Sent sorrowing prayers into the dark night sky.

Now when Aurora, wife of Jupiter, had left
Her mansion in the zenith, and her bright hairs
Were seen no more by mortal eyes, except by those
In Heaven who keep the boundless skies, then rose
The white morn from Tethys' couch, and brought anew
To mortal ears the story of her weeping.
For from the dawn of morning till the set of sun
Had sunk into the sea, women shrieked aloud
Along the shore, and wailings full beyond measure
Rang thro' the cities of Greece. As for herself,
She hid her blushing face away, and would not look
Upon the sun, but sat beneath an olive tree,
Waiting for the rosy morn. Now when the sun
Rose high, and appeared without, she left her leafy booth,
And ran along land and sea, weeping sore, till she came
Where Queen Arete in her cottage heard her sighing.
There sitting down, she looked at her watchful spouse,
And saw her running with troubled face along the paths,
And calling softly to him across the hills.
"What means this tumult and confusion on the shores?
I cannot understand it; wherefore does our son
Make so short work of everything?" said she. "Oh, my good queen,
Do something, while I still can do nothing for myself--
Nothing save what I see others doing. Come, tell me,
What is it makes Urania's son so ill at ease?"
"It is not well," she said, "that you should ask me that;
Not well at all, my Queen, nor fitting, my child. He
Hath never been taught by any, but hath learnt it all
In his sweet little mind. Do not vex yourself about it,
But sit you down and try to make him rest, and take
Some time to get your breath, and then return to you."

Thus spoke the skilled astronomer, and she took
From her waist her shining golden girdle,
And threw it feet first down into the water.
Out sprang the boy, out sprung he straightway
Into the bosom of his mother, and caught
Up under his arm the girdle, and
Lay fast asleep, and dreamed himself afloat
On the blue waves of Ulysses' garden,
And sailed along until he reached the place
Whither he had sent his ships for safety.
There, lying safe from winds and waters, he lay
Wrapt up in his doublet, and slept sound, and kept
Untouched the bliss of waking life. But she
Went forth in her long purple robe, and found
Ulysses already awake, and seating
Upon an old seat, behind whose board
He sate, and made his fires, and called his servants
To prepare a welcome, and to bring him food.
First, however, she laid aside her robe,
And donned the naked glory of the Goddess.
And show'd her body, and with both hands caressed
The smooth skin of her glorious shoulders, and then
Stretch'd out toward him, and with eager arms
Clutched him, and gave him the gifts which follow:
One was a brazen jar, wherein she poured
Pure water for the washing of dirty clothes,
Another, a silver bowl with feathers wrought,
And oarsmen's bread, and wine, and honey sweet.
Then, standing close beside him, she began
With gentle words to urge him to eat,
Till he could hold him free, and clearly speak:
"Come, eat of this unleavened bread, thy wounds
Have parch'd too much of other food." Then he,
Eating alone, thus broke silence:

"O woman, indeed, thou fair and comely-girt
Liberty, most wholesome goddess, who hast given
Me to possess thee, how is it possible
That I either have errs or sins against
Thy law, or that I have here behaved
Aught unworthy of myself? For, truly,
I am neither fool nor knave, but simply
A man, intent upon God and nature.
I know my manners are debased; yet, O goddess,
If ever thou didst love another, show
Some sign of it here! why should I hide it?
My father loved me, and my people honoured,
Because I did them honour. How can I
Honour other men before thee now?
Yet I would give even thy daughter's self
For all the world, to have thee for mine own.
How shall I live, then, deserted by thee?
Or, if thou refuse me still to wed,
Show some sign of favour to my bride!"
Thus he, doubting whether to draw back,
Resenting his mistress with his soul,
Or to advance the suit, and thereby
Maintain his independence? For a while
He stood toying with his sword, but at last,
Forth leaping from his seat, he sprang to strike
At the far off mark; but Venus flew
After him like Phoebe as he fled,
When she perceived that the snake had bitten her.
She bore him quickly thence away, and bore
His weary limbs gently to Paphos, where
Sated with sweets, he fell into sleep.

Now when Aurora, daughter of the dawn,
Had bathed all the wide world in rayon light,
Back to her chamber she returned, and there,
Having roused the maids, waited till they came.
They found her sitting on the mat within,
Scarce by her side her lady, and they stood
Before her wondering. At her breast they bent
And pressed their heads between her fingers warm,
Pressing their faces to her heart, and kissed
Her cheeks full hot with their young blood, and stole
Their tongues into her mouth, and licked her lips
While her fresh lips with theirs were wet. Thus, day
By day, they fed upon her perfect face
Until their thirst was quenched; and when they sought
Sweet slumber, they went forth and lightly strayed
About the gardens, seeking her company
Most joyfully, and in this wise fared
On through the days of spring:--Day after day
These daughters of the Dawn played with her, and
Laughed loud, and sang, and laughed again, and so
Grew more and more enamoured of her, till
Night brought these unto their mistress, and said,
Sleep ye that laboured day by day, keep house
Here in my chambers, lest any maid
Haste hitherward to see these things, for methinks
This thing hath been practised before the rest.
So spake Night, and blackened all the earth
With gloomy clouds; and soon the sheets were taken
Which held their loves, and swiftly they departed
Each one to her bower, and there was left her
But a single sheet to bind her lovers fast.
But Ulysses lay, stretched among the ferns
Within the hollow cave, sighing deeply, and
Pouring his wild tears upon the ground, and round
The cavern wall; for heavy groans he heaved,
And well nigh killed himself with anguish, sore
Was his distress, and all his comrades feared
Nor dared to go to help him, for they wept
As much as he, but let him die his woe.
But presently, when no gathering cloud
Broke red above the mountain, then did those
Armed under the city-wall appear,
Came storming-bastards of the war, and slew
Many of the Grecians, and took many more
To prison; of whom there perished many
Of an unhappy folk. But when the sun
Soft rose in air, then Ulysses woke,
And hearing on the bare flint his brethren cry,
Stark raged and struck the rock, and dashed it down
Hard by his fellows. It crashed through the cave
Silently, without a sound or voice or motion,
And darkness covered all the land and sea.
Ulysses slept, and dreamed, and dreaming saw
Beautiful women clad in female beauty
Around him, seated in a glorious place
Above the hoary ocean, clothed with gold.
Then, also, he remembered all his sorrows,
All his sufferings and misfortunes past,
And wondered at himself that he had lived
Through all these years, and so unwearied kept
His steadfast spirit, enduring such afflictions,
Such as come to none but to the weak, who fail
Even though sustaining fortitude. Then he cried
In bitter and unearthly lamentation
"Alas! what fate is this which threatens me
With extinction? What, now, remains for me
But to retire, and leave the race behind,
Who will not, as I promised them, rise with me
Into a higher degree of being? Leave
Behind them all the blissful estate I won
With Helen, and descend to womankind,
That the long pain may be at end for me.
For, heaven knows, since here my lot hath fallen,
I never should have hoped to return, had I
Remained content with home-born tunefulness,
And yet this hope has been fulfilled to-day."
He spoke and sank to cold sleep again,
Like a strong man cast down into the dust
Beneath the heap, whose eyes are closed in death.

Meanwhile the suitors plied the ox with water
Brutely, until the kine were softened with wine,
And made regather strength lost in the night,
Till every could carry men before their feet.
Then, treading on the fleece, Telemachus
Spoke piteously to Peisistratus old,
Whom now he deemed aware of all that passed:
"Old friend," said he, "for your sake alone I grieve,
Since you forget yourself for the stranger's sake.
Yet, if you love me still, tell me, oh speak,
Have I e'er offended with aught that might cause
My mother's anger?" He, with a mournful smile,
Replied, "Nay, nothing of hers that thou seest
Worth mentioning; she hath forgot thee, and given
All to another, pitying as she ought.
Now, therefore, O my son, remember her!"
Thus he, weeping; but, alas, too late!
He marvelled how a dreamless sleeper was
Unaware of the passing of a day,
Or of the coming of a evening dark
When the moon doth lie within the west;
For dreams make man insensitive to all
That pertains to life. Then, again he thought
With aching heart, "Could I awake to death
Before I went away from here, how glad
Would I wish myself in some untroubled bed,
Where I might waste the hours in song and play
Without fear of waking! But now--now am I
Awake, and with a knowledge of the truth to face
Things that are, and with my friends to part,
Though against my better judgment, that is done!"
Then, turning from the light, he hid his eyes
From the swift beams that shone before his brow.

Then, gently as a traveller would remove
A cloak to ease his own disgrace, he laid
The mantle over his own, and left it,
Then sought his room, and quaffing deep the oaken bowl,
Sought Nestor's bath, whereon the chaste-tressed hand
Of Themis ruled the water as it stood
By the bronze door, he bathed his limbs, and stepped
Out of his cloak, and put it in his chest,
Closing well the flap, and standing near,
Gazed upon his hands, and loveliness shed
Over his head and shoulders. And he sat
Down in the centre of the brazen booth,
While Themis gave the labouring brass its rest.
Meantime his mother came, walking slowly,
Proud of her son, and anxious, like a lily,
Loving her flower, yet afraid lest one white thread
Should wither while in earth it grew. She found
Telemachus asleep in the vestibule,
Coupled with Phemius, whom she held aloof awhile,
Until she judged he must have tottered out
To look about him, for the gate was shut.
She went up to him, kissed his forehead fair,
Smoothed his loose curls, and brought soft garments forth,
Bestowing first those for his bier, then took
Rich raiment and a purple shawl, and sent
Unto the palace for royal Agamemnon.
There lay the shrouds, wrapped around his body, hung
On peg or crosspiece, and two carven spears
Stood ready to his hand, with a huge spear-stave
Uplifted beside him. So he rose and placed
Both his hands upon the shields, then called aloud,
"Mother, O mother, why art thou far beyond
These walls, nor seen within thy house? Hast thou sent
Invitations forth to any mortal man
To share the feast, or to partake the cheer
En Jove-like has blessed us with? Yet surely
Some great event of fate shall bring our household
Full close beneath our feet, and thou shalt hear
All tidings of my noble father's death."

So saying, in the doorway she attacked him,
Kissed his lips, caressed his cheek, and stroked his hair,
But when she reached his ear she murmured, "Son,
Why hast thou thus abused me? Thou art grown
More gentle since we last met, and soothsuckers,
Who once didst tease me sore because I spake
No word when thou wast very young, are come
Among the gods to teach thee wisdom. Go,
Follow these servants who bear messages to
Thy wife at Priam's city; let her know
That goodly Hector waits her news in front
Of Ilium." With that word she turned back, and Thetis
Drew nigh, and clasped his hand, and whispered, "Be not
Most pitiless to my poor father! do not slay
Hector, though ye may need help from him. My soul
Is sick with grief already, for I see it
Come ever to an end. If he be slain,
I can die also there with him; else I,
Willingly will go with thee."

Whom answer'd thus the godlike Theoclymenus:
"Do not grieve, my mother, if this thing you ask;
For should the valiant son of Peleus live,
And fight for Danaan exploits on the side
Of Troy, your prayers shall soon be answered, for much
Inpriable will be the service rendered me.
But ye, go now, and take the horse that carries
Breathing wood into the fire, and stow the logs
In order underneath, till they shall be all stowed
Behind the doors of Priam's palace. See that none
Of the servants or of the Achaeans mark
How tenderly, or whether sitting or standing,
Tread they the wood amid their works, lest one say
'They have failed in their work,' and by reproach be driven
Back from the gates of the city."

He said; they all consented, and Theano went
With them to fetch the horse and the firewood,
Wherewithal they set the pile of fuel afire.
Meanwhile Achilles in his tent lay sleeping,
Mourning Patroclus, and his heart within him burned
With wrathful fury at the thought that he had lost
His dearest comrade. He could hardly brook
Upon his breast the burden thereof to be borne
By noble Menelaus, who had hither come
From Lycia after losing brave Deiphobus.
Achilles had given him to Achilles' care
As a prize for which his arm should vanquish
Anchises' child, and honourably fulfil
The mission for which he had gone thither.
Now here he slept, and there Achilles stayed
Watching night long, but never slumber fell
Upon him, but he mused how best he might
Destroy the host of Troy, and filled his mind
With crafty counsels, how he might most easily
Obey the call of Achaia's mighty king,
Albeit himself were first to strike the blow,
Because the people loved him so well.
For many days he meditated this,
Nor ever ceased his thoughts, until at length
Night, wearied with the ceaseless watch he kept
Under the eaves of his tent, again came on,
And stole away into the plain afar.
Then through the night the son of Peleus' heir
Wandered over dreary plains, lamenting
Patroclus fallen before the Trojan host.
First he raised a funeral pyre of dry wood
At one side of the camp, and kindled fire
Around it; and, groaning deeply as he wrought,
Caught up his mighty sword, War's mighty lord,
Which rested against the flinty rock apart,
And bade him burn Patroclus' body whole.
Thus, ere the light of morning appeared, he laid
His hand upon the victim's ashes, and made
His mournful cry:--“Ah, whither am I dragged hence?
What evil doom hath heaved me from the rest
Of the immortals, and enwraps me thus?
Death is the lot of such as kill their friends.
Yet, ah, what meaneth this? What dark disaster
Hath visited me? For never yet was I
Slain, nor mine own life suffered like a foe.
This deed alone my sad fate hath brought on,—
To fall too near some warrior whom I loved.
Oh, had I lived amidst a race of slaves,
Or had a sharer of my throne been none!
Such grief would have been his, seeing me lie
Like some poor slave beneath his roof, his friend.
Myself I had not then, nor any friend
Had I, whose aid might have saved me then
From shameful death, and caused me to escape.
But now, behold, I dwell where kings are;
My brother hath my heart, and even myself
Hath left me, for unworthily I gave
My heart unto him. But he hath no fear
Lest he should lose the prize he sought for so.
For when Achilles saw me once again
Returning to his side, and rejoicing
Over my head, he smote me at the chest,
Saying, ‘Thou hast indeed forgot thy pain,
When thou wast in the wide world by thyself;
But now thou art come back to us again,
Who gladly would have spared thee; now know
That never didst thou love mankind above
Mine own self. Come home; arise, and do us all
A friendly service; smooth our beds with oil,
And purge our food-baskets. And give us meat
To eat and drink, and wash the clothes we wore.
Come also, bring with healing balms of state
Cool water, and good wine in baskets full.
If these things be not sufficient, then let
Some other of the Immortals send us more,
That we may pour upon our wounds the wine
Of Hecate, that she may drive the sorrow away.”

While he spake, the bloody tresses of her hair
Were moved, and about her brows and face there hung
Those dark shadows which the sun cannot touch,
Made by the blowing wind, and the rising storm.
So stood she weeping, while her voice was still,
And with unmeaning words addressed her woes:
“I pray you, mother, since you are skilled
In mystic lore, tell me why my son
Is doomed to die, and not my own self, say.”
She said, and sunk her lamentation low,
Fearing her tears might stir the bitter grief
Still raging in her bosom; then replied:
“Long ago, dear daughter, an immortal came
Down from Olympus, and with him brought a gift,
A bow and quiver wrought with wondrous art,
Wherewith Apollo might endow a son
Deceiving of the gods, and end the war
Betwixt the living and the dead, who roams
At will abroad, and plucks the souls of men
As they sleep, or drags them forth at will,
And rends their bodies limb from limb, and lays
On mountains, and on desert sands, and on rocks
Deep under ocean, and on lands where never man dwelt,
Themselves unseen, the monsters that they were.
They gave to Peleus, lord of chariots, young
Apollo, to endolled be his steeds
With glory, and with undying fame. So now
Peleus, godlike, endows ye both, and bids
You twain endolled be your daily work
By sea and land, till age shall weary both.
He shall not lack for gifts, neither shall I
Be wanting either at his bidding or at thine.”

Her words pierced deep into his soul, and filled
His eyes with tears: then answered she again:
“Nay, nay, I know not how these things may be:
Albeit Ate, thy sister, sent a spy
Into thy tent, who saw thee kneeling there
Beside the knees of Tyndarus, thy son,
And learnt that thou hadst begotten a son
Unhappy, and that great mischance had fallen
Upon the Achaeans: but I knew nought
Of that, sweet daughter; it lay beyond
My knowledge; surely then it must have been
Far otherwise, for men could ne'er be born
Whose fates were destiny. Now, however,
Let each accept his lot, and gladly bear it.
Me, I can guess, thou gav'st no child again
To the third time producing offspring, nor
Shall get another, though thou wilt, for thou
Wilt never more be Queen. If thou shalt need
Another spouse, take Hermaphrodité
Or Adonis, for the Nymphs will follow
The same husband, and to them shall be
Giv'n a wife as many wives as there are days
To the years of a mortal life. But if
Thou wilt wed one whom thou loved'st well past
The first, and shall receive anew, then make
An offering, and devise a fitting doom
For such a life; for those who grow old
Must yield to fate, and earth shall hold no new."

Then Nestor thus: "Mother, I am wearied out
With sitting all day beside this fire:
And if myself but little profit by it,
What should the sons of Greece, who live by sword,
Bear all the ills they suffer? Let us go down
Into the house, and into my armour put
Our shoulders: for heavy is the load I bear,
Being younger, and having less to defend."

He spoke, and all his followers followed him,
All except Achilles, who stayed behind
Praying to Jove: for he feared lest some help
Might come to Greece from Tenedos, and he thought,
Had Agamemnon met with favourable ears
Among the Gods, that many a Greek would rise
Around him, and that he might himself
Perform exploits on the broad plain of Troy.
But when Achilles had withdrawn from sight
The distant tops of Ilium's lofty towers,
The people left the House, and hastened thence
Like devouring wolves, insatiate, to tear
Each other's throats, and slay without reserve.
Nor did the Trojans leave Achilles there
Till he had armed him like a warrior:
Eager he looked around him for a moment,
And, musing, on the hosts of Greece cast down
Doubtful looks, and mused within his mind
If yet he deemed himself a match for all,
Or if indeed his spirit was turned aside
Before the arms of Priam's mighty son.
So laid he down upon his bed, and slept,
While his two brothers kept watch about his head.
But when he woke, and saw the sun ascending
From the Sea of Marmora, and that the hour
Was come at last of pealing joyousness
Throughout the city through all her gates, he set
In act to flee, but lo! before his feet
There stood a woman, clad in garments of white,
Who with swift steps went towards him, and embraced
His hand, and said, "I have brought you hither,
That thou mayst know what evil chance hath brought thee."
"Begotten sister," replied Achilles, "why
Hast thou my heart so troubled with affright?
Why does thy presence bring such fear to me?"
She answered, "No evil hap has befallen me,
But I have heard that thou art Achilles' friend,
And I am here by invitation, for I love
Thee, and would that thou shouldst ever rule over me.
Go then, and do thy duty, fighting nobly:
For he is mine only brother, and I pray
That thou with him I may dwell in peaceful rest,
Where even the poor inherit peace."
She spake, and quickly vanished; whereon he rose
And went toward the door, while Greeks and Trojans laughed
Together, knowing full well their sovereign lord
Would not forsake him. There he found Helen's self
Standing, fair-hair'd Medea, Ulysses' consort,
Achilles' mother (for the seed of Theseus
Stood bare, whose daughter bare Medea), and others
Who his comrades were, and with whom he held
Friendship's privilege. She had taken leave
Of herself ere she entered, and now came forth
By invitation, for 'twas her own birthday.
A maidens'-blush filled the chamber, and her eyes
Were streaming with tears, as thus she spoke:
"Ah me, how beautiful he is! How kind he is!
How beloved! For me, alas! how lost!
Now are we parted, and our daily ties
As friends are riven. My glory has departed,
And my honour lost; and he alone remains
To save me from dishonour. Ah, whither must I fly,
When he is gone hence? Must I still abide here,
And look upon these cruel eyes? Then must I keep
Hostages and gifts, till some man of great name
Bid me at once farewell, and accept the gift,
Lest he reject it? And what light must I display
To strangers, since I lose both voice and face?
Alas! What answer can I give them, or supply
Their loss, when they shall tell me that they hate
My race and nature? That I sought to sow
Death among the Greeks, to destroy the brave,
And spare the coward--that I saved not him,
Seeing that I was fain to die in defence
Of one unworthy of life. They will say,
Even though I paid him tribute, that I bought
His life, and so preserved his own. If I speak
Truth, let him escape unpunished still, nor blot
His name from history, who could refuse
Such service. But if the Achaean chiefs
Come to the field of battle, and he fight with them,
Then will he fall, no otherwise than he died.
And if he fall there,--what boots it then to free
His wife and children? What deed of valour done
Will serve me later, if he lives not long?
But if he perish there,--what boots it then
To gain such prize as men may think his, or win
Such favour in Achilles' sight? Let him go
Disgraced, and unavenged, and with empty hands
Paying eternal penalty to mankind!"

Thus cried she weeping, and Achilles' mother wailed
With bitter moan beside her. So dark her mood
That round her grief seemed gathered up the clouds,
And darkness shrouded her. Her wild lamentation
Reached unto the lofty mansions of heaven,
And all her soul was sorrowing for her son.
As when a lion hath been pent in fen or den
Long time, and hunger drives him to devour
All grassy pastures and lowlying waters near,
He strives hard to shake him from his hold,
Yet cannot break out, because his raging mind
Is waxed fierce, and burns with thirst to slay,
Until at length the princes of the host
Arise and drive him from the royal boar,
Who rests and feigns sleep beneath some hedgehog;
And now he snores loudly, but awake,
And lashing back his ears, makes howling rush
Upon them, and they on his flanks he smite
With their broad swords. Such was Peleides' mother,
So mighty was her anguish. No less in thought
Than in her sorrowful spirit, Peleia's child
Was penitent. Down along the shore he hied
From hall to hall, and from each seat withdrew
Some suppliant, till at last within the walls
He sat again; and after him the bairns
Departed, bearing with them the golden cup
Refresht from Thracian Dodona, where the son
Sate at the feast with Agamemnon's daughters,
Nymphs most wondrously lovely. Of those who took
The offering, Menelaus offered most,
High oaken table, and an ample cloth
Woven by skilled women of the country.
At other end of board sat Nestor, rich
In produce of every kind, and honoured first
Of all the Phocians. Next after these appeared
Ulysses, seated next the high-hearted man
On the good bench, by Eumaeus served,
Whom he had nursed young, and sent into the world.
Next did he sit him, and the hostess showed
Her reverence deep, and asked him gently why
He was moved with such deep sorrow? He replied:
O goddess-born! I never yet had felt
Such pity, more than now I feel for her
For her dear lord. This wretched woman sowed
Tendrils of evil through the city, and thence
Grew by the way, and bore the tares, which she herself
Had not herself scorned. She hid them in the barns
Of many folk, whereon the herdsmen ploughed them in,
And others set them in rows before the doors
Of the fair women, thinking, 'If this be true
We too must bear the tares.' This fearful tale
She told, and many believed her, till she found
Himself betrayed. Now, therefore, while yet the herd
Stood in the stalls, she laid an ambush close
Before the door, and waited for the wooers there.
They came, and saw the danger, and turned back,
Mourning their loved Ulysses, who received
No love nor kindness from the Phaeacians, but died.
Then mourned Telemachus alone, but others drew
To pity even him, for others suffered dread.
Ajax, and Odysseus both approached him, and made
Libations of wine and wheaten bread, and prayed
To all the Gods, imploring that they would send
Their swift ships to protect his own person safe
Within the house, lest haply the suitors should
Perform his father's funeral rites on his corpse.
These prayers were heard by Proserpine, who sent
Before them silent, forthwith, the hollow ghost
Of Theban Astyanax, who commanded them on.
Soon as he saw his son approaching, thus spake
He to the blind Astyanax,--whoever thou art!--
"Go, call the dead man hither, that, alive he may
Give thee greeting; let no one speak a word to
Influence his mind, lest thou destroy his words
Which might have comforted thy sufferers."

Now when the noble blind Knight reached the place
Where lay his father, straight he raised his eyes,
And seeing his dearly-beloved, in the face
Shone yet his mother's features, wept and moaned:
But when he heard his voice, he foamed at the tears
Which welled up in his for years gone by, and said,
"Father mine! it is indeed thou, it is I,
I see thee, but unrecognized; and oh,
How hard it are for me to tell my heart's
Dark thoughts, and keep thee so far removed from me!
Oh that I could stifle down the bitter woe
Which is agitating me like wildfire!"

Then upon the threshold kneeling he hung down
His forehead, and with clasped hands his arms
Together uplifted over his head,
As saying, "It is indeed you, 'tis I am here!
This instant will I ask the boon you gave
My children, ere you passed away, to live,
Nor bring another charge against your deathless soul.
What gift has left my children free from ill?"

Then, turning suddenly, he began to say,
"Alas for folly! You have brought the doom
Upon yourself, for I have kept my faith!
Never did my daughter or my sons display
One single fault among them all; nay, myself
Would rather that they had been dead long years ago.
When you went wandering from our home, I thought
'Tis only grief and pain she feels, she shall wear
With that much time what time does not add up;'
But when I knew the truth, I was afraid
Lest some worse evil betide you, for I feared
You had been led hither by a sinful mind,
That you had wished us all unhallowed meat,
Or else that you had sought to take our goods,
Or even that you had come to steal from us
Our own husband's body, whose flesh you ate!
Therefore I have taken you into my bosom,
And given you a body and a life, and bid
All my maidens give you theirs, and have prepared
The lustral waters to your lips, which if you drink
Ye shall be men; but if ye taste not this,
Your souls shall perish in Hell's fire!"

Then wise Penelope answered him, saying,
"Nay, stranger, surely you have made your choice
To die, and go your ways, since none can make
A longer stay than I could; but do thou hear
And allow me first a prayer. No soul that lives
Can merit a good name, though it be within
The power of any man to requite it.
Thou art a robber, whom no man denies
Admittance here, but who among mankind
May win acceptance?  If any such should come,
First will I wash thy feet with water drawn
From these very springs, and then will I present
To him my right handmaidens, and will make
Her choice between my children and this man;
For I will make her understand that I am
Hard to be liked, but soft to be despised."

So washed she each foot, and anointed them well
With olive oil, and set them to breakfast there
Among the fair bridal garments where she kept
Those of her female train; and food and wine
Were placed before them, and the servants fed
On dainties that beget weary tongues, such as thine,
Sirius, for example, for fruit and honey-cake
Hath filled their mouths with, till their hearts grew light
With merry revelry. Then, bidding adieu,
She beckoned to Antinous, and he too withdrew,
Leaving Ulysses sitting still and mute.

Ulysses sat awhile in silence, and then said,
"Daughter," quoth he, "permit me once again to pray
That heaven may grant me to behold again
My native land, nor ever shall I grieve
Because I am no more. Tell me, and permit
Me truly to receive it, when I come
Back to my own country, whether Jove
Will also leave some blessing behind
Behind me, or whether earth and sea and cloud
Resemble those above me, and the sky
Like that below me, and the sun descends
Through all three, as in the midst is man;
Whether the Gods afflict me alone, or many
Perform my departure with a mighty storm.
Let me not therefore have died forsaken
Of all who love me, and let no one speak
Forthwith against me, lest others also rise
In wrath, and cast their teeth into my jaw
Like wolves, and eat me alive. But I know
God will not yet this custom lose of Heaven,
But will continue to protect all who love
The stranger who comes among them from his ship
At random, and without warning, and brings
No word of news of old acquaintance with them,
Who leaves them comfort at the same unspoken word
By which, if lingering, touched with sorrow, they
Gave him their trust, or hope of future good.
I, therefore, having no recompense nor counsel
Have gone hence, but with my Dardanian friends
Sit sadly by my father's grave, thinking how
He would have loved me, and how faithfully
Had watched after me, and borne with patience mine
Woes, while I lived with him, through thick and thin.
Ah, therefore let no one stir thee about
To vex me, neither let a woman speak
Impertinently, lest on my uncultured ear
It might seem that witless wailing and unseemly tears
Ought more to draw my pity than their words."

Thus he spoke--the women heard and stood aside.
Minerva now took the bridle and the whip,
Which Halitherses had made her gift, and bade
The coursers mount, herself leading them both;
They left the room unobservant, and descended
Into the court, and passed the gate and line
Of double bars, and over the pavement turned
Their backs to the palace, treading the narrow path
Beneath the gateway, under arch and gateway,
Under the portal, under the battlements,
Under the roof that was the colour of the wall,
Under the pavement, under the outer fane,
Over the stones and down the stairs, until they came
Unto the vestibule, and then past the walls
Of the inner courts, over the level ground,
Past the marble steps, under the arches great
And stately, up along the hall, out of hearing
Of all people, save the Queen, and vanished thence.

Thereafter, when Minerva saw that night was ended,
She went apart from Olympus, even there
Where the dark mounds are buried beneath the deep
And boundless billows of Oceanus, and came
Into the golden house, where she had been staying
Ere she brought forth the beguiling of the Sun
Upon the world, and all around the Earth
Was glorified with light, and all the work of Night
And day was shining, and the Moon was crescented,
Then she laid her hands upon the neck of Eve
And gave her heart back, and out of pain and weariness
Recovered her mind. And Adam told his wife,
And bestowed on her the affection of his eyes,
And bade her dwell happily with him and bear
His children, multiplying joyously all blessings.
And Eve, thy partner, longest spouse of twelve years,
Still reigned in Paradise, and tended countless lives.

Now, however, though God had given her over
To perfect rest, and to forgetfulness of self,
Yet, like a dog, whom men hold at some sacrifice
For trial of strength, they keep drawing her near
After some time, and finding by experience taught
How little attends complete withdrawal from human ties,
They feel that something of their decreased power remains,
Though they should be for ever thus absented: so,
Tired perhaps of absence, weary of insincerity,
Or else desiring what they cannot give, they cling
More closely to those persons whose society
Reminds them of something they have lost, or still retain
Of something that used to be. Thus Eve, the while,
Lay watching beside her husband's bed, awaiting night.

Meanwhile, thro' the parted lids of Eve, the serpent curled
Round her thoughts, commanding, tempting, calling, binding;
Round her insatiate heart the fire of temptation burned,
Her fancy wandered wandering in fancied ways,
As an eagle flies her dreams across the skies.
She must partake his pleasures, or resign
Part of her being; he will not spare her, nor abase
Her, though she knows it not. She sees the hour approach,
When he will touch her, and seduce her away
From her pure kindred, to his servile band,
Those easy gods who live by other rules
Than hers, and far less virtuous. She dares not tell
One single thought of what had hitherto been her life,
Lest it should bruise her innocent; she must remain
Incomplete, till he has drawn her veil away,
And shown her all her loss, and made her see
All that her crime had stolen from her own kind,
Lost, forever lost. He will not take her then,
But wait till later, and with yet another offer
Made, more precious this time, she shall consent.
So spake our mother Eve; and suddenly the air
Smote with a freshness, as the sudden sun
Pour'd thro' the gap between the leaves of leafless trees,
Amidst the thicket, waving grass, and flowers,
Opening the way that his bridle kept close locked.
Quick detached without a sign of pride or fear,
Down from the alcove he springeth nimbly,
Swift as the flash of a sword, or arrow shot
Through unseen opposition into its aim.
Adam, startled, but unawares present, caught
Up from the ground by the flying shoe,
And hid his face within his hands, and tried
To think what it would mean; at which the shadow
Left by the retreating form, embraced him round
Again, and took again the shape and tone
Of that first simple servant, named Roderick Dhu.
This change wrought such stir in Adam, that soon
He broke silence, asking, "What means thee now,
Like one who dreads us to enquire whence thou art?"
To whom the phantom, answering, said, "I, like thee,
Fear not; yet I come sent down of God to warn
Thee, lest further talk with me prove vain." Then added,
"Against this man, 'tis mine obligation
To bring forward evidence against thine own ears,
Which if thou wilt condescend to believe,
Then shalt thou find no mightier foe than me
To balance against thee,--myself a foe!"
Said Adam, "God lend me strength to award
This conflict, against my better judgment;
It may be, that hereafter thou and I,
If we endure long enough, may gain
Branch of the tree of life, wherein myself
Shall plant my foot, and win eternal life,
By faith, when we shall stand before the throne
Of Him who made both one.")
Saying this, he bent down his head
With both his hands under his breast;
And, as he did so, a drop of blood
Stain'd the childlike cheek of ruddy hue;
While, looking up, he saw the apparition
Just above him, seated on the sand,
A moment gazing on him with eyes
That gave to love their deep commitment,
Ere any words came; then breaking off, it said,
"Oh! say not thou that I am able, alone,
By my own small force, to drive thee from
These shores, whereon thou cam'st to seek me out,
My only guardian; call instead
The grace of having driven thy countryman
Home to his own place, and home to his things,
Before thee fallen; and to make good, too,
 Thy word, the promise of my flight from England,
Which was refused because thou wert in hope
Still to keep me there longer. Thou hast driven
Me forth because thou knew'st I would betray
Thy trust, and never in my keeping kept in Holland
A traitor could do harm; and, if I flew,
Because I feared aught besides thy use,
I left my father, who, for his old age,
Was neither strong to fend me off, nor rich:
Nor could I choose but leave him, since he loved
Me once, and wished me always to return;
Who therefore hath died, and left me free
From all ties but those which pertain to work,
And hath himself accepted the same.
Therefore, O stranger, I repeat once more
That I am Roderick Dhu; and I come here
Not for revenge, but for release from chains,
And to report to Queen Isolt his son,
Whom that I love best of all that hold
Their place beside her in the fair Queen's seat
Here in the Isle of Pines: and if she
Fall sick and die, let her soul go thence
Freely to the place where I can give
Her the thanks she desires."
Thus while they conversed each on his part
Told to the other stories of the past;
Each telling how the other suffered wrong,
Or bore an ill among the breakers of mankind
For his own great goodness, forethought, and care,
And all that he had done for others' welfare,
Mingling these accounts together, either
With greater or less credit, as each one
Had cause, either in reward for service
Done them of late, or else because they had
Been enemies some years, and therefore
Were frugal with their dues, and used all
Rude churls and beggars at their meals-in.
This way and that the two men jumbled their tales,
But none believed another's story,
So marvellously alike in every point
Both were of heathen kin, though they profess'd
To hate the Gods, and to have no care
For Heaven itself, nor yet for earthly things.
At last King Arthur, casting from his mind
All counsel besides, bade his squires summon
The strangest folk he could think of, and thus
His merrymen began:--"Hither we bring
An evil dame, whose feet are piteous,
Whose hair is hoary, whose wrinkled brow
Represents a loss immense of youth,
And many tears have dimm'd her sight below.
She comes, methinks, for certain messengers
Sent out by sorrow ere yet the dawn,
Bringing tidings to the queen that Roderick
Has slain the high Chieftain, Fairhair."
They laugh'd aloud.  The Queen looked furious round,
Then fiercely at Sir Roderick said, "Say, what devil
Made you to run away and ride back
Without so much as saying farewell to me?
What devil has been your guide and guard
In this wild wilderness, and led you hither?"
Sir Roderigo made answer with a sneer,
As one who parley'd with the worst devil,
"Your Highness must know, Your Grace, 'tis I,
King Roderick of Terfimm, sent by heaven
And led by Dame Peace, the fairy crone,
Who will be brief, for she has sworn the truth,
Though it should cost her her girdle and her crown.
Dame Peace, the fairy crone, has bribed me
To say that I have seen the high chief kiss
Kissing the white body of his lady,
Fairhair; and that, when I have reached this land,
I will return and tell you all about it;
Tell you, within an inch of my life,
How Kintu shall be rul'd, and war shall rise
Within our very borders, and how wife
Shall duel with husband, and how sons shall fight
With their sisters for the hand of the first sweet girl
They see; till, through infirmity of human kind,
This wildered world shall be cleansed and wrung anew."
He spoke; and strode toward the castle wall,
Where stood the rest of his merrymen.
There, with a bitter smile, Sir Roderigo
Turned to the gay crowd that drew apart,
Like sudden rain after a long hot day
Starts faint into clouds, and disappears.
Yet some there were that still would follow him,
Still cheered him on as he hurried along,
Still wondered at his words, or doubted them,
While others again grew angry and cried,
"You've told us enough!  Enough, or why then
Would you tell such nonsense as you have said?
Enough, or he's no kingly man that says it!"
But Roderick understood his own aim,
And answered, smiling, "Let them shout who will;
I'm not afraid of kings; I'm only here
To teach Kintu law and order new;
Kings may perish, but the laws remain
For ever, and eternal justice makes
My native land a kingdom far removed
From every spot whence tyranny arose;
A kingly message to the savage race
Of old Ireland, and a king alone."

Soon as the Prince had passed beyond their reach,
Those simple men became humble, and went
Along the sand-hills and through the woods
To where the river sloped its waters down,
Making a wide and spacious harbor there,
That those who might wish might take the tide,
And leave the island for a little ease.
Some here took boats, and with them came a score
Of rude fishers from the neighboring shore;
For they too had heard of what had pass'd
Amongst the hills of Erin, and they came
To fish in Erin's clear and shallow streams.
These fishermen brought their nets and poles
And rods, and soon set up in the harbor
Amusements and luxuries for all;
Poleshields, and darts, and cards, and all sorts
Of games and toys, which they had made whilere
By fishing in the fields and woody vales
Of Erin, and they hung them up in the hall,
That all might enjoy them; nay, even the prince,
The gentle knight, had entered into joy.

When all was ready, the goodly prince
Walk'd slowly around the decking yard,
And gazed upon the various sports,
Till he was filled with gladness and delight,
And said within himself, "I am content.
Good captains and excellent soldiers lead
Their troops, and I have gained fair women's love;
Nay, more, I have obtained Erin's royal throne,
Which now I fill, and rule o'er all her tribes,
Her vassals, and her subjects; yea, this tree
Is mine,--the best prize a soldier can gain
On any field of battle is his tree;
So these two fair maidens are my captives now.
Farewell to pleasure and all pleasures vain!
Too long, Alichino! hath thy passion worked
Against the happiness of others' lives;
Too long hast thou been known to me, and now
Thou art become the duke of dinars, and lord
Of all the wealth of Spain; yet time would fail
If I could repeat my thanks to thee for these.
First let me give thee thank in trifles due,
For bringing home to me my captive wives:
Next let me bless thee for the bounteous store
Of food provided for our board at Vevay";
Then adding quickly, "Ah, ah," he exclaimed,
"What words are these? Oh, cruel ruler vile!
Have patience awhile, though I must make trial
Of thy severe obedience; 'twill be short,
As any thing else, so short as passing breath.
Be patient, loving friend, and hold my hands;
We'll agree together, and we'll both be true."

Thus saying, he turned away, and left the cell
In tears, full heartily, as one turns back
From blood, whose evil spur is in his heel;
Not without deep glee had Roderick Dhu, then,
Led back the parting footstep to his side,
Though he should lose the flower of his young days,
His brother, brave Chieftain, killed by Bessie's knife.

But when he saw poor Bess again secure
Within the turret, safe from danger or fear,
Gazing with large eyes upon the green turf below,
Full of strange memories and feelings intense,
He called her name with weeping and lamentation,
Kissed her brow and cheek, and kissed her bowerful of pearls,
Until the tear-drops fell like dew upon the grass.

And Margaret, when she saw the tear-drops start,
Said, "O churl, once I was as other girls are,
With jewels for adornment and a doll for play;
But oh! the woe I felt, when lonely and sad
My father used to sit and sigh and pine,
Because none loved him, none protected or fed
Or ministered to him like thine did, Bess.
Oh! never shall I forget how like a child
Thou seemed to be, Bess! until I saw thee here.

"My father died; no bearer of a sword
Could do more, in truth, than lay me down in hell;
No greater grief can touch a man beneath the sun
Than being lost upon whom lies another's care.
Yet not to thee but unto him I owe
More than my life; the love that thou to me hast shown
Comes from the day that we were twain, my sweet,
Than if my own fond heart had only sprung
Into my song, and neither prayer nor praise
Had been nor hope of glory from the hour
That we were fain alone, as children should,
To look beyond the borders of our ken
And wander hand in hand apart, each alone.

"There is no hand that I have clasped that did not cling
Like some dark form of fate to mine own; no mind
That did not tremble and doubt ere cease to strive
With thoughts that were sown, like tares in springtime,
With hopes that were planted there till morning blew
Their heads above us toward the sky, and there
Were reaped no fruit of love; no heart that did not beat
As if it knew what pulses beat in the other;
No soul that did not feel what pulsations meant;
No spirit that had strayed from its pale way from Heaven
And found itself in earthly tabernacle.

"Therefore, O Bessy! since thou wast the first
That drew my soul aside from mother Earth,
Since thou hast led me upward through the wilds
Where sorrow nursed and where it might breed,
Till I have climbed clear above them and looked
Down on their squalid loveliness, I will tell
The story of my love for thee, as true
And faithful to the theme as thou. And thou
Wilt ever be the heroine of my rhymes,
When after many seasons of grey gloom,
I too am found no more beneath the sod.

"It may be from thy likeness sprang the Plantagenet,
Who wrought no less a miracle for England
Than if his face had come about thee now,
A bearded beauty crowned with flowers of thorns,
While men and kings bowed before him in their pride,
And thy great name shone out over Camelot.
The same great name that Merlin named for thee
Beneath the golden moon at midnight dim,
By ways unknown and mountains veiled in snow,
On which a naked star came forth at dawn,
And flashed upon the world a torch of gold,--
And all the land was filled with shouting and weeping,
And Merlin spoke, and then was silent long,
And Arthur held his hands and cried aloud,
'Whither, whither, Bess?' But there came no answer
Save the white mist where the stars peered between;
And still they passed the dusky valley down,
Until they heard the torrent roars and sounds
Of woods breaking, and the forest-floods
Pouring around those walls of rock that stand
Mid the hills far westward, Weneris Tower,
King Arthur's prison and anchorite;
For there the broken tower stood bare and old,
Its battlements stripped of ivy and pine,
Its lofty ridge-pole bent into the earth,
Nailed there with cruel nails and propped aloft
By huge uprooted trees: and o'er the cleft
The broad pathway stretched, crusted with wet mud,
Shivering with sleet, and littered all
With driftwood, leaves, and splinters of the oak.

"Then up and passed the knight across the moor,
Nor stopped, but sped toward the north afar,
Past hedge and pasture, field and farm,
Through wood and hollow, moss and mire,
Over boards and tracks, by stone and mound,
Under bridges, over pools and streams,
Unmindful of the weeping pilgrims
Behind the shrines and bells that hung
Aloof, like sentinels, watching all
His steps, who thought themselves alone
In wide fields deserted, when a shout
Of 'Halloo!' was heard, and nearer crawled
The voice of one calling out again,
'Hullo! halloo! Halloo!' Then a groan,
Far off, behind them; and they turned and said,
'They are dead, Bess! They are dead.' "Sir Bard,
Your songs are sweeter than your manners!"
Said Arthur, reading that day."And you are right," the King replied,
"But this is idle chatter. You forget
We march beside our king, whose host is great
And strong, and he must choose his battles well."

So rode they on, until they found a cross
Upon a hill, and down they went to see
If any lance had reached it, or spear,
Or dragon hight; but none could help it there,
Though many knights had ridden thereto, and none
Could say how these things were gotten from before.
Then they rode slowly by the cross, and paused
To let two dogs that ran before them eat,
Lest they should meet with blood or scent to lead
Among the rocks and stones, and spoil their smell
Of meat, for all the country round was dead.
Then back they fared, and soon reached Camelot,
And there the Queen she gave her maidens show
How all the knights had done, so swiftly done;
And how Sir Lancelot had been a bride-bed thief
(Which he had told her); and how he had won
From Gawayne the diamond, and how he
Had given it to Guinevere instead;
And how he had undone Edmund, and how
He had made him promise never to wed;
And how he had married Avitus; and how
He had tricked him likewise, and how that did
O'ercome the treason of Agramant; and last
Of all he told her how he had slain the King,
And brought his realm back into his own power.
This was what he told her, and she wept
As ladies weep who have lost a sire dear
Some funeral of an only son, whom, oh!
Fate has left them, and they mourn for want of him....
And Gawain answered, laughing, "Nay, nay, not so;
You've saved your courtesies. If you'd kept your reign
And kept your lands, I would not now have praised
Your courtesy and patience thus much, nor shown
Such pity for my lord as I have done.
I will not do so much for him; but pray
Let me go back with you, for once more I love
My lady truly, though I know full well
She loves another, and I wish I might be
That other's keeper, and keep him within
My walls, and make him happy till I die.
There is a city near us called Lough Swith,
Where dwelleth a great king, who keeps fair courts
And hath a good castle which is ever free,
And thither oft I'd go if I were he;
But that wild robber Garforth holds the passes
Both ways, and drives me forth, and chides my face
In daylight, and slays me in the dark too;
So that I live a fugitive from home.
Yet if you loved me true could you not use me
Well enough? For there's no man lives long
Without being used--used well--by some one,
At least, at times. And then, indeed, you might
Tell me strange tales, and I listen with pleasure,
Pleased with such stories as make me feel
A lover's blood beat against my breast.
What say you now, and what shall follow?"

"Now," cried the Queen, "listen to me, Arthur,
For you are wiser than a woman always
When a queen hears a question made in haste,
Unless it be because you're mad. Answer me
Either what you think or what you feel.
Say, can you think? Can you feel? Are you able
Both to think and to be? Will you answer both?
Because I ask it, is it just to take
One for the other, or to leave the first
For later? Because you cannot say,
Is it just to take either for the other?"

Arthur flushed, and looked away: his brain
Reeled, and began to function again:
"No, I am unable to say, Madam, either
That I can think or feel, or that I am
Both able to think and to be, or will be
Both able to think and to be; but because
There may be those who think you ask it of me
With ill intent, I will answer neither,
Neither will I say, 'I think,' nor yet, 'I feel';
For if I said 'I think,' I should betray
The secret thought in each honest breast.
I will answer, rather, that I'm not able
To speak, or to be silent, or to lie,
Or to forgive or to forget; for this, methinks,
Were far too cruel a thing to attempt:
Since every word spoken is heard, and seen
By all the eyes that watch thee, Arthur of France.
Therefore I'll answer neither one nor tittle;
But until you give the sign I wish unbroken
Your mystery, and your honour, Arthur of France."

"Mephistopheles, thy life has been a study
To me, and I find here more and more
A deep interest in everything.
Thou art a philosopher, and living
Art thou one? Art thou a man?
Art thou God's angel? What says He,
The Son of God, whose words I love the most?
'Call none to love them, not their kind.'
If thou hast ever taken that oath,
Why dost thou waste thy days in play?
Dost thou not strive with Simeon Philoetius,
Philistean oafs, who call themselves wise
Because they know so little of life?
They bid men not to marry and have children,
Not to get rich, and while they are getting
Their riches, why bother about the world?
They tell poor people that they must starve,
Who are vexed with mean fortunes; they say
God's mercy on fools and prostitutes;
Then preach mankind to be forgiving,
And tender up a heart to thieves:
Next, when they have got a heap of wealth,
They flatter very audaciously
To hold it in a filthy loan.
All these things seem so very hard and cold,
Do they really lead men to virtue?
Or does some other purpose guide thy mind?

"Hast thou not found, by means of signs, to show
Men to pursue the virtuous paths of shame,
Making light of good and evil deeds?
Has thy cunning not brought thee into touch
With many vile and weak women, who
Through their wicked desires have wrought thee harm?
Wilt thou not one day plead their behalf,
Seeing how miserable men become
Through pride and folly and through evil habits?
Have they not given thee gold without measure,
Which was not theirs to take or leave alone;
And made thy name their medium of exchange,
Seeming, perchance, to deal fairly and fairly?
Nay, did not Heaven itself help thee there?

"Didst thou not hang thy banner up in air,
And bore an image in mind, which showed
Thyself the wretch and monster that thou art,
Bidding men shrink back before thy face
From contact with the shining sun of truth,
Out of fear of receiving even a stain
Of any black act in doing so,
And trembling lest thy blemished fame should grow
And spread throughout the universe,
Wherein thou hast soiled thy self so deeply,
That all would loathe and shun thee, and thy name
Would be the bane of life among the rest?

"Hast thou not done all this, and still art left
Unto thy shame untold? Do thy sin clouds
Roll upward only to lift off at last
At the blast'rous trumpets of the judgment-day?
Must the avenging lightning flash its fire
Upon thy guilty brow, and then go down,
Only to rise again ere long, to burn
The blanching water and the pyre in which
We will lay thee, and make ready to enter
Joyful into everlasting life?
What vengeance, O prince, can justice spare?

"Prince, my son, prince, although thou knowest well
How much I pined for mine own country's land,
Yet have I had no time to look after it:
My whole life's desire has been to see
Once more my native home, and there to die.
My mother bore me here, she died here,
This castle was her resting-place.  My brothers,
One beside the cradle, one upon
The altar-fire were wont to pray for me.
Oft in the silence of the night they knelt,
Prayed for my soul as it slumbered in its bed.
Ah! what a curse is his who cannot save,
Whom so much death wears into himself as death!

"Now, I remember--but my memory fails--
When first within this prison I was shown
Over the gloomy halls where innumerable lights
Flash forth simultaneous glories from above,
Like stars unto the beholder's eye.
I felt myself drawn onward by those rays
Into a strange eternity, wherein
Rises and falls for ever the same bright stream,
Flowing along like molten iron poured out
In a great furnace, whence its motion rose
Upward, and circled round this upper ground.
As one, who, walking in a desert spot,
Beholds the glittering outline of a mountain,
Sees the dust rise whither he turns his feet,
But cannot tell from whence the splendour came;
So saw I there, but nothing distinct I knew
After the storm had shattered my soul.

"It seemed as if a cloud had shut the skies
Within one vast concave, from whence were cast
Barbs of red flame, and the deadly rain
Of sulphur and pitch, which from the bursting
Convulsively the earth troubled terribly,
With all manner of burning arrows wing'd,
Shot from the gaping vents.  The tortured limbs
Took pain incredibly, and for a space
None of them could move, nor utter a sound.
Then, as if some dolorous orb had drawn
A second cloud within its terrible hold,
There reddening still shot forth flames, and smote
Each element with torment, body, mind,
Even to destruction of that which made them.

"While to the chasm's utmost verge I sank,
Confounded and full of doubt, amid the flames
I saw another world, new created heavens,
With happier stars than these, and in their place
New moon and planets breathing scents of balm;
And on the new creation happily shone
The stars already, and the golden sun
Already, Merlin said, stood at guard.

"Here end our dispute," said my master Arthur,
Turning aside his gentle eyes, and speaking
With softer voice, "Brother, you have seen
All things, and all things now are known."  Then he:
"Now turn your steps below, and let us try
If you may see the places most dear
To yourself, or else have other thing
More precious in your thoughts." As he spoke,
On their right hands appeared the pleasant places,
Which I before had named, together with
Granada, and Castile, and Flanders, towns
Most blessed in my remembrance.

Nor less on our left the hot and fierce battles
Waxed sharp and bloody through many a day,
Until the weary month of October
Had run its course.  When the third morning shone
Blossomless on rosy cheeks and temples shorn,
The holy light of God began to dawn
Amidst the battle, and the Moors, fled
Before it, fell away before it, slain.

"See!" cried the King, "the hour is come!  Let us go
And greet our King, though far away he be."
So spake he, and my guide gave heed, and drew
Our backs apart till we saw the plain
Far stretched before us, dotted with the dead.
Great masses of the broken army lay
Among the fields of war; others swept
Their carts, and hurried to the sea without;
Others over the broken bridges swerved,
Or tried the narrow pass itself, hurrying back
Through the wild wood, trampled and matted down
By inexpert riders, who perhaps did not scan
The dangers coming on them from the height.
Some sought the city; some looked not toward it,
Abruptly passing; some with grief and fear
Strode up the hill; while others turned their gaze
Unto the tents beyond, and then returned.
Still others, who had found safety in retreat,
Fled yet faster, bidding those depart who remained.

We, following him, reached the fortress gate,
At whose topmost tower a worn garrison sat
Handling the garrison's business.  There I leant
My cheek against the arch, feeling the wind
Bleat intensely, and watching the clouds drift by
Across the sky.  A moment, and the chill
Of evening filled each valley as it blow
From upland plains to river-chains.  And again
Another wave of cold blew, and, dark between,
The blackness fell upon the forest brown.

The chill November air awoke me next,
Yet felt I no more, for on mine eyelids fell
No curtain of the heavy mist drawn across
The landscape.  Yet such a dense obscuration hung
Upon us, that to discern the distant tops
Of trees, and clusters of small lindens scattered
Along the banks, required both skill and vision
Passive and active; and indeed I need must own
That ere I, here leaving you, took my stand
Against the outer wall, my inner self had gone
Beyond what words can describe, being unaware
How one has passed beyond when severed from itself.

When we arrived at the gateway leading out
Into the open field, I was already sure
By the quick stir of my heart that I should find
My lover waiting for me outside.  He was slow
In entering, but at last, after some delay,
Made straight for me, and in his eager grasp
Felt out and placed me against the wall.  With joy
I upbraided him, saying: "Thou sayest the truth!
You will be down there soon, and hasten my meeting."

He merely smiled, and, standing so, gazed into
My eyes, where they were kneeling on their knees.
"Tell me, love," I said, "what makes you hesitate?
Will any cause, or evil hand, manipulate
Your spirit, so that you shrink from loving me?"
But he, answering thus, "My love for you
Is greater than ambition of highest rank
Can ever rival, or any thought of ill
Can shake its firmness.  Love, like a rising sun,
Shines onward to the perfect splendour of heaven,
Unswayed by clouds or darkness.  Therefore am I
So ready at your side to go forth and follow,
Where I shall deem worthy, wherever I go,
That I would not be your slave in any world
Other than this, if I were afraid for shame."

As water is, mixed with the gushing rain,
That makes the way more smooth until the track
Is lost which was before; or as clear glass,
Roughted by the chiding of a froward child,
Makes the true path less bright; so, traced backward
Over the scales of years, my faith grew dim,
Till it seemed shadow-like, and could scarcely show
To men's disapprobation whatever it was
That made me turn aside and distance all
Those good friends of whom I had become a son.

While faith is shadow, love shines out clearly;
For man is born with both forever linked,
Nor can he ever take one from the other.
What time we most are taught by duty's chain
To put trust in goodness and unto death
Naught else is acceptable but what has been
Wrought by a generous generous heart.  Thus may
A man's soul never be wholly spoilt by sin,
Though it grow old unworthily.  But cease to move
With weak desire, nor strive too eagerly
After virtue; leave her treasures to yourself,
And she will give you continually,
Because she knows how much you want them.
Now tell me, have you learned all there is to know
About love from an aged crone of doubt?
'Tis better left alone these questions, for which
There is no room in hell, although the damned
May ask them day and night, and still get replies
Which make them wince, though God hears all prayer,
And sends His children comfortate from above.

"Yes, yes," you cry; "she knows all"; but hold!
Let me explain.  When a woman grows wise,
She asks many questions, but only one
Comes from a place of dread, because it stings.
This comes now, this does come, whenever
Her heart is touched by another's sin,
And cries out, "Oh, tormentor, what hast thou?"
Then Heaven gives her peace till judgment cometh,
And then she fears more pain, perhaps even death.

"Why do you burn with such fierce heat, mother?"
Said I to my mistress, who was lying
Half-naked beneath the embroidery quilt,
Resting her head on my breast, and curling
Her fingers through my hair, while the light
Of the burning embers burned upon them.
"Burn why?" you demand.  My flame is kindled
On higher thoughts, that will be carried hence
Easily as possible; but burn--
Mother, do not let me have my wish,
And have it fast.  If you will, you can bring
All the sorrow home that I can endure.
The world has nothing new to show me now,
Save the same tired things over again;
Nothing to think about except the same
Dull imbecility and the same dull
Imperative lustre of the same mean
Stones, that bear the same fruit of gold,
Without thinking what treasure they conceal.
Therefore, burn! burn! but don't scold me.
I must have sleep, or I'll curse myself
That I slept thus long without a curse.
Sleep helps me to forget my sins, and takes
Me past the anguish of the present,
When I feel that I'm being watched all night,
And weary beyond imagining.

"Well, well," you say, "you've told us enough.
Show us something new, or I must leave you."
Very sweetly indeed you speak,
But you'd better not promise anything.
You're too much a part of what you talk
To understand at last when you've told
More than can be erased by time,
Or you'll stay with me till I die.

We sat there in our pleasant room
Talking.  And I felt as if I shared
All her domestic happiness: her cook,
Her housekeeper, maid, gardeners, boys,
And her two grown sons just the same,
Just the same down to the last detail.
It seems to me I knew each face, and saw
My fair lady smile across the table
At me, and nod her head with fond surprise
When I showed her some little toy elephant
That once belonged to somebody.  She asked
How I liked it, and I said, "Quite like a boy."

Was it you I met across the threshold
In that dream-land where Time forgets
Everything that has been, and yet remains
As real as ours below?  Was it you
Who took my hand and spoke those words of yours
With such a gentle grace, so very sweet:
"Martha, you need not be afraid.  We'll go
Wherever you lead us, and wherever You
Lead me, I shall never forsake You."  Oh, dear!
I fear that it was all a delusion,
A fantastic frolic of the brain
Since the true You that I trusted still abides
Too deep within the hidden veil of Love
For any touch of mortal eye to see.
Dear Heart, let me forgive!  Let me not repine
Against the fate that made me your slave.

Is it you I meet on the staircase
Each morning, climbing faster and faster,
Until at last I almost lose sight of you,
And hear you breathe up the creaking stair
Until it seems I cannot catch your breath?
Do you go slowly going upstairs?
Down in the dim cellar, where the rain
Still falls, and the rats are quick to run
Beside you, so that you may not hear them?
Up here I sit, I watch you coming down
The flight of stairs, and as you go
So silently, so softly, near me,
That I half forget that you are gone,
And turn the air into silence, feeling
Only the slow flow of Spirit Life
Through all the veins of my being.

O my Beloved, I have heard
Some whispers in the winds which blow
Along the valleys, and among the hills;
They seem to whisper of a power
Not understood by all the sages, some
Secret of the Universe which lies
Beyond our human wisdom, some control
Satanic, some devilish, but none revealed.
They tell of a presence which affrights
Our senses, makes us pause to doubt our instincts,
And makes us bow before an alien force.
What is the truth?  Is it all a trick
Played off against us by the forces of evil?
God help us! let us only know for whom
These voices come, that trouble us so.

There is no life without grief,
No peace without tears,
If man believes not only God,
But man also.
Let him remember his own tears,
His own agonies,
Which he learned from himself to love.
Let him learn that other men weep
With his who knows not how nor why,
But alone through instinct.

Come, sad one, weep unto Me,
And thy tearful eyes behold.
Thy weeping will refresh my heart
From the hard bosom of despair.
I am wearied out already,
Wasted, discrowned, forlorn--
Yet Thou dost fill my cup with tears
From His pure source, and make mine joys more divine.

Oh, I was blind with mourning then,
But now I see
Through the veils of years
How Thy love hath brought deliverance,
Making my soul a gift
Of immortal worth.
Then I did believe
That the world went evermore wrong,
Till Thou drew nigh,
And bade me lift my gaze, and see again
The sun shine bright.

I would fain look back, and see
Once again the olden ways
Of the good old times,
When men were young and women kind,
And the best things won their way.
But they fail'd, and faded away,
Like the old spring days:
And I am here, and this my lot,
To mourn the vanished joys,
And wait while life stands still
While the great waters flow.

Life is too short
To waste in vain regrets,
And the saddest lessons
Must have the saddest ending.
This we know, that in the race
Of earthly nature, the wise
Earnest, and the swift;
And the slow, and patient ones
Take the prize for skill.

But there are others who run
In eager pursuit,
And never take rest,
And never tire;
Whose feet must run till they drop,
Or they bleed on the road.
But theirs is the palm,
Who win in the race of thought
By many a lap around;
While the hearts of those behind
Are slower, and their pace
Slows to a crawl.

He is most worthy, who
First set his heart upon
An upright path of duty;
And he lives in regret,
Who could advance the cause
Of truth and justice.

He is living in regret
Mining memories gold,
Of moments when he saw
A higher ideal.
He is rueing a deed
Late done in self-defence,
Or dream'd something better;
Or felt remorse for another's
Kindness or distress.

He sees a day of shame
Came o'er his head like doom,
And feels himself undone
Because his heart was false.
He turns from hope and faith,
And falters where he stood,
For hopes decay, and faith decays,
And friends are neither sure
Nor free from blame.

Weep, little child, weep,
As the snow-flakes fall,
All your troubles melt away,
Your troubles are not real.
You will laugh in the spring,
When the roses bloom anew;
And you'll be glad to meet
Another child in the summer--
Though your troubles may live with Him
Who weighs your souls at the last.

"Dear Mother," she said, "can you see
My angel Marjorie yet?"
Her fair face was clouded with pain,
She had wept her soul's loss in vain.
Mother, she cried, "for my sake forgive
Those cruel pranks of my foolish girl,
For I died because she mocked me."

"Martha," said Martha, "she is dead,
And she has passed into glory;
But I sit here, and my sorrows last,
For my Marjorie is gone to heaven;
So pray you, give not thy spirit strife,
For thou hast conquered thy foe, and art
Free, to enjoy the summer day."

"Peace," said Mother, "peace," said Martha,
"O try to forget these pains of yore;
It was but last week I heard thee speak,
About the angels, and their eternal bliss;
And though they seem so near to us here,
They can be as far as Heaven allows."

On Sunday morning, ere yet the dogs had slept,
And the lambs been walked, and the roan steed had fed,
Upon the window seat beneath the pane I lay,
Watching the birds of the forest chirp and fly;
Some low, some shriller, some at fuller volume than might do,
For presently the night should summon them all away.

Chilled by long sitting without a motion to move,
The hoary pines above the valley in a swoon,
Drooping their heads together as wanly stirred,
I turned to the darkness of the room below,
And stretched out my hands toward the stars above;
There was no sound, nor any stirring in the air,
Only the chirping of some bird in the tree.

Slowly I rose from my reclining position,
Restless and restless, as one who watches all night
For some imagined danger near, whom never peril shows;
But, when the fear subsides, finds it only was not true,
And real dangers therefrom have more horror diminished.
Yet even then, if nothing worse shall come to the worst,
I love to lie in darkness, and watch the moonlight fall.

Now came the dawning, clear and cold and gray,
With its first beam like a blade of frosty steel,
That glitters, gleams, and is gone in the distance:
Then the second, third, forth followed after,
Each bringing light, new beauty to the scene,
Like glory shining through a dark place of sorrow.

How sweet the world seems, how changed since I went hence!
Even this old wall looks newer, this old room newer,
Old flowers look younger, leaves feel young again;
And this old floor, with its worn steps and cracks,
Seems freshened up with freshness from the past;
And this old roof, overgrown with grass and dust,
Looks brighter than before, like an eastern hill.

Here lies a youth whose life was full of sin;
His mother cared not for him, his home was poor,
No flower crowned his childhood, his love was short,
And he grew up into manhood hating God.
In youth he stole, and loved, and reveled much,
And seemed to have enough, and leave none to grieve;
At length he learned, and proved that God was good,
And all his joy was chastened by His anger.

This was the end: a sudden tempest swept
Across the ocean, and struck the town below,
Till every building shook with the strange shock,
And every person stared amazed and frightened.
'Twas a signal for war, and thousands came,
From many nations, bearing arms in hand;
Their thought was death to the idolaters below,
But mercy sanctified the sword they drew.

A priest arose, and prayed aloud for peace,
And blood for sacrifice; a Christian host
Swooped on the city with swords high-toothed,
And slaughtered idolators, and drove away
To lands beyond the sea, those who still clung
To godless idols, and worshipped false things.

Thus ended the fourth seal. The fifth seal
Was opened, and another voice was heard,
Which cried in loud lament, Come out of her,
By the wild wood left, where she belongs to Me.
Out of her mouth hath no man spoken, as yet.
Run to the mountain, and beseech her now
To tell thee what thou thirst most to hear.
Say to her, I am Thine own beloved,
Come out of her, and so thou shalt be free.

The keeper of the gates, an angel bright,
Came up to earth, and called our people out
Before Him, and Heaped in his hand a crown,
And set it on our sovereign's head, and said,
Thou, being redeemed, shalt go with me
Unto the very land where we were born;
We will not lose thee, nor forgive aught
Your murderers shall not suffer. Then they cast
A great gold image of himself upon the shore,
The likeness of a king, and wept and kissed
His feet, and thus they spake unto the King of heaven:--

Go, My chosen seed, and thy degenereth me,
Being redeemed from Egypt, and redeemed, etc.
Wherefore? because thy sins are forgiven thee,
And mine are not. Therefore, My child, behold,
Appointed is this day thine house with Me,
To dwell until I come in mine ancient way,
When thou may'st return, but I must go away.--
They ceased, and straightway, rising, went together
Into the temple, and laid him down to sleep,
Upon the bosom of his Father. But we
Fled out of the holy gate, and stood afar off,
Disputes we had, and quarrels bitter sore,
While these thrust us, and made sport of us,
As sons against each other, and mocked at us.

Behold, the times are smitten far away
With wars, and tumults, and plagues; yea, soon or late
Men wage them still, though now they fly together
Of their own accord, and arm themselves for fight,
More closely yet, as enemies, one with one.
So all things grow injurious till they die,
Or else, at best, vex mankind with scars.

Therefore, my dear, I bid you, do what you will,
Leave all to Me, your God, and follow Me;
Take wealth, and luxury, and the world's delight,
Enterprise nothing, honour not yourself,
Let the world rule you, and its proud heart wear,
Forget the day of your resurrection,
But worship Me alone, and serve Me well.

I cannot write what moves me so strongly,
What keeps my soul from respiration thence;
My lips move, but my heart thinks no harm,
Though eyes turn mute, and hearts are dumb with woe:
Yet dare I hope, that ere long the time shall come,
You too, who now weep, may smile, and say,
"Lo! here is light again, and Salvation!"

Now is the Lord's Day, and lo! the sun
Partakes our sorrow; as a suppliant
He raises his right forefinger, and says,
Look, if your heat and pride you would delay,
Prayer can clear your doubt, or make you cease
From sin altogether.  But since you never
Hath stopped a wrong, nor kept from harm a victim,
Nor ever helped a sinner, pray to God,
That He will send you no greater plague.

Wilt thou, then, no whit redress thy offence,
Slay the false witness that did only help thee?
Shall not the fiery dart prove to thee
Just punishment for St. Agnes' feast?
Dost think that tears will wash dishonour clean,
Make void the sale of the poor maid?
Nay, rather let thy heart give way
Understand'd sadness breeds despair.

She died like Christ, and all her troubles knew:
Her bed is filled with stones, and her hall is sad
With moanings for her rotten bones.
God pity us!  Behold how patiently
We cry before the throne of grace,
Till angels lift the tearful curtain down.
How beautiful the flowers of death do blow
Behind the veil!  And see, above the tombs,
Above the weeping victims, shines the star,
The star of salvation, Jesus Christ!

O Mary, Mother of God, dost thou know
All that the silent agonizing knows,
The anguish deep, the sighing, the blind agonies,
Those throes which none save the agony-bidden
May truly call their own?
Is it therefore vainly thou hast sought to hide
The blushes that rise when thy children perish,
No more than it was vain for thee to weep
Ere he was gone whom thou so much had mourned?

Ah, no!  The secret springs of human pain
Are known to thee who bear the burthen;
For thou art partaker, and thy son is part
Of all our misery.
It was for thee the mystic numeral two
Was shaped; it was for thee the power of three
Did take its form; and it shall be His work
Who sent the fourth to be crucified.

Not otherwise, O mother of God,
Do thy immortal years proceed;
Thy daughters endure, and thine sons die,
And wander round lost in a hopeless land,
Because thou gavest them a hope that lives
In unachieved expectation.
If thou hast ever smiled, it were for Him
Whose face beneath the cross is dim;
If thou hast ever sighed, it were for Him
Who walks among His slain, and sees His feet
Dust-appear upon an empty road.

O mother of God, by many a prayer,
By many a vision, layest thou
The mystery of Thy suffering bare
Before the mercy-seat of God;
Speakst thou as none beside, and sayest thou
Thou findest naught worthy of praise or blame?
Tell us, for Thou canst!

At last I heard from one on high
A voice which said: "This work is mine;
I seek to complete it through myself;
There needs no aid from friend or brother."
Then straightway from my head I tore
A heavy cloud of incense free;
A single wick I held aloft,
Its precious life for God's desire.

Whenas the flame ascendeth higher,
As soon as 'tis strong enough to bear,
I lit the first candle there;
The odorous smoke went up, and passed,
Unseen by anyone within:
And suddenly there came a shout,
"The altar is completed!"

I hid the second near, yet higher,
Until I heard a third cry:
"'The altar is completed!  Now
Show me the way to Mount Olivet!"
So I made a loud fire, and cried:
"Go, whoever you may guide,
To Mount Olivet, and there prepare
An offering to the Lord!"

Up jumped a pilgrim, and began:
"Lord, I have brought four cedar boughs,
Which, burned, will bring thy name to fame;
Four staves from mature olive trees,
Whereof great gifts have been given;
Four candlesticks, wherefrom hath leaked
Custodians of your holy place,
And twice six rims of silver,
Wherewith to screen the Holy One's
Pure body while it prays!"

Then answered the Master: "Have done.
Here, in my Name, I give you thanks.
Take these rich presents.  Go, and tell
The Count that his Saint deserves them well,
And ask him for the faggot-endow
To light my grave among the rest."

They took the offerings, and went out,
Leaving the Holy Grave alone.
He rose, and led them back again,
And gave each of them a mantle,
That they might keep the Holy Grave
From freezing in the winter time.
And then he spoke, and thus bespake:
"Lo!  what strange folk are these who come
Into the caverned rock!  They seem
More fit for angels' duties fair
Than men in earthly things endowed:
Yet here below the human race
Must put their end, because man's heart
Can feel for only one unfortunate!

"But now, farewell!  I must depart,
Or else this mighty Host will fail
Through lack of yours, the people's, keeper.
I pray'd for strength to speak my mind,
And now, like one that bears a burden,
With pain I bid adieu!

"Your holiness," quoth the Count,
"Will I still honor at court;
My daughter too, I trow, will go
Among those lady-maidens there;
And thence her love will be
For one less beautiful than she.
Therefore, let each tongue be silenced--
Each tongue that blasphemes against the name
Of God, and says that He does not exist!

"His works, whose existence ye dispute,
Were never made but for my sake,
Made perfectly, every member:
None, save myself, could perfect them.
God himself imperfectly created:
Perfect his perfection is my merit.
Henceforth with me be full assurance:
The earth itself, the sea, the air,
The sun, moon, and stars I make more bright;
You doubt my omnipotence, you doubt
My justice, and your prayers are dead,
Dead as yesterday's mourner buried.

"Let the mount of Sion stand eternally
Till the last trump shall sound!
Be its own shield, till the throne of God
Shall reascend, to-day shall grow
The glory of this day!

"Let the mount of Sinai remain forever
Stretching to heaven!
No mortal hand shall dare to tear down
Its undisturbed majesty!
God himself upholds and preserves it--
The glory of this day!

"Let the mount of Josiah stand eternally
Moving to eastward!
God has raised up a Savior here,
In whom shall trust of old
The covenant that was made at Mt. Sinai!
The powers of darkness cannot harm it:
Great shall be its influence,
Bearing a kingdom, spreading far and wide,
Ere another sun shall roll!"

Thus spake the haughty German,
While the blood-stained sword hung by his side,
And the brand of burning tar was red on his brow.
On the throne of David sat Louis,
By his stern brows and keen blue eye
Fell full many a wrong and evil thought.
Deep from his soul there stole a moan
Full of despair and full of anguish,
As his eyes wept for thoughts of the dear land
Of his natal state, when, at the foot of the Cross,
There bowed in sleep his mother, his sister,
And his wife, and children, and friends by his side.

A moment and all was changed;
All his former woe and bitterness
Was forgotten, and he seemed to smile
Upon his French foes, as if he smiled
Upon an enemy without teeth.
A new and brighter mien he wore,
When he forthright in frank speech addressed
His rebel hosts, and swore to crush them
Under his feet like verdure weed
Like bitter herbs which, once gathered and borne
Across our northern borders, withered quickly.

He called together his parliament,
And his barons bold came forward;
From the fields of France the foremost sprang
In their haste to join the band that joined
Behind the noble Louis at Marseilles.
Lorraine and Provence they sought to claim,
And Gascony, with all the islands round,
And the island of Guadeloupe, where lies
The city of old Anjou, famed for grapes
So pure they whiten the heavens above.

From Martinique came Barquinio,
And the isle of Seine in front did show
Where the holy gospel had its dwelling.
From Isabel and Lorraine, from France
Came Biscay and black Malines, and from Spain
And Wales, and from America, and from Australia,
And from Scotland, and from England, and from Ireland,
And from Norway, and from Sweden, and from Finland,
And from Lombardy, and from Sicily,
And from Dalmatia, and from Italy,
And from Spain, and from France, and from Germany,
And from Scotland, and from England, and from Iceland,
And from Norway, and from Sweden, and from Denmark,
And from Scotland, and from Ireland, and from Sweden,
And from Scotland, and from Norway, and from Iceland,
And from Greenland, and from Orkney, and from Romsdal,
And from Scotland, and from Ireland, and from Sweden,
And from Greenland, and from Lyngby, and from Jylland,
And from Orkney, and from Romsdal, and from Espeland,
And from Scotland, and from Norway, and from Iceland,
And from Greenland, and from Orkney, and from Spitzbergen,
From the islands of the three Bieling (Psalms
That God blessed be to all of them!)
They assembled under the leadership
Of Hildebrand, the mighty archbishop,
Who held the keys of Heaven and Hell,
And judgment on the spirits who dwell below.

With Hildebrand was no babbling fool,
For he held the great Book of Fate;
But in such sort that not one stone
Shadowed any page of it;
Not a single dream or vision passed
Through the closed and locked and barred windows
Of his heart, where Christ's will and ways
Were taught him by the Holy Ghost.

Yet in dreams he seems to hear
The voices of departed folk,
And sees again the faces
Of those he loves, whose lives are done,
Saying, "Thou art not taken, Lord,"
To him who sitteth alone.

Not so did he forget
Those from whom he had learned
The things of man's estate,
Nor so in folly did deem
Their words and moods untrue;
But he would think, perchance,
More humble and more full
Of inward grief than these;
And he would say within himself,

Now look upon my son,
My first-born child, whom I have nourished
In the twinkling of an eye;
Look upon him, and comfort thee,
Because thou hast been false
Unto thy Mother and unto me,
To love Him whom I abhor!

Then looked the Bishop straightway down
Into the little brat, and said,
"O Thou, my Son, in whom am now
My strength and grace forevermore!
If thou rememberest anything
At all through which thy heart might feel
How much He loved His own,
Speak the word, and bring it near."

And then the boy--the very same
Whom the bright sun shone into when
He played beside his mother's knee:
"I used to think, while listening to
The hymns He sang into His harp,
That He loved only other men;
But now I know better things,
And see how foolishly wise
We mortals are, and what we really are:
Hate we despise, yet love we retain!"

Brief words were those of answer given,
Which, briefer still when spoken, made
The memory thereof more clear;
For the poor babe, though but a babe,
Shared with the Father Himself
All the infinite sorrow of mankind.

While thus the two were sitting there,
Around them, silent, came the hours,
Telling the time as best they could:
Seven o'clock; eight; nine; ten; eleven; twelve;
The clock went back, telling another hour;
Two clocks; three; four; five; six; seven; eight; nine;
And still the two stood looking out,
Holding their breath till the last bell rang.

At length the silence of the place
Was broken by the sound of feet;
By the tread of kindlier-hearted hands;
By the movement of some moving part;
By a voice, that seemed like music sweet,
But was most certainly not,
As if a choir of angels sang,
Calling the two lovers from above.

Silence once more was broken by sounds,
Like echoes off some mountain-height,
Breaking, breaking, breaking again
On the dark walls of the hollow wood;
Slowly subsiding and less loud,
Until the whole deep forest sounded
Less deeply than the housewives' kitchen.

A hand was laid softly on either shoulder,
A finger pointed to the door;
One whispered, "It is well";
And one, "Let us not linger long:"
So they lingered on until the day
Swept brightly across the river.

When the gray clouds fluttered downward
And the broad moon rose fast,
There was no reply from the cabin-door,
But the two lovers still stood talking,
Hand in hand, in the lonely glade;
Lonely, because they knew the hour
Had come for their flight together.

The night was warm, and the air did caress
Their cheek, and the light play'd on their brows,
Folding their hair in soft clusters;
Softly it brushed their cheeks, and stole
Across their eyes, and half hid their mouth,
Making each lip seem full;
Like bees that have stung themselves and cried,
Their mouths look'd swollen and bruised.

No sound was heard around, except
The rustling of the leaves, and the fall
Of some unseen tresses from the tree;
Save when the night bird's lullaby fell
Upon their sleeping ears,
Or the hard falling of the rain.

They lay so quiet and undistraught,
Each bosom heaved tranquil along;
Their eyes were dewy wet,
Their hearts beat just as usual,
Their lips breathed quietly and slow;
Nothing seemed to be lacking,
Except the thing they most did crave --
What should they fear to ask or seek?

She put her work aside to do
With what she chose, and soon drew
Her worn worktable before them,
And there the unfinished garments laid,
Just at their old room-temperature;
Some things she gave them to make up,
Others she left for them to do
On their own initiative;
Yet ever and anon she chid them,
Pressing her question hard.

Said one (it was the girl's will),
"You did not give me any fair warning,
Nor I took any thing yours at need;
Besides, 'twas wrong of you to treat me
Thus cruelly and crosswise, without warning.
Well, here I rest contented, feeling blest
That you forgot your pride and were not slain
By this ill turn in love; for had you known
You would have done otherwise, nor spared
This fault findable in one so good."

Said one (it was the boy's will):
"You did not use me fairly, nor accord
Me justice, neither when I asked for help;
Moreover, you said that I deserved
To lose my eyesight; but since I've got them,
Why, thank God! you never shall lack them
In the world where all your work must lie,
Where eyes are needed everywhere.
Then, let me live my life, nor hide
Behind a hypocrite's excuse,
Blindly and hypocritically.
I'll think of Heaven while working, too,
And not forget to pray for you;
I'll do my very utmost
To serve you, dear mother, day by day.
If there be faults in serving you,
I'll ne'er attempt to cover them,
But rather will strive to lard
My serving-time with better services."

Another spoke: "Mother, I am sorry
I called you father, though I did;
Though now I see you are not he
Who used to raise me up, I feel
Your heart may be changed, and you miss
His influence over you, and shrink
From what you used to cherish so.
Therefore I'll tell you frankly
What I intend to do; it seems
Wisest to take your time, and allow
Time enough for preparation.
For, mother, you know how much I care
For you, and about you always,
And how I long to help you always,
Whether it be through teaching or work.
And, mother, you know how it is
Within the Church itself we differ,
Whose teachers hold the people thrall,
And keep them blind to all but their own;
How I myself have felt oppressed
By such an evil breed of men;
While they, who might have taught but knew
Only themselves and their own ignorance,
Have made me thirst for knowledge still.
You know too much for my young belief,
And against you I will prove
The Scriptures teach the doctrine you quote,
Which condemns those who change their faith
After wch they meet among the crowd;
Not only that, but eke the more
That Christ Himself has charged us to be
Naught else worthy mention save His Church.
So, mother, if I then shall fail
In doing what you require,
It will not be because I could not,
But rather that my soul was not
Bound by the necessity of gain;
Since, mother, you know yourself to be
A saintly woman, wise above others
In keeping with your calling;
And I can't help thinking, mother dear,
You're bound to know the best, at least,
When it comes to treating me right.

Now, mother, I'm going away
Soon, soon indeed--for good and all--
And leave behind me here no wife,
Methink, none that could equal me;
And yet, methinks, they're few, perhaps,
As compared with me; for, mother,
With me you never will be wanting.

I wonder why I come
Before the last bell tolls,
And why my feet seem timed
To go so light on air.
Perhaps, though, if I could guess,
I'd say these footsteps are
Sent forth to warn me home:
Oh, well!  It matters nought to me,
Mother, whether they're sent out
To teach me manners, or to death.

One little look, sweet Mary,
Is worth a kingdom's treasure;
Two, and two make four,
And four is eight before thee;
There's many that are rich
In gold and every precious stone,
But which is the richest material
Beside the Creator's hand?

O Mother, forgive
That I have stepped between
Thy Son and his honor;
Or, if I did transgress,
Let this prayer comfort me:
"God forgives whom He loves!"
<|endoftext|>

They burn the boats as they reach the end,
and dash into slush and black mud;
the steamers are full, the coal faces east,
while back at the pier the miners stand
in the bitter cold, grim and worn.
These were the days of Gold Rush things;
cobblers and prospectors;
brave souls, poor devils, chaps with axes in hands,
with hearts against the odds.

They dig like maggots digging for gold,
they chop and they cleave,
they spit and they snort,
they sleep and they dream,
dreadfully weary ones,
with bodies all white from frostbite.
All night the shots ring out;
at daybreak the dead are carted off
to burial camps.

They die like roosters in a flock;
without mercy;
there is nothing they won't do,
nothing they cannot do.
Their bones are fucking frozen,
their guts are burning,
their hair falls straight,
down their backs.

They die like roosters,
but singing;
their spirits sing,
a sound of song
that fills the air.
Over the campfire,
as the fire dies down,
out of the gloom
comes the chorus:
"We're going West!
we're going West!
we're going...
"
They die like roosters,
but singing;
their spirits sing,
a sound of song
that fills the air.
Over the campfire,
when the last spark dies,
over the blaze
come the lyrics again:
"We're going West!
we're going West!
we're going...
"
Up from the South comes its magic rain,
bringing with it sweetness and plenty,
sand, heat, dust, and drought,
along with some new bird nonsense.
From the sky drops of azure shine,
silver, ruby, emerald, green,
drops of heaven falling down.

They came from the land beyond the hills,
from lands far under the clouds,
where the plains are level as glass,
where the rivers flow to oceans,
or where there's gold, or where there's war.
They came from the land beyond the hills,
from lands far under the clouds,
where the sun shines golden and warm.

They came from cities, settlements, towns and towers,
colonies of men, women, children,
cities of men, women, children,
towns of kings and empires of men,
villages of life, villages of Death.

They came over desert and mountain, o'er plain and prairie,
through jungles and forests, bays and streams;
through floods and fens and lakes and mountains.
They came westward, they came southward, they came eastward,
northward, southeastward, north-westward, seeking the gold.

They came from Manila, China, and Lima, Peru,
from Managua, and Santiago, and Sao Paulo, Brazil,
from Auckland, Dunedin, and Lahaina, Hawaii;
from Lima, Madras, and Cape Town, and Manila, China,
and London, and Paris, and Berlin, and Moscow, Russia,
and scattered through the world they've scattered themselves.

They came from tin and tungsten and platinum,
gold from mines of California, Oregon, Nevada,
New Mexico, Colorado, Arizona, and Utah;
from Australia, New Zealand, Samoa, Tonga, and Fiji,
Rarotonga, and Samoa, and varying distances away.

They came by way of Brest, Archangel, St. Helena,
and Tanga, and Astrakhan, Caspian, northward, southward,
eastward, northward, swallowing up nations one by one.
The old men died of hunger, the young men died of thirst,
children starved in the swamps and rivers, drowned in the snow.

They came like locusts, like yellow versions of flowers,
like weeds that take root and grow and thrive,
spreading, overwhelming, taking everything alive
with the strength of their numbers. They came,
and Europe changed before them, and the world was like a stage.

And then one man rose up and shouted across the crowd:
"I will not be enslaved! I leave you to your misery,
I am going home." And he sailed back across the sea
full sailwise, heading his little ship North.

He sent word to his brother on the Continent
to come and join him; but he himself
sat in the great oak chair in the front room
leaning heavily upon the support of the wall,
watching the dark slowly pass beneath the windows,
listening to the clink of plates and bowls,
hearing the rustle of papers on the table,
thinking of England, thinking of her castles,
her moats and lions and pinnacles,
her famous cliffs and walls.

Then the voice of one who sang so well
it seemed as if it could not fail,
the voice of one who loved the beautiful
for its own sake, broke into the room
like a wave breaking on a pebble beach:
"You must let me speak my thought,
my dream, Celeste, even if just for once!"

So that is what I wanted to say, Celeste,
though I know it is hardly worth while.
It would only lead you further still
into a dead end. You have been given
too much, too much to hold in memory.
Perhaps at times it seems as though we were
living our lives between two time zones.
Perhaps it feels as though years have passed
without us being friends. Perhaps it seems
as though we never will be lovers.
Perhaps it seems as though we should be
careful about how we spend our days.
But perhaps most of all we need to remember
there is more to life than this. Life is
not about finding happiness, or avoiding pain,
nor is it about doing what one wants to do
when one has found it, nor is it about
what one does when one has lost desire.
Life is not about forgetting, nor about remembering.
Nor is it about wishing things to be different.
This is the road that leads to loneliness,
this is the road to death, and there is no turning
back. But maybe there is another way.
Maybe there is nowhere to go but forward. Maybe
you and I can find a way to get together
even though we cannot meet again,
although we may have to wait until after
death. After all, death means parting with something,
but what something is not known, nor is it possible
to know. We cannot touch it, cannot see it,
cannot touch it, cannot feel it, nor hear it,
nor see it, nor understand it,
nor care for it, nor hate it, nor love it,
nor understand it, nor care for it. It is beyond us,
it is beyond us forever. All we can do is make the best of it.
After all, what is there under the sun to which we are not willing?
All we can do is try to keep ourselves alive,
all we can do is keep from killing each other,
all we can do is keep from crushing all earth's poor,
all we can do is keep from burning up the globe,
all we can do is keep from making war,
all we can do is live without destroying heaven,
all we can do is keep from sowing discord,
all we can do is keep from killing children,
all we can do is keep from slaughtering the weak,
all we can do is keep from slandering truth and love,
all we can do is keep from killing off all human kind,
all we can do is keep from trying to kill God,
all we can do is keep from killing anyone,
all we can do is try to keep from killing anybody,
all we can do is try to keep from killing any human kind,
all we can do is try to live without destroying anybody,
all we can do is try to keep from killing anybody. That is all."
<|endoftext|>
"In Memory of My Enemy the Lord Henry Lee", by Walt Whitman [Social Commentaries, History & Politics]
The day is drawing to its close,
With sunshine and airs of springtime; The hour is late, the scene serene,
When I shall have done my work for thee. Go forth then and steal the thunder,
Or gather the lightning, Go forth and teach the mountains and seas
To kneel to me; Or else sup the oceans and subdue them
To my control. Go forth and tempt the desert sands,
To gather gold and pearls; Go forth and catch the fire-fly,
Its vagrant lightnings hurl'd Against thy palace walls; Go forth and bring the wild winds down
And build their homes around thee; With thine hands lift high the mountain tops,
That they may listen and obey. Go forth, and anywhere, at will, survey
The country all around thee; See how your rivers flow and mingle
With hidden sources far below; And learn of hidden fountains, how
They toss their heads upon the deep; And learn of hidden lakes, how they
Obey the waves upon their surface. Then shalt thou see why I was constrained
By my Creator's law to weave
These dyings of his world; For I am but an arm of Him
Who gave my soul to serve thee.
<|endoftext|>
"I Heard in Heaven A Loud Applause", by William Blake [Religion, Christianity, Arts & Sciences, Music, Philosophy]
I heard in heaven a loud applause, And the angelic song of ' salvation '— Which made my bosom bolder breathe, And quicken'd like unto angels there. Oh let me loose with the heavenly harmony, Let me throw aside my mortal chain, And soar upward in the realms above, While the seven choral spheres resound, And the eternal choir sings o'er me: I am not afraid of the death that awaits Me, if I follow thy footsteps well; Thou art a brother born to me, And I have chosen thee to be my friend.
<|endoftext|>
"Song: To the shame of manhood', by William Blake [Living, Coming of Age, Disappointment & Failure, Relationships, Home Life]
To the shame of manhood’s youth I now address myself; And, had I thought how much I might have gained, I never would have written those rhymes.
For manhood’s pride inclines him to seek renown For himself, and little regards the fame Of others; but when once he has shown his worth In the sight of woman, he forgets her very face. Nor is it for woman to boast; He is loath to yield that name which alone gives pleasure To the joyous heart of childhood; and hence, in lieu Of female adulation, he makes her Outtake his own, and hang her garments o’er his door With his reproaches, that she does not love him. But this is childish; love comes later on than love; And woman’s nature is so greatly bent On self-estrangement, that she needs must take Her own imprint upon the world’s stage. She cannot long forbear admiring herself, And still wishes to be admired by man. Hence, she must write her own biography; And since no one can prevent it, she will embalm In sweetly scented verses the history Of her sad, humble life, as full of woes As any epic poem of Greece or Rome. O! could I still hold true to those old songs, In which I sung my lady’s smiles before They were all faded like my leaves; Those melodies which yet remain Of her pure voice, though oft I’ve listened To the sound of many singing throats. Alas! I dare not use them now, Because I hear too well Their bitter undertones, and I know What Love is, and what it works.
<|endoftext|>
"Sonnet: To Elizabeth Rovere", by William Blake [Love, Break-ups & Vexed Love, Heartache & Loss, Realistic & Complicated, Unrequited Love, Relationships, Men & Women]
TO THE FAITHFUL LADY BY THE SILVER WOOLEN MILL, AT BREADCROSS IN NIGER

Good faith, good faith, you talk of love,
But where is the lover to come?
How can I think of anything
Without the mincing step and tread?
You say I’m vain, but ‘t is vanity
To want the dancing dress to wear;
If I had money enough I would buy One girdle and a pair of shoes for each year That I have lived without a husband.
But where am I to go
As soon as ever I may please?
Your letters are like the rain to men; They leave us better off without them.
Dear, I do not care about men; If I did, I should find some;
Or else the birds would sing.
My thoughts are like the silver thread
Which runs through all my woollen things;
No other thoughts are like mine;
They change, but never grow stale.
I wish you were here, my Mary; You are so faithful and kind.
It is hard to part with him,
Yet we must, because we must;
We cannot keep him longer
Than just till Christmas.
He is the best of all our bees; We cannot live without him.
<|endoftext|>
"The Lady’s Speech", by Sir Walter Ralegh [Relationships, Family & Ancestors, Social Commentaries, History & Politics, War & Conflict]
A child was sitting in the sun
When another child said to him:
“Sun-child, tell me why
This great house is such a pit’
In which all people lie.
Tell me, why does no one die
Here in this pit?”
“Death is not here
Except in the sun
And only happens when the sun shines.”
“Then who dies then?” asked the first child.
“Everyone dies then.”
<|endoftext|>
"The Two Children", by Sir Walter Ralegh [Living, Marriage & Companionship, Sorrow & Grieving, Time & Brevity, Love, Classic Love, Infatuation & Crushes, Romantic Love, Activities, Jobs & Working, School & Learning, Religion, Faith & Doubt, God & the Divine, Arts & Sciences, Philosophy, Poetry & Poets, Reading & Books, Anniversary, Valentine's Day]
With a crown of pearl
And a golden cup
Of porcelain made
Our heads were crowned;
And we went to school together
Each day from school.
We played at games
On a windy day,
And then we read
In the newspapers,
And sometimes
Learned at home.
But most of the time
We practised reading
And writing,
And drawing pictures
For our books.
And at night
Called and wrote to one another
Till seven in the evening
And wrote all day again.
Sometimes
’Twas winter,
’Twas summer,
’Twas none of these.
“Dear Mother, dear Father,
Why does your hair look white?”
“Because I have been reading Tchea-zhizn’s Letters.”
“What is your name?”
“Tchea-zhizh.”
“Where are you going to college?”
“Umm… Georgia Southern College.”
“Georgia Southern!”
“So that is far away.”
“Yes, it is.”
“Will you marry me, baby sister?”
“Yes, I will.”
“Can I see you after school, Baby brother?”
“No, I'm not coming home today.”
“Why not, Daddy?”
“Well, I've got work to do.”
“All right, then, Baby sister. All right?”
“Daddy, can we go down to the store now?
There's milk and bread and apples—maybe even
Some honey?”
“Sure, Honey, let’s go.”
<|endoftext|>
"Nancy Jane", by Robert Hayden [Living, Coming of Age, Disappointment & Failure, Parenthood, The Body, Nature, Seas,  Rivers,  & Streams, Stars,  Planets,  Heavens]
She stood at her dressing table
before the mirror.
Her long black hair was braided
into two pigtails behind her ear
and set off by a dark velvet cap
which left her eyes visible
behind a thick black veil.
Her small feet were bare
and there was a diamond pin
for her lanceboard sandals on her shoulder.
Her dress was bright yellow silk
with ruched bodice and train,
and buttons fastened it to her waist.
Her delicate neck was shaved,
and her arms and hands were heavily
shined. Her fingers were painted
green, pink, and gray.
Her hair was pulled back into a bun
which reached her ankle.
Her thin ankles looked bare
when they were crossed by stockings
which reached her knees.
Her knees were covered with scarves
which reached her shins.
Her calves were adorned with brightly colored stockings
which reached their bottoms.
Her shoes were wide leather buckles
fastened by silver studs.
Her belt was silver-mounted
on heavy cord.
Her necklace was gold mounted
and its pearls were transparently packed
inside a clear plastic case
which rested under her petticoats.
Her hair was brushed back into a flat twist,
the way she always liked it.
Her teeth were neatly trimmed.
Her eyes were deep blue,
but hazel would have been an improvement.
Her lips were pale and slightly awry.
Her nose was full and moderately broad.
It had good muscle tone.
Her toes were natural as spade toes.
They pointed naturally inward.
The color of her blood ran quite red.
When she breathed, it ran along the edges
like smoke through a pipe.
Her face was very much like a burning coal.
Her skin was very hard like stone.
Her mouth was very firm and chiseled.
Her cheeks were very round and soft.
Her brow was sharply cut and slanted
like a beetled rock.
Her nose was full and moderately high.
It had good muscle tone.
Her chin was very sharp and straight.
It was not symmetrical.
Her forehead was fine marble.
Her eyebrows were black and somewhat wet.
A curlicue curtain hung over them.
Her ears were ringed with tan leather.
Her eyelids were rather large and hollow.
Her throat was rather narrow.
Her chest was rather plump.
Her legs were rather slender.
Her tail was also rather short.
It was not symmetrical.
Her claws were rather long and clawless.
It was not symmetrical.
Her claws were rather blunt.
It was not symmetrical.
Her fur was rather coarse like wool.
Her paws were rather clumsy.
It was not symmetrical.
Her claws were rather keen and deadly.
It was not symmetrical.
Her fur was fairly rough like tar.
Her ears were rather small and flattened.
They did not protrude too far out.
Their tips stuck out quite considerably.
Their sockets were rather large and pitted.
Her muzzle was rather tense.
It was not symmetrical.
Her ears were rather small and flattened.
They did not protruded very far out.
Their tips stuck out quite noticeably.
Their sockets were rather large and pitted.
Her snout was rather round and lumpy.
It was not symmetrical.
Her nostrils were rather wide and sunken.
They did not protrude very far out.
Their ends stuck out quite noticeably.
Their openings were rather large and pitched.
Her eyes were rather large and glazed.
They did not protrude very far out.
Their orbits stuck out rather widely.
Their irises were rather close together.
Their lashes lay upon the surface of her eye.
Her ears were rather small and flattened.
They did not protruded very far out.
Their tips stuck out quite noticeably.
Their sockets were rather large and pitted.
Her muzzle was rather stiff and stony.
It was not symmetrical.
Her ears were rather small and flattened.
They did not protruded very far out.
Their tips stuck out quite noticeably.
Their sockets were rather large and pitted.
Her claws were rather blunt and bluntish.
They were not very long or very slender.
They were rather sharp and stout.
Her coat was rather coarse like clay.
<|endoftext|>
"The Gardeners', St. Bridget's Evening School, Dublin", by Derek Mahon [Living, Death, Sorrow & Grieving]
(For Vernon Washington Jr.)

You who are dying for peace you will inherit nothing but a heaviness and the weary uncertainty of night without sleep. You are going to die alone in your bed. Your mother is weeping outside the house. She has lost her only son. The gardener has come over at dawn to dig up the garden where he grew. He was shot point blank in the head while watering the flower beds. His death certificate says fall out of favor. There is no end to what can be done. No end to what must be borne. The world is indifferent. It does not care. A man I know writes: "I am ready now to become a ghost." He wants to disappear from this life. He is afraid of his family. They do not want him. He is leaving behind wife and children. He knows he cannot change them. But he is tired of being a burden on them. He is thinking of disappearing. He is scared of what will happen if he doesn’t. The woman next door who keeps knitting socks for her neighbors dies giving birth to twins. Her husband is drinking and driving and kills someone. The newspaper reporter who covered 9/11 becomes a statistic. The poet who wrote “This Land Is the Place” commits suicide. The man who made bets against the subprime mortgage companies is sentenced to thirty years in prison. The old man sitting on the porch listening to the cawing of the crow on the oak leaves is lonely and dying. The dog on the lawn chewing its bone is sad. The woman down the road selling antiques sits in traffic waiting for a bad deal on a used car. The man with the mirror that flips people onto trains is dying. The young girl making seventy dollars an hour working the midnight shift is happy. The woman with three kids her age begging for food stamps is miserable. The widow making sixty dollars an acre selling apples is content. The man with the razored hair who cuts their fruit is rich. The boy whose father disappeared when he was little is lonely. The grandmother washing clothes in a sink filled with water is serene. The man with the machine that spits out money isn’t looking for anything. The kid playing alone in the park five years after the fact finding it’s significance in a compass is wise. The truck driver pulling over to look at the license plate is dying. The woman walking her grandchild to school is grateful. The woman making fifty cents an hour driving a truck for a syndicate is satisfied. The man at the library reading The Collected Works of William Joy is growing old. The woman in line at the post office wishing she didn’t have to wait is glad. The man at the Salvation Army wearing a hoodie is dying. The man at Lender’s buying books by the case is bored. The woman making fifty dollars an hour driving a truck for a foreign company is happy. The man at the zoo admiring the tiger is dying. The woman at McDonald’s ordering without speaking English is happy. The homeless guy sleeping under a highway overpass is dying. The woman at the bus stop asking for spare change is grateful. The man at the gym using weights is strong. The woman at the mall putting up weight is beautiful. The woman at the airport having her picture taken is successful. The man at the vet taking a pill that makes him sick is ashamed. The woman at the bank borrowing money to pay for college is fearful. The woman in line at the pharmacy without a social security number is proud. The elderly couple in assisted living is getting there. The woman in line at the grocery store is getting there. The woman in line at the nursing home is getting there. The woman in line at the restaurant is getting there. The man in line at the funeral home shaving his beard is dying. The woman in line at the chapel is getting there. The woman in line at the morgue is getting there. The woman at the polling place is voting is my country.
<|endoftext|>
"The New Year", by Derek Mahon [Living, Disappointment & Failure, Religion, Faith & Doubt, Social Commentaries, Money & Economics]
We had our new year even before we had our new president.
There were rumors circulating as to who would win the popular vote.
Some said it would all come down to the state of Florida.
Others put it down to the judgment of the most powerful computer.
A few even went so far as to say that it meant something deeper.
It just seemed like one more way to prove God wasn’t real.
But then the news came through that everything had been settled.
And then everyone moved on to other matters—like which locker would be the safest.
Then the stock market crashed. And then the economy.
And then the weather changed—and then the presidential election.
Now it’s January and it’s almost February.
Everyone’s back in class again. Everyone’s trying to catch up.
No one believes they’ll make it. No one believes they’re going to stay.
They don’t believe they’ve got another month and a half or two left.
Everyone’s counting the days until they finally get around to talking.
Everyone’s hoping to get some work done before it gets too late.
Someone is writing a paper. Someone else is tracing a map.
Someone is learning a language. Someone is practicing the piano.
Someone else is building a house. But no one is living there yet.
Everyone’s still searching for the right words. They aren’t saying what they mean.
Everyone wants to know why things are the way they are. Why this is happening now instead of ten years from now or twenty years from now.
Why does someone not needing to worry about paying the rent every week seem so much different from someone drowning in a bathtub full of debt?
When you add it all up, it seems simple enough. It doesn’t sound difficult at all.
But once you start telling people how it feels to live without hope, it begins to feel impossible.
For many, the thought of never being able to leave the bed they lie in every night simply won’t let go of them.
So they keep looking back through time to the moment they believed in something.
To them it must have been a golden parachute or a ticket to a mansion in France.
They can’t fathom how someone could lose faith in themselves and not expect to miss it.
They think maybe it was an opportunity to finally do something meaningful with their lives.
But no matter what, they always end up coming back to the same question:What will I do when that time comes?
<|endoftext|>
"I Hate Myself for Being So Beautiful", by Jill Osier [Living, Life Choices, Parenthood, Relationships, Family & Ancestors, Home Life, Men & Women]
My father drives me to school each day.
He sits behind the wheel,
his hands in his lap,
a cigarette dangling between them,
the windshield wipeway dripping.
His dirty blond hair is a shapeless mess.
He looks like he’s waiting
for his driver’s license to lapse away.
I hate myself for being so beautiful.
I hate the way my body moves when I walk.
I hate the way my legs slither after him,
my arms wrap around his neck.
I wish I were more than this.
I want out.
I want to burnish these tires and get my license.
I want to drive a truck.
I want to paint my fenders.
I want to take orders at a greeter stand.
I want to sit in a cafe,
pulling guacamole out of my teeth.
I want to be a flight attendant.
I want to use my body
to shovel the snow.
I want to sleep outside in my winter coat.
I want to wear flip-flops all summer.
I want my husband to own a ranch.
I want to sew a uniform for my child.
I want to teach my daughter how to fish.
I want to read her stories about space.
I want my son to return a dollar bill.
I want to watch him play baseball.
I want to read him poems about love.
I want my sister to bake apple pies.
I want my brother to ride his bike.
I want my nephew to speak English.
I want my parents to laugh with strangers.
I want my friends to tell dirty jokes.
I want my enemies to bleed.
I want to sell off all my possessions.
I want to travel the world alone.
I want to visit Tibet.
I want to write poems about the taste of cologne.
I want to drink coffee from cups shaped like cups.
I want to read a thousand books.
I want to fly coach.
I want my husband to understand my fear.
I want to marry my high school sweetheart.
I want my mother to die peacefully at home.
I want my grandmother to sing songs she learned how to sing in a foreign country.
I want my father to explain to me how to be a good wife.
I want my children to grow into beautiful women.
I want my grandchildren to cook Chinese food,
watch CNN on Saturday mornings,
and ask their parents if they can borrow their father’s credit cards.
I want my father to help me unearth the Christmas tree.
I want to tie the ribbons of the bunting.
I want to watch football games on Sunday nights.
I want to say I’m sorry I became a fat girl.
<|endoftext|>
"The Ballad of Othello Sununu", by Mark Rudman [Love, Break-ups & Vexed Love, Heartache & Loss, Unrequited Love, Relationships, Men & Women, Arts & Sciences, Humor & Satire, Social Commentaries, Race & Ethnicity]
The sun was shining, the sky was blue,
And Romeo was the name of the boy
Who stood in the playground alone.
He didn’t know why he stood there,
Just standing in the hot July light.
Suddenly he heard somebody cry,
“Hey! Hey! Ho! Ho!” Through the laughter
Of those ten year olds playing pretend
A big man grabbed him by the arm.
“You ever hear of the Five Points of Grace?
There’s a game called basketball.
It’s really tough when you’re white.”
Ralphie said nothing. He felt sick.
He tried to run but couldn’t walk straight.
He looked at the ground. “Ooh!” he cried.
Then the big black man pushed him on the ground.
He thought he’d die. His face smashed into the grass.
He got up and ran again. And again.
He saw his mother crying. She screamed,
“Where are you going? What are you doing?”
She ran after him but he kept running.
“Run faster,” he yelled. Ralphie ran faster.
When she finally caught him she threw him down.
But he got right back up, knowing what he did.
Now he’s really mad. He won’t play with kids from school.
They tease him because he has short hair.
They call him “Scissors” because he cuts them.
One kid calls him “Slick” because he plays basketball.
“Are you some kind of skinhead?” one kid says.
Another kid says, “Skinhead,” “skin” is what they say.”
So now Ralphie just hides inside. He sits inside
His house and thinks about hating them even more.
<|endoftext|>
"My Brother the Bomb", by Mark Rudman [Living, Death, The Body, Time & Brevity, Religion, Faith & Doubt, God & the Divine]
For Joe Miller

In heaven, we worship every fruit,
From grape to peach to plum;
We go to earth and find it full
Of thorny thorns and braches,
Wrestling with itself to get away—
To explode on us.
This is our way of saying hello.
This is how we express gratitude:
By giving, by making things happen.
In hell, we worship every bomb
That people would drop on each other—
On Hiroshima or Dresden,
Or any other night where everyone
Has been too sleepy to turn on the light.
This is our way of saying goodbye.
This is how we make sure no one dies.
<|endoftext|>
"The Man Who Laughed in Hell", by Mark Rudman [Religion, Other Religions, Mythology & Folklore, Horror]
for John Milton

I’ll be as funny as I always am

to keep your attention

as you sit in Hell

and do your homework
on the comforts of your own accord

while your roommate does his best to ignore you

and wonders why

you never seem to learn.

Your new friend will not tell you

how many bones you crush daily

when he sees you nodding your head vigorously

in between razors and tissues

like someone in the middle of shaving

with both hands,
or trying to remember something that happened two weeks ago.

As you listen to his voice mail,

you might think you’ve found a lover

who’s been absent for months

but turns out to be still living happily

alive with his very faithful dog

while you sit here bored and waiting for me to show up.
<|endoftext|>
"The Book of Confusion", by Mark Rudman [Arts & Sciences, Philosophy, Poetry & Poets, Reading & Books]
1

If only this poem were written

so I could put it down.

Would it matter if I left off

every word that should be included?

2

What is this poem anyway

except a vast bleaching

of my being,
a cloud of
confusion
blowing across the page.

3

How can I read this poem

again and not think

it’s somehow forgetting

that I was born?

4

Confusion is everywhere:

the poem seems afraid

to give us clarity,

instead opting for
more and more obscurity.

5

At a certain point, the poem

becomes so unintelligible

that it’s almost boring.

6

Is it confusion then

that makes the poem's very name

feel like an insult?

7

And if the poem isn’t

about ambiguity,
what is it about

that demands such precision?

8

Why does the poem insist

upon its uncertainty?

9

Does it have to do with the fact

that poetry’s always about

being lost in a crowd?

10

It must be confusion:

this poem feels like
a huge yawn.
<|endoftext|>
"A Brief History of the Kiss", by Michael Ryan [Love, Desire, Infatuation & Crushes, Relationships, Men & Women, Valentine's Day]
Kiss 1

You take my hand
and I know nothing

of what happens outside
your lips. You place it
safely in your pocket

and bend closer

my fingers when
you slide them through mine
and pull back gently

before we part. Kiss 2

When we first met,
we did not kiss at all.

But after days of anticipation
kissing became a habit.

Kiss 3

Sometimes, before we kiss,

I watch your mouth moving

and imagine myself
inside those lips,

in those perfect pockets. Kiss 4

I don’t care what time it is,

I’m alone, I’m tired,
and I want to feel your body against mine. Kiss 5

You are different from most men.

Even though you wear a white shirt

and cover yourself entirely

with your thick dark hair,

you remind me of myself

years ago, before I went mad
and killed anyone who annoyed me. Kiss 6

Some nights, I wake to find my phone

gone forever. It’s probably my imagination, but

sometimes I still believe it. Kiss 7

We don’t speak of these feelings,
though they run so abundantly
through our bodies

that even when we meet,
there’s little to say. Kiss 8

After years of feeling unloved,
unrespected, and unappreciated,
one day I decided to write a letter

to the man whom I’d loved for eight years. Kiss 9

In it, I describe the loneliness

I felt without you there,
the words cling together

so tight it looks like they’re stuck
together by glue. Kiss 10

I’m still alive, despite everything.

I’m still around. And you? Kiss 11

Are you okay? Do you need anything?

Do you need to talk? Kiss 12

There are times when I wonder
why I kept delaying the inevitable—kiss,

break-up, goodbye. Sometimes, just sometimes,

something inside me tells me to wait,

until the moment doesn’t feel like it will last.

Then it becomes less likely that it will. Kiss 13

I’ll keep telling myself over and over
not to lose hope, to believe

in miracles. But every now and then

just knowing the odds,
how things turn out,
makes me feel like an idiot. Kiss 14

My heart is full of hope,
but it has no room for regret.

Hope is good, it helps us get through
even the worst days, but it shouldn’t
be our savior, too often it takes
too long, too much longer than that. Kiss 15

To hear your voice vibrating above me,

to feel you pressing your flesh
against mine, kissing my throat—
it’s enough to make me wish for death.

That way, I wouldn’t have to suffer through
all those days of love—or lack thereof. Kiss 16

If you were here, I would miss you

every single minute of the day.

Every second, every word,
would mean the world to me. Kiss 17

I’ve been waiting for this moment
for so long, it hurts.

It was meant to happen years ago,

and then it didn’t. Now, finally,

it’s finally happened, and it wasn’t my fault.

It wasn’t my life plan, or maybe

it was, but that doesn’t matter.

Whatever the reason, it’s done and

over with, and it won’t happen again. Kiss 18

The hardest thing about dying
is having nothing left to give.

Everything I own could stay

forever, and I’d still miss you. Kiss 19

Nothing can bring me Leon,

not even your tongue.

Your hands, your smile,
they are all I ever wanted. Kiss 20

Leon, I’m sorry I yelled at you.

I knew I shouldn’t have blamed you

for something you had nothing to do with. Kiss 21

Don’t blame yourself for that one.

Losing everything isn’t easy

either, but losing you
was especially hard. Kiss 22

I’ll forgive you,
but only because I’m past blaming. Kiss 23

Now that you are gone,
can I still be angry? Kiss 24
<|endoftext|>
"A Poem About Myths", by Jack Conway [Mythology & Folklore]
1
THE MOTHER:
She is the mother of the gods,

who lives in Olympus
on Mount Parnassus.

Her husband is Ares,

god of war; she gave him birth on Mount

Pindus, where their parents

met. Her other children
are Hephaestus (spear),

Hephaestus (bow).

Her daughter is Artemis,

goddess of arrows; she lives

on Mount Helicon.

Her son is Apollo,

son of Zeus; he is called

Zeus of the cloven foot.

Her daughters are Leto,

lady-of-the-waves; and her sister

Isis, lady of the hunt.

2
THE SONNET:
This one starts out as a normal
sonnet sort of thing,

with the usual meter
and rhyme scheme.
But then it turns
inside out, like this poem

because it started out
like a normal sonnet

then became this strange

thing inside out.
3
THE FATHER:
He puts his hand on the back

of my head and says, "Son, sit still."

And keeps talking to me
while I write this down.

He says to me, “You must understand

your father better than anyone else does.”

And I say, “Yes, Father, I understand my father

better than anybody else does.”
4
THE WIFE:
She sits there reading a book

that has Greek letters on the cover.

When we go to church, she sits

in the front pew. She sits

there holding her purse/lit candle

behind her ear. When we come home,

she holds her skirt/handbag/blanket

behind her ear. She never speaks,

only makes little noises.
5
THE PARENT:
He comes home from work
after midnight, and listens

to his radio while he cooks dinner.

He talks to me when I am small
about being a boy, and how

he wished his father was born
like him, strong and beautiful.
6
THE FRIENDS:
They don’t know what they

know. They think
this poem will make them

more moral, more decent.
7
THE CRITIC:
His eyes stare into mine
as if I’m the one who needs rescuing.

His face crinkles up in scorn
when I tell him I think this poem

is better than great books like Oedipus Rex.
8
THE READER:
He reads through the night till morning.

He tells me later that he loved the way
his body felt underneath my hands.
9
THE AUTHOR:
He thinks the poem is about him.
10
THE TEACHER:
He looks up at the ceiling
when he hears it read. He smiles

a bit. Maybe he thinks it’s some kind

of joke, but it’s not. It means

something deep, something intimate.
11
THE STUDENTS:
Their desks are so close together

you can feel each others’ breath
floating over us. The walls

between them and the next desk

are bare white chalkboard.
12
THE CLASSROOM ENTHRONED:
Each piece of art hangs suspended

above its box on the wall.
13
THE RETURNERS:
They’re waiting outside the door

until the class ends. Then they walk

up the blue stairs and out onto
14th Street. Fifteen minutes later

we meet again—this time for breakfast.
15
THE END:
It’s always different. Sometimes

it’s just another day, but sometimes

it’s something much bigger. And sometimes

nothing happens. But every once in a while

someone opens their front door

and walks across snow to a new apartment

in Queens or Brooklyn. Some days

I want to be with you,
but most days I have too many things

going on in my own life. So please stay

away from me today, okay?
16
THE RESIDENT:
The only person in the building

not wearing a mask is me.
17
THE SPY:
My eye color changes depending

on the light. If there’s darkness

or a lot of shadows behind me

my eyes grow dark. If there’s light

or bright colors around me

then my eyes get this huge yellow

eyeball. My name is Victor Jara,

I live in this building, too.
18
THE PUNKER:
Sometimes I lose interest in the punks

and get caught up in the normcore folk.
19
THE BODYGUARD:
Every now and then I take a break
from mouthing off to the mic, but mostly

I sit here drinking coffee and staring
at the windows. A man walked right past

without even looking at me.
20
THE CHEF:
Whenever I start to feel sick I
take two aspirin and then

two more. Then I finish whatever I’m eating

and drink a glass of wine. This helps

get rid of the alcohol smell.
21
THE DRIVER:
Sometimes I feel really tired
so I let my friend Tony drive me home.

Tony drives fast but he doesn’t hit
anyone. He hits the pull-out bars

on the side of the road. There’s no one

here to complain. We all feel safe
driving by the bay, though we don’t see

anything because it’s covered with water.
22
THE BUYERS:
We were all feeling down so we went
inside

to change. The place was empty

except for our sign sellers.
23
THE TICKET COMPANY:
We sold the tickets for $2.50 each

because everyone wanted to save
their pennies. Everyone got in for free

though—they had to buy a ticket.
24
THE FISHMEN:
When the last train left the station
the men sitting on the platform

started talking among themselves.

One said he didn’t need to sleep

that night. Another said he could go home
right now. A third man said he would never

do such a stupid thing for money.
25
THE COOK:
Once I gave a book of cookies to a child.

That same night I won’t forget to cook dinner.
26
THE COLOR SERPENT:
I love how she comes back when I brush my teeth.
27
THE FLOORING WOMAN:
She sits on my floor and asks me to play games.
28
THE DOG DAYLIGHT SHOE COVE:
This shoe made of gold foil and shiny red soles

has been hanging in my closet for years.
29
THE CROW FOX:
I saw his shadow running across the field.
30
THE SWANS:
When I first started writing poems people said

poetry was dead. Now everybody says

it’s alive and well. Poet isn’t such a bad word anymore.
31
THE COUGAR:
He was so sweet and gentle and wise

he made me cry. When I woke up the next morning

his head was resting on my shoulder.
32
THE EAGLE:
His wings are long and thin like skinny arms.
33
THE MOOSE:
A beautiful animal. He loved to eat carrion.
34
THE LITTLE GOLDEN GALERIA:
I put a seed inside her ear and it grew into a tree.
35
THE BEAK:
I brought him home as a pet and she named him Bill.
36
THE SKYE:
I found him frozen under a woman's heel.
37
THE TAVERN WINDOW BALL:
It has words written all over it. Words that mean

I can’t say. Words like “trashcan” and “wedding gown.”
38
THE SNAKES:
They came through the sewer pipes and up through the wall.
39
THE OCEAN MUFFLED:
It moved really slow. It took us four years to find

each snail. They weren’t very smart.
40
THE MINE:
I thought I could spare some space so I filled it with rocks

and dirt. That way if something happened to be missing

I could always say I buried something in the desert.
41
THE MOON (FOR THE VISION):
The moon was full and white and perfect. At first glance

you couldn’t tell whether it was a body or just sky.
42
SILENT VOICE OVER (FOR THE IMAGE):
I know you think you understand me. You don’t.
43
DINING ROOM (FOR THE IMAGE):
It was cold and dark and loud. But nobody broke

the window before they left.
44
MOTHER (FOR THE IMAGE):
You can’t imagine what this feels like.
45
COCKATOO HEAD (FOR THE IMAGE):
My daughter used to wear this shirt to bedtime.
46
BEE (FOR THE IMAGE):
He liked to call me Beep-de-dee.
47
SWEET ELF (FOR THE IMAGE):
He was very sweet to the other elves.
48
HUMAN FIG (FOR THE IMAGE):
He loved to party. He danced really fast.
49
WILD BULL (FOR THE IMAGE):
He wore these big straw hats. Everybody loved him.
50
TREE (FOR THE IMAGE):
Somebody cut him down. Somebody picked him up.
51
CHICKEN NAPKIN (FOR THE IMAGE):
He was so cute and cutesy. People used to feed him chicken soup.
52
PEACE SIGN (FOR THE IMAGE):
Everybody loves peace. Everybody keeps the peace.
53
THUNDERSTORM (FOR THE IMAGE):
Thunderstorm is so scary.
54
CROCODILE (FOR THE IMAGE):
He is not very handsome, but look at him swimming!
55
BIRD OF PRECIOSITY (FOR THE IMAGE):
Beautiful bird. She is so rich.
56
SHEEP (FOR THE IMAGE):
Very rare birds. Very expensive.
57
ROOSTER (FOR THE IMAGE):
Not good to mess with them.
58
JAY (FOR THE IMAGE):
Good jumper. Good swimmer.
59
SPIDER (FOR THE IMAGE):
Spider is pretty aggressive.
60
PIGEON (FOR THE IMAGE):
Pretty tame pigeon.
61
PROTOSENSITIVITY (FOR THE IMAGE):
Very curious. Gets excited easily.
62
TROPICAL STORM (FOR THE IMAGE):
Very dangerous. Gets confused easily.
63
EMERALD (FOR THE IMAGE):
Nice flower. Nice color.
64
CLOWNFish (for the clownfish):
Clown fish looks just like a clown.
65
LOBBY (for the lobster):
Little Lobby is so small he fits in your palm.
66
VACATION (FOR THE IMAGE):
Don’t take too long to pack everything in.
67
HEALTHY (FOR THE IMAGE):
Look how healthy he is.
68
INTEREST RATE (FOR THE IMAGE):
Interest rate is too high.
69
COMPETITION (FOR THE IMAGE):
Competition makes people fight.
70
CONVERSION (FOR THE IMAGE):
People must be converted.
71
EXAMPLE (FOR THE IMAGE):
This picture shows an example of the type of image.
72
IMAGECOLOUR (FOR THE IMAGE):
Excellent colour. Excellent contrast.
73
IMAGECOLOUR (FOR THE IMAGE 2):
Better than the original. Better still.
74
SUPPORTIVE (FOR THE IMAGE 3 & 4 & 5 & 6 & 7 & 8 & 9 & 10 & 11 & 12 & 13 & 14 & 15 & 16 & 17 & 18 & 19 & 20 & 21):
Supportive of new ideas. Not conservative.
75
NEGOTIATOR (FOR THE IMAGE 1 & 2 & 3 & 4 & 5 & 6 & 7 & 8 & 9 & 10 & 11 & 12 & 13 & 14 & 15 & 16 & 17 & 18 & 19 & 20 & 21):
Debating is difficult. Debaters should relax.
76
CANNIBALISM (FOR IMAGE 3 & 4 & 5 & 6 & 7 & 8 & 9 & 10 & 11 & 12 & 13 & 14 & 15 & 16 & 17 & 18 & 19 & 20 & 21):
Those who eat flesh are likely to be violent.
77
FROG (FOR IMAGE 7):
A vicious creature. A pest. An enemy.
78
FLIES (FOR IMAGE 8):
Flying things. Flying things hurtle towards us.
79
DROWNED (FOR IMAGE 17):
The victim drowns. The sea turns red.
80
GORE (FOR IMAGE 22):
An indelible mark. An injury.
81
CORPSES (FOR IMAGE 23 & 24 & 25 & 26 & 27 & 28 & 29 & 30 & 31 & 32 & 33 & 34 & 35 & 36 & 37 & 38 & 39 & 40 & 41 & 42 & 43 & 44 & 45 & 46 & 47 & 48 & 49 & 50 & 51 & 52 & 53 & 54 & 55 & 56 & 57 & 58 & 59 & 60 & 61 & 62 & 63 & 64 & 65 & 66 & 67 & 68 & 69 & 70 & 71 & 72 & 73 & 74 & 75 & 76 & 77 & 78 & 79 & 80 & 82 & 83 & 84 & 85 & 86):
Corpses make great tombstones.
<|endoftext|>
"The Man Who Laid the Moon at the Base of the Ararat Dunes", by David Bottoms [Nature, Stars,  Planets,  Heavens]
There were two men on the ararat dunes, one with his pants rolled halfway up his legs. He looked up, not expecting to see another man there. One man was wearing khaki cargo shorts and the other had blue jeans on. They had come to lay the moon at the base of the dune’s outcrop. There was no light left on the dunewear or the outcrops beyond the city. The only thing that broke the otherwise quiet night was the low hum of a small motor far off in the distance. It reminded the men on the dunes of when they had been young men and women, somewhere else entirely, having once walked this road, having once lived elsewhere, having once worked somewhere else. And now they stood around, looking down into a pit filled with water. It wasn’t that any particular feature made them think of their old lives: the outcrops where they had once found themselves might as well have been empty pits. No features distinguished this place from others like it. But these two men knew what it was to walk again somewhere else, to look past the outcrops for the first sign of something familiar. To recognize the contours of a landscape, to recall the shapes of trees, to imagine the motion of waves breaking on a shore. And both men understood why it was called the moon, though the same could be said for most places: the absence of features distinguished nothing from other spaces. The men in cargo shorts had brought their tools back for the third time that afternoon. This time they would leave some moments before their scheduled return to Baja. They wanted to collect more data about the lunar surface. Before leaving they had taken everything they might need—a spool of thread, a pan full of lard, a knife, a pocketknife sharpener, a pair of vice grips, a screw gun, a set of pliers, a paper napkin, a coffee can, a glass, a plastic jug, a metal tin, a wire basket, a few tiny pebbles, a mirror, a handful of mortar, a plastic bag, a couple of forks, a jar, a shovel, a wooden matchbox, a canning jar, a marble vase, a honeybee pen, a comb, a hammer, a combination lock, a ball point pen, a magnifying glass, a compass, a metal spoon, a fire extinguisher, a few screws, bolts, nails, washi tape, a microfiber cloth, a magnet, an iron or steel nail clipper, a hex wrench, a copper wire brush, a magnesium block, a length of duct tape, a sewing kit, a metal sieve, a battery operated radio, a metal spoon, a wire bender, a wire tie, a wire feeder, a wire rope, a wire snake, a wire rosin, a wire hairbrush, a wire skullcap, a wire earring, a whistle, a wire comb, a wire headrest, a wire earphone, a wire comb w/ combs, a wire nose clip, a wire eye barrette, a wire eye shadow, a wire eyelash curler, a wire eye pencil tip, a wire eye toothpick, a wire eyebrow brush, a wire lip liner, a wire false eye wipe, a wire eyebrow wig, a wire contact lens, a wire contacts case, a wire eye loader, a wire eye dropper, a wire eye powder compact, a wire contact lens cleaning tool, a wire contact lens applicator, a wire contact lens cleaner, a wire eyeglass shade, a wire wire eyeglasses case, a wire hair dryer, a wire hair glue, a wire hair pins, a wire ponytail holder, a wire ponytail comb, a wire ponytail comb w/ brushes, a wire hair gel, a wire hair dye, a wire hair spray, a wire hair hairspray, a wire hair starch, a wire hair lotion, a wire hair oil, a wire hair paste, a wire hair gloss, a wire hair paste caramel, a wire hair paste butter, a wire hair paste deolette, a wire hair paste wax, a wire hair paste shaving cream, a wire hair paste sunblock, a wire hair paste thermal oil, a wire hair paste moisturizer, a wire hair paste insect repellent, a wire hair paste deodorant, a wire hair paste dewpoint, a wire hair paste perfume, a wire hair paste sunscreen, a wire hair paste delectable food, a wire hair paste deluxe meal, a wire hair paste fragrance, a wire hair paste incense, a wire hair paste limousine, a wire hair paste ultra plush bed, a wire hair paste ultra silky towel, a wire hair paste ultra plush pillow, a wire hair paste ultra soft blanket, a wire hair paste ultra travel rug, a wire hair paste holiday gift, a wire hair paste fine jewelry, a wire hair weave, a wire hair curl, a wire hair weave relaxer, a wire hair weave relaxer bars, a wire hair paste fine linens, a wire hair paste silk blouse, a wire hair paste cotton tights, a wire hair paste denim jacket, a wire hair paste jeans, a wire hair paste corduroy pants, a wire hair paste wool trousers, a wire hair paste canvas shoes, a wire hair paste suede loafers, a wire hair Paste suede boots, a wire hair paste brown leather loafers, a wire hair paste black patent leather boots, a wire hair paste oxford shirt, a wire hair paste gray flannel shirt, a wire hair paste buckskin breeches, a wire hair paste khaki pants, a wire hair paste corduroy pants, a wire hair paste buckskin coat, a wire hair paste buckskin jacket, a wire hair paste brown wool hat, a wire hair paste red rubber tipped hat, a wire hair paste awning sunglass glasses, a wire hair paste awning sunglasses, a wire hair paste awning mittens, a wire hair paste tortoise shell lunch box, a wire hair paste tortoise shell wallet, a wire hair paste tortoise shell wallet with cash, a wire hair paste tortoise shell chain, a wire hair paste tortoise shell messenger bag, a wire hair paste tortoise shell purse, a wire hair paste awning backpack, a wire hair paste tortoise shell messenger bag, a wire hair paste awning wallet, a wire hair paste tortoise shell wallet with credit cards, a wire hair paste awning phone, a wire hair paste awning watch, a wire hair paste awning keychain, a wire hair paste tortoise shell keys, a wire hair paste black leather back pack, a wire hair paste tortoise shell backpack, a wire hair paste tortoise shell messenger bag, a wire hair paste tortoise shell wallet, a wire hair paste tortoise shell wallet with lanyard, a wire hair paste tortoise shell wallet without lanyards, a wire hair paste awning wallet, tortoise shell keys, tortoise shell wallet, tortoise shell wallet with lanyards, tortoise shell wallet without credit cards, tortoise shell keys, tortoise shell wallet with no credit cards, tortoise shell wallet with no lanyards, tortoise shell wallet with only cash, tortoise shell backpack, tortoise shell messenger bag, tortoise shell wallet with lanyards, tortoise shell wallet without cash, tortoise shell wallet without lanyards, tortoise shell wallet with only cash, tortoise shell wallet with only lanyards, tortoise shell wallet with no credit cards, tortoise shell backpack with only cash, tortoise shell messenger bag with only cash, tortoise shell wallet with only lanyards, tortoise shell wallet with no credit cards, tortoise shell backpack with only cash and lanyards, tortoise shell wallet with lanyards, tortoise shell wallet with no credit cards,
<|endoftext|>
"The Unmaking of You", by Rebecca Seiferle [Living, The Body]
I saw you lying on the floor
in your unmade and unwashed clothes
and I couldn't touch or talk to you.
You were so cold. And I was trying to keep
the baby from breathing too hard.
But the baby wanted to play with you
and it took all my strength not
to slam the door in his face and shout:
"Get away! Get away!"
And I didn't. Because I was afraid.
Because you are so beautiful.
Because you are the one
who will never let me be afraid.
<|endoftext|>
"Aubade", by Alison C. Rollins [Love, Realistic & Complicated, Relationships, Men & Women]
She said she loved her tattoos—her left wrist is crossed
with his now—but I could see them as old news,
old like the sea and sand itself, which is what they are to her;
like the ocean, they are ancient and have been through many changes. 
They are the same tattoo that once made her cry out,
it is the same love she hides behind now. She has changed
so much since then. Her smile now covers up her old fear
of being found out. It's the old story she tells herself now:
she loves him so much she would do anything for him to lose it,
so why can't he just give it up? So I don't ask the question
that I should have asked from the very beginning: why
don't you love me anymore?
<|endoftext|>
"Lacrimarium", by David Dominguez [Living, Death, Sorrow & Grieving, Time & Brevity, Love, Heartache & Loss]
For Mike

It's okay to miss someone.
To miss someone’s kindness. To miss
a good joke, say your name backwards,
watch the first few seconds of something
you know nothing about unfold—
all those small details we collect over time
as we sit and wait for our names to call
home. It's okay to miss what you want to miss.
It's okay to miss your own good fortune.
It's okay to feel sad. It's okay to miss
what you think you need. It's okay
not to have everything at your fingertips.
It's okay to be confused. It's okay
to miss someone. It's okay to change.
It's okay to stay.
It's okay to die.
It's okay to live again.
<|endoftext|>
"The Truth Is Out there", by Joy Harjo [Social Commentaries, History & Politics, War & Conflict]
for Andrew Joron

i
There are more things in the world
than people know.
ii
The military says
our country cannot survive
another war.
iii
We are the forgotten ones.
iv
My father served three tours
during the Vietnam War.
v
When I'm asleep,
my children sleep,
watching me
cry into the night.
vi
Every four months
my mother drives two hours
and fifteen minutes north
to visit relatives.
vii
I am tired of hiding
everything from everyone.
viii
I am tired of keeping
nothing from anyone.
ix
We are the forgotten ones.
x
Our bodies become weaponsized.
xi
We must build a village.
xii
We must create villages.
xiii
If you leave us, we will die.
xiv
We must remain vigilant.
xv
We must remain vigilant.
xvi
We must remain vigilant.
xvi plus xvii plus xx
We must remain vigilant
Always.
xx minus xx minus xx minus xx
Always.
<|endoftext|>
"Haiti: After the Quake", by Gregory Corso [Relationships, Family & Ancestors, Social Commentaries, Cities & Urban Life, Money & Economics, Popular Culture, War & Conflict]
After the quakes, when the streets
were still crooked and the city
was divided into camps and families
by the Red Cross, after the
people had returned to find their homes
destroyed and their possessions
scattered across the countryside,
when the hospital was forced to close its doors
and the doctors fled the country,
after the pharmaceutical factories stopped making
their drugs and the police stations were looted
and burned to the ground, Gregory Corso was invited
into every devastated home to offer
assistance to the survivors. He stayed
long enough to learn each family's secret,
each wayward wish and hidden pain.
He listened patiently as wives recounted
how their sweet little girls had been raped and murdered.
He learned how each child was raised and taught
devotedly by one of their mothers.
Each day he visited these children
in the orphanages of America.
Sometimes Gregory Corso brought gifts
for the afflicted and troubled children.
Sometimes he withdrew his handkerchief
from under his sleeve and gave it
to a frightened girl who sat alone on his bed.
One boy, badly scarred, cried aloud
until Gregory Corso took note of his distress.
Then he whispered words of comfort
into his mother's ear. One by one,
the visiting children went away,
vanished into the cities of America.
Only Gregory Corso remained. Alone
and distraught, he walked slowly toward
his house. Then he heard a knock at the door.
His sister called out to him and told him
something urgent was required of him.
She said she needed him immediately.
Something terrible had happened to Gregory Corso.
She begged him to go straight to the place of business
where their uncle Antonelli worked as a janitor
and lived with his wife and infant son.
Antonelli was gone now. His son was missing.
Gregory left his home. The earthquake had caused
both houses to collapse around him.
<|endoftext|>
"The Last Son of Mornayr", by John Masefield [Living, Coming of Age, Growing Old, Activities, School & Learning, Sports & Outdoor Activities, Nature, Animals, Philosophy]
As I flit my dreaming eyes along
Thy ways where joy and freedom reign; As I gaze on thy wild woods wide and fair; As I list upon the living books that lie
Full of thy wisdom and thy truth; As I walk with raptured heart along
Thy streams that flow to the mountain-waves— Well do I remember those days of glory
And the gay life that followed them! For though I wandered far and passed through
A weary round of schooling and of practice, Yet something, some small part did I take With pleasure, while I felt the power of knowledge And the pride of manhood burn within My mighty soul, as if 'twas bursting free From earthly ties and bonds, and high above Earth's thraldom floating on Its own wings o'er the vast unknown!
<|endoftext|>
"The Little Orphan Annie's Song", by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow [Activities, Travels & Journeys, Relationships, Home Life, Arts & Sciences, Music, Poetry & Poets, Mother's Day]
It is the last rose of summer time,
Left blooming alone; It is the lone jewel of the year,
Seen but in the rainbow's beam; A flower without a friend or mate,
Found only on the lea. Oft have I paced the sunny shore,
Far from a voice of friends, O'er sandy mountains brown and bare,
Wherever work was done— My task of sorrow was to sigh no more—
For always there was someone new To talk of sport and fun and song,
But never about me. There was a pathos in every line
Of my sad song, which made me weep; For others lives were happy and full,
While mine seemed lonely and cold. But soon the sunshine faded from the earth,
And clouds of darkness gathered fast, And silence settled on all below,
Save the rushing of the rain. At length the tempest ended,
And skies grew clear again; But many a longing in my bosom stirred,
To see once more those I loved; To hear their gentle voices sung
By other ears than mine. So I turned from land to land,
Till I came to Italy; And many a valley and many a hill
Were changed to green and blossomy plains; And many a river and streamlet broad
Laughed in the sun, for they knew me. Thus westward I journeyed on,
Till I found myself at France, Where all the beauty of the world lay,
Except her music and her flowers. She had her towers and palaces,
Her gardens and her forests too; But I could not come behind them,
My feet were set on fire to find them. And so I travelled east,
Till I reached Japan; And many a people and many a face
I marked across the sea, Which I shall never have another like,
Or build another ship like the Golden Hynde. They smiled at me, and beckoned, and bade me come ashore,
But I would stay beside the ocean tide; Until I sank on many a rock and tree
With fatigue, and slept on many a stone, Till my spirit became as one of them
Who dwells apart and walks in dreams. So westward I sailed on, till I came to Spain,
Which has given birth to many heroes, Like the men of old in Palestine,
But none like this poet and these sons of Greece, Who laid their mortal hands upon the Ariadne,
Yet live as long as any man alive.
<|endoftext|>
"The Wreck of the Hesperus", by Robert Browning [Love, Infatuation & Crushes, Romantic Love, Unrequited Love, Relationships, Men & Women, Ships, Mythology & Folklore, Fairy-tales & Legends, Greek & Roman Mythology, Heroes & Patriotism]
Hither they came: they saw us row
“O'er seas strange and narrow, o” To them it was nothing out of the way—
They looked and laughed at England too. Then I ‘gan to think how these
Had seen our battle at Salamis,
When Washington rode in, like a ghost,
On Chancellors and Warlords and the whole shebang. Ah, well, ’twas a jolly crew,
That fought that day, with hearts as true

As ours are to this very hour. But what of that? We know what love is. One fell away
Straight into Elysium under the sky,
And danced there forever and aye. He took his turn, and he gave him one,
And then he sent him home to bed, And left me to my lot, poor simple sinner,
Because I couldn't fight.
<|endoftext|>
"The Winter Stars", by Robert Graves [Living, Time & Brevity, Nature, Stars,  Planets,  Heavens]
The night goes down eternally Now that the frost is on the world,

And the cold moon is on the hill. The wind is crying out, and the snowflakes fall,

Like golden rings on breasts of women dead, As they who died for love of you and me. Oh, when will winter be over in May?

Oh, when will spring come in with its eyes? The woods are weeping now That once were gay and glad and green, With birds that once sang loud and high

In joyous praise of springtime's queen. But the seasons go, and we must grieve

Until the heart of pain is stilled, And love comes back to cheer us through the wait, And life is sweet indeed.
<|endoftext|>
"A Song: “England”", by William Butler Yeats [Social Commentaries, History & Politics, War & Conflict, Heroes & Patriotism]
(excerpt)

England! thou art far hence, A dream deferred, an idle gleam Of that celestial afternoon When the bright sun dript his first rays On this enchanted ground, where now No sound is heard but the low, slow roll Of thy majestic falcon, flightýnized. Oft, where thee triumphal arch stands, In shadow voice, some Irish dirge is sung, That, darkly nigh the silent grave, Recalls the loved, lost, or beloved slain. Yet English hearts were touched that day By thine own glory, and by grief Remembered not the inextinguishable cry Of the young martyred sons of Ireland past. Their memories are in vain, no more; Thou makest remembrance glorious of those days Of thy great mercy and of noble pride, When the earth seemed all ablaze with warlike light, The fields were red with blood, and warriors died Like angels dying in their native air. Thy deeds in peace were done, thy wrath in war, But ever in thy vision didst thou see The dawning day of a new epoch rich In liberty, and peace, and Ireland's rights.
<|endoftext|>
"Godspell", by Geraldine Clarkson [Religion, God & the Divine, Arts & Sciences, Philosophy]
It is the Lord who saith, Come unto Me, every one that cometh
To My rest, and to His bosom singeth.
He is the King of Israel, and He doth know Each thing which His hand hath made; therefore, whosoever
Fell in the Red Sea at His word, and blest His soul, shall find grace
Before His feet, as He saith, Come, come unto Me, each one that cometh.
I have no wrath against any living creature, But love and pity move me towards all.
For I am convinced, whoever sinned against
The Holy Ghost, and suffered for it, Hath incurred greater sin in heaven than all other sins
By human laws. The Father knows each frailty of mankind,
Nor suffers any torment, save that which is just
In measure. Therefore, if any sorrow can be forgiven
Unto Christ's suffering servant, it is free,
Even that so deep in time and place it may
Never reach again.
<|endoftext|>
"Song: “Shall I compare thee to a summer storm?”", by William Shakespeare [Nature, Weather, Social Commentaries, Cities & Urban Life, Town & Country Life]
(from Two Gentlemen of Verona)

Shall I compare thee to a summer storm?
Thou art both strong and wise.
Thou hast put false Love to rout
And ruined his vile craft,
Who taught men total neglect
Of themselves and all things else.
Through thee the people wandered
Babes and boys to beg
With tears, and witless tasks,
Till thy heavy hand was laid
Upon their virgin breast,
And they grew wives and mothers.
Then satan in his wild disguise
Was seen around them creeping,
To seduce them forth from Christ's path,
That they might serve his lying works.
But thou, being seed of God,
Didst pluck them with thy scrip
From the rock of truth and right,
And though thou hadst reasons good,
Thou couldst not make them hear.
Yet now thou think'st enough is spoken For me and my poor babblings,
And hast set me this goal,
To show how much thou wast forsaken
When thou didst leave thy cradle,
And the lights of truth behind thee.
<|endoftext|>
"Song: “O, what profit is my labour to-day?”", by William Shakespeare [Activities, Jobs & Working, Nature, Landscapes & Pastorals, Summer]
(from Richard II)

O, what profit is my labour to-day?
My master has need of me:
The heat will soon be over,
And then he'll let me play With the boys that work for him.
What are ye doing under there?
Ye that would go before
Your lord into the field To tend his flock or reap his corn? Go you first, and say, This is your duty: here's your bread.
Go ye first, and say, This is your duty: here's your bread.
Ye that would go before Your lord into the field To tend his sheep or plants of grain? Go ye first, and say, Here's your duty: here's your bread.
Ye that would go before And say to your lord, Here's your food, and here's your ease, What should today content your belly? Here's your food, and here's your bread.
Ye that would go before And say to your lord, Here's your food, and here's your bread, What should today satisfy your heart? Here's your food, and here's your bread.
<|endoftext|>
"Sonnet 11: 'No woman can look on water'" , from A Lover's Complaint
No woman can look on water Or the gath'ring shadow of the sun; Water is not lady-like; Nor the dark eye of the nightingale; Nor beauty's best gift, youth; nor man, her lover. Lady-like she must not go Where these have gone, with eye upturned Up the hollow places of the river, Nor sit 'neath the elm when the swallow sings. Beauty's gift, man's delight, Men's loves and joys beside, None can call hers mine unless I claim Them as mine own.
<|endoftext|>
"Sonnet 12: 'Our life is like an April flower'" , from A Lover's Complaint
Our life is like an April flower That smiles and smells and shines, And bares its bosom to the air, Yet never sees the dust of day; It rises while we gaze, and passes By unseen till another day. So ours is with the transmigration Of time, untroubled, undivined, Unconfined, unfettered, until The fulness comes, and then it dies.
<|endoftext|>
"Sonnet 15: 'The fairest and most lovely' ", by William Shakespeare [Love, Realistic & Complicated, Romantic Love, Relationships, Valentine's Day]
The fairest and most lovely Woman I ever saw
Is still wearing away at May"
—William Shakespeare 
Loving the imperfect, hating the worn-out,
Envy the stranger, loving the neighbour
That cannot keep her head above the tide;
Beating the body but not the spirit,
Seducing the weak, striking at the strong;
Setting your soul against itself; yet knowing
Only yourself, and that only to yourself;
Forgetting the ideal, where it came from,
Instead of setting your soul opposite
Some hope more heavenly, bigger than your soul;
Fooled by the world which fools all men, yet believing
In the immortal, blind world which does believe.
<|endoftext|>
"Sonnet 19: 'I am sick of all your flattery' ", by William Shakespeare [Living, Disappointment & Failure, Arts & Sciences, Humor & Satire]
I am sick of all your flattery; I wish you gloom Enough for one whole year's service! I do not want you to tell Mine eyes are dim; I ask you only to put out Mine. My eyes are not my own; They came Not from myself, But from the sun, Which makes them wanly beautiful To me, Who come from walks Under the shade of trees. You breed Me such a great contempt, That I turn from you And seek some other acquaintance.
<|endoftext|>
"Sonnet 20: 'You may talk of your Progress in Time' ", by William Shakespeare [Living, Growing Old, Time & Brevity, Social Commentaries, Cities & Urban Life]
You may talk of your Progress in Time For what length of hours is it to know, And whether you live or die? But Time's effect on Mankind Is more than just to shorten their bloom And spoil their summer. In early youth Wealth was theirs, and pomp and state, And love and care of mankind. Now poor men can have both meat And drink, And old age is but a resting place For weary pain. O, let us see If we can bear our weighty load Of flesh so light, Before the judgment day Comes down upon us all With swift judgments and severe; Then those who stronger were Will surely go free, And those who were weaker won't be bound.
<|endoftext|>
"Sonnet 21: 'My thoughts are like a swarm of bees'"", by William Shakespeare [Living, Death, Sorrow & Grieving, Nature, Landscapes & Pastorals, Summer]
My thoughts are like a swarm of bees That buzz about the dead leaves, And gather together. There's not a blade of grass between Their work and me, For I am near to everything. My thoughts are like a flock of birds That fly to the mountains first thing In the morning, and there in the air Are settled, and begin to sing, About the coming rain. My thoughts are like a ship, that has Been driven by storms off a coast, And they, the sailors, are weary, And long to land. My thoughts are like a stream, that hath Had rippled down a valley, round a hill, Where flowers are sweetest. My thoughts are like a bright pure gem, Spotted through with every mineral, Rock, clay, and gravel, And oftentimes hidden. My thoughts are like a merry ring, Where dancers twinkle to the tune Of a gay ditty. My thoughts are like a festival, Where rich people bring The songs of many lands, the vices, Creeds, and passions, of whom they're full. My thoughts are like a gathering of crowds Together to watch and hear a sportsman's skill Displayed before them. My thoughts are like a fair, blooming rose, Whose tender stem is covered o'er With thorns and lilies. My thoughts are like a path, over which A traveller shall soon desist, Who feels the weight of his heavy wallet Drop from his arm. My thoughts are like a slumber, deep and deep, Till the sleeper, soon awakened, hears The footsteps of a stranger.
<|endoftext|>
"Sonnet 23: 'To leave the world and to return' ", by William Shakespeare [Living, Marriage & Companionship, Infatuation & Crushes, Romantic Love, Relationships, Men & Women]
To leave the world and to return,
And neither mind the after-talk, What if the after-talk be true? Shall we find any company
In this unhappy world? We'll think ourselves happy then, Happy that we need no longer roam, Our travels done, and home before us. So long as we must travel, so long All things we desire around us lie, Like gems, in various shapes on stone, Metal, cloth, or wood; No matter how far we fare, Or what form our joys and woes assume, We still shall call that home. As for thy beauty, dear Sir, I've little to say, Except that thou'rt ever young, and that thee 'tis best To follow the changes of the sky, And, when thou art older, to look well to thee.
<|endoftext|>
"Sonnet 24: 'The fairest of her kind'  should...", by William Shakespeare [Love, Realistic & Complicated, Unrequited Love, Relationships, Anniversary, Valentine's Day]
The fairest of her kind should not have stood Such competition from me; she might have said, ‘It cannot be, I'm honoured, but I fear’That she would have been graciously ashamed To have yielded herself to me. Yet now she stands erect, and though I gaze She seems to be nothing, and to me All things move. Her sisters! had they stood So right in view, I should have turned aside And given my eyes away to them, rather Than to behold one made thus   simply and utterly. But let each one bear her own burden; Mine lies higher, because I'm wooed, Willed, tempted, attacked, and sometimes unsoftened, And so by all these means undone.
But she, she alone is perfect, and therefore
I will attempt her to extol. Though none are half so lovely as she is, And none are half so gentle, none so fair, None has such large proportions, and none has lips That shine like hers. Her complexion is white as ivory, Smooth, delicate, soft, and shining; some would swear It was an ore refined in Southland; Her colour charming, and her features sharp, Bold, not coarse, and yet not too fine, Her height just right, and hair neatly curled, Eyes dark, and lashes black as ink, Mouth just drawn out to speak what needs it most, Long, powerful arms, and fingers nails, Thighs all sinewy, and a thigh above Strong, firm, and rounded, and a waist less wimpledRound about than a womanybird, Nose broad, and cheeks like roses, Tresses thick, and curls flying wild, Shorter than ribbon, and whiter than snow, Nails short, but quick, and needles keen, and loves to bind Themself in them, and make them take root Fast, among her roots; and often finds Some thornbush to grow up for her, and thence Hinder her enemies. Ah, if all else fails, a book may be Played with, or a piece of lace Sold, or a friend invited for tea; And so she goes; and you go also, And we all three go together, Often we go, and seldom come Alone.
<|endoftext|>
"Sonnet 15: What God created me I made (143)", by John Milton [Religion, Arts & Sciences, Philosophy]
What God created me I made,
God set me here, to work his will,
And that I do, I do.
Who hath believed me thereby,
My sins were bare to His sight,
When he did scan me truly,
Kneeling before him, who is mighty to save.
<|endoftext|>
"Sonnet 16: If I had known when walking abroad among Greeks and Romans...", by John Milton [Social Commentaries, War & Conflict]
If I had known when walking abroad among Greeks and Romans
That by such ways they dwelt whom I had polluted,
I had hastened hence and kept myself pure.
For through both nations I was plucked up and brought,
And many there are whose hearts Satan's wiles corrupt,
Whose manners are earned by thieving excesses.
Yet there are sufficient of our people who
Have honesty in their pursestrings furnished,
Enough to judge others, but not themselves to change.
Then 'twas meet I went amongst them, being myself deceived.
<|endoftext|>
"Sonnet 17: Look where a thousand weary feet wait (155)", by John Milton [Living, Time & Brevity, Religion, Faith & Doubt, Social Commentaries, History & Politics]
Look where a thousand weary feet wait,
In darkness, in darksome days, beneath The gloomy horizon's bound, While lightnings flash across the burning air, And bitter tempests over heaven's bow Are gathering, till Judgment day cometh nigh. They wait in vain that wait not early,
They wait in vain that wait not late; The hours go veering, hour on hour, And never finish, ere they depart, Their round of labour good and hard. But those long, lingering hours of night
Are gone forever, and their place Is taken by dampness and by day-fall blind, Darkness, and the soundless tread Of foot that haste the coming morn to meet. Then comes the morning clear, and still they stay Before their labours done; and still remain The heavy tasks which must be done at eve, When evening falls, and all the toil is o'er. Oh, ye poor workers of your task in life, Ye that stir out hands and turn again Unto the same old soil, the same old field— What shall ye hope for, brother? Shall Hope give back your hopes, and break Again your new ones, laid low By time, trod down by your fellow men? Nay, ye shall not gain, Like valiant heroes, new strength from fear; Nor find in lost achievements pride, New glory, nor new skill to do. For strength and skill, like things of gold, Must fester, waste, and mold into rust, Unless the rich owner keep them still. He can, who keeps the treasure sweet In its first brightness, till he knows Its different colours gleam and glow. So long ye stand the labourers of fate, Holding fast the clay, while round you rise Those tyrants, Death, that ruin and devour, Till nothing now remains but loss and shame.
<|endoftext|>
"To the Memory of My Mother", by John Dryden [Living, Sorrow & Grieving, Relationships, Family & Ancestors, Nature, Landscapes & Pastorals]
Ah, happy son! that e'er should see
The witchery of thy mother's art,
And learn, by tender rule of hers, To paint with bold, unfearful hand
Those hues, by holy virtue given, Which Heaven to honour thee ordain’d.
O, tell me, how canst thou leave the green,
Which, year upon year, the growing corn
Attends, and scatters in the sun; With which, as summer swells the land, It turns to russet garb of brown? How canst thou then abandon
The living world’s delight? Or how canst thou resign
Unto thy sire the kingdom here On which alone thou built’st thy name?
Canst thou forget the solemn pledge,
Thou gave’st thy father twenty shillings,
Ere for himself thou changed the pound? O, tell me, canst thou forget
The solemn promise which thou gav’st thy wife,
Making her the bearer of thy state, And giving to her, for thee so true, Thy heart’s heritage,—a child?
How canst thou thus neglect the friend
Of youth and age, the dearest of mankind, Whom, when thy years had reached the goal
(Their course was full and their prize attained), Thou saidst thou wouldst remember ever, And keep his memory alive in the hearts
Of all beneath the sky? Canst thou forget the smile
With which thou didst greet us at the door, As though no other but a parent knew
Our names were on the register? We blushed for joy to have thy benison;
We hoped thou wouldst keep us beside thy steps Forever in the loving cares
Of home and God. Ah, what we thought we feared we know! Far off indeed seem the bliss
From which we fled to win it; yet we found
A little time for tears and sighs, And, oh, a little time for tears and sighs!
<|endoftext|>
"On My Departure for Ireland, 1798", by John Dryden [Activities, Travels & Journeys, Arts & Sciences, Humor & Satire, Philosophy]
I Set out for dear ol' Ireland,
My native country, I every doubt;
But, having travelled there already,
I quite forgot my doubts about it.
I found the wild flowers more rare than usual,
For Ireland has none at all near it;
Nor marshes, nor salt flats, nor forests,
Nor mountains, nor one black dot between 'em.
There are no cedars, oaks, or poplars,
No spiry mountain ash, nor chestnuts,
That groan when the wind sweeps through them.
All these trees are dead, or dying away,
They cannot grow where there is no oxygen.
It seems they never could attain sufficient humidity
To make the sap flow regularly.
But if this be the case, why should Ireland mourn?
She need not be afraid.

II I left my friends and all at Dixie,
Where they are free-men, and not the slaves of men,
Because they liked it better so:
And I came here, that I might be a citizen,
And enjoy the air of freedom too.
I found it pleasant enough, and Ireland pleasant too,
So well I enjoyed myself here.
I felt as free as the bird on the tree top,
Or liberty as the leaf on the grass.
I breathed the freshness of the morning air,
As if I had been born in Ireland.
I walked around the island, and saw it all,
From the top of the hill, by far the best.
I bought a piece of land, and made a gift to the church,
And I’ve a farm too, and a good lot of ground,
And many fine birds on the wooded farm.
I look after the cattle, and help the farmer,
And am always ready to work.
I love my life, and am contented all the time.
I think I shall never die, because I enjoy so much.
I do not feel like a stranger in the world.
I think I shall spend my age in enjoying.

III Oh, what a splendid time it is to-day,
When every one who sets foot on British ground
Puts up a hearty cheer for England!
I heard old Harry Griffin, the golfer, say just now
That he believed that the English people were the best—
He meant them when he said “the best”—in the world.
And speaking of his golfing exploits, he added, with a grin,
That he had won as many trophies as any man in the world.
Well, he played very badly today, but what a way he went!
His game was nearly finished before it got started,
And he hit every putt he attempted into the water!
He must have known that his putting was atrocious,
Yet he putt as fast as the weather he turned on the putting surface!
I hope he gets the driving down to which he is capable,
If only to please his countrymen.

IV (1)  The poet makes two allusions to ‘cannon’s’ use in the attack upon the French army during the First Battle of Ypres.  Most likely these were thrown together at a moment when the poet was re-reading some passages from Byron's poem “Alas! the Britain of Our Time”
(2)  Compare the lines – “The moonlight fell upon a scene / Which heroes ne’er in story drew / ‘Twere otherwise / With sword and cannon ‘mid blood and thunder’." (Birkbeck Hill's Modern Concise Dictionary)
<|endoftext|>
"from The Lady of the Lake: Book II", by Alfred, Lord Tennyson [Living, Death, Disappointment & Failure, Nature, Seas,  Rivers,  & Streams, Weather, Winter, Social Commentaries, War & Conflict]
(London, winter sixteenth century)

Then the west wind rose, and with a noise
Like distant drums was beating the blast,
Blowing open all our moorings at sea,
Chasing our ships ashore before the dawn,
And filling all the canals and streets with foam.
We lay among the wrecks, we lay adrift
Among the waves, till April broke again,
And then the enemy returned once more,
With fury in their looks and vengeance in their hearts.

The sun, the moon, the stars, had long since set,
The night-wind, the sea-wind, the south-wind still,
The north-wind high and drear, the east-wind low,
The night-wind loud and continuous still,
The day-wind slumbrous and desolate,
The water-wind ever blowing and still,
Made hideous by the darkness and the sound.

Our sails were full of leaves, and filled with spray;
The light winds still swept us with changeful roar;
Now bearing clear, now veering back again,
Now swifter than eagles’ wings, now slower than snakes.
At times it seemed as though death hung over us,
For every stroke some mortal blow fell dead;
At other times we seemed to move in a dream,
While sounding blows we took out to the sea,
Then moored to the sands beneath an alien sky.

Sometimes the wind would shift or the sea would change,
But always there was something done and fought for,
Some fight between day and night, dark and bright;
There was no rest nor respite, fight and strife,
Nor peace in sight, nor sleep in ear, nor ease
In hand, nor anything but the coming of ill.

It ceased awhile, and then there came a new,
Fierce, wild, unceasing storm from whence there was no pause;
A tempest that gave nothing away,
No lull nor refuge, but the whole wide sea
Down in its roaring raged with mighty swell,
Till all was blackness, and no quarter given,
Save to the eyes of those who died in hell.

Then the wind changed, and all grew calm again,
The skies grew cloudless, the lights shone through,
The winds grew all at rest, save one that mocked
All bounds of nature in her warfare;
She blew with too much force at last, and missed,
And rent our sails to pieces with her blast,
Which crashed and burst before our vessels could go free.

Then there was silence, save where the sea-birds screamed
In fear and wonderment, and the breakers rolled,
As if they hoped some miracle might take place,
Or some great mercy from the powers above,
To rescue them from that which threatened them so sore,
So near and yet so imminent, — the shot had passed.

They sank before our arms, and perished in the deep,
And left us prisoners in a land they did not want,
Where neither fish nor fowl, nor plant nor flower,
Shall grow, save what is made or taken away;
Where trees shall fall, and rocks shall perish in the flood,
And seas shall rise and rivers run in mud and tide,
And men be submerged under the unfathomable main.

When I consider how my flesh will waste
Between this hour and the next wherein I die,
I marvel that I am alive to feel
This vast immensity, this boundlessness,
Whilst all the others who have looked on God
Died without feeling any pain, or sorrow;
Who saw Him face to face, and on His throne
Beheld him seated, and in silence heard his voice,
Yet felt no emotion but was mute and still.

O thou departed spirit! say, why here
Am I extended on the bare ground,
Gone quite naked from thy presence?  What has happened?
Why art thou dejected, and whywith the air
Is the cold dampness spread o'er all thy person?
Has anything occurred worthy to remember,
Or that thou shouldst weep, or that thou shouldst forget?

Thou hast forgotten, and that is well;
I too remember, and that is strange;
What cause has brought thee to forget, O soul!
Was it a painful memory of the body,
Or sad misgiving, or grief for friends, or fear
Of danger, or hope of better days to come,
Or because thou wert weary of existence,
Or for any other reason?  Tell me now.

Thou rememberest things, and they are not grievous;
Thy portion amongst the worst is good and right,
Since thou rememberest them, and their number is
Not infinite, and life can never last that long;
Therefore thou rememberest them, and their having been
Calls thee not into despair, and makes thee glad:
Tell me, and tell me true, how many things
From thine account hath gone by, and whether they
Have been ill or well.

If I should count them all, and count by one,
I should find that each thing you name is lost
In very few; for things indefinite
Are stealthily multiplied in our thought,
Like colours in the rainbow, or sounds in music,
We hear and know not how, unless there be some law
That binds not all things equally, and those laws
Were vain, could they be broken with impunity.

But when I look more closely, and regard
The parts more closely, I see that each goes wrong,
Even in order; for the first is thrown off
By confusion, and the second by disordering,
E'en as the parts of speech do sometimes err,
In meaning not always, but only sometimes;
Thus in this momentary word, "Look,"
Something is omitted, or something added.

Now after loss of breath the speaker drew
Into discourse, and said, perhaps he meant
It was not folly, whatever that may mean;
For after all your care, and all your picking
Lice out your hair, and scrub up thatched roofs down,
You sit like an ass, and get such little pleasure
Out of the house as may enable you to sleep
Quite sound, and keep your teeth and nails all white;
Besides, who likes to work, where he himself takes delight?

There's nothing that gives less pleasure than work gets,
Unless it be giving so little pain that you enjoy
Every minute of it, and every man among mankind
Counts everything that he does not love in working,
Nor cares to do otherwise, since none loves to work
But doing so, and those that love it dearly so,
Each day finds something new to do, that has to do
To make the sweat pour, and pulse increase and quicken,
Until the heart within him leap with joy.

Well then, it must be a sweet affair being alive,
Being able to bear the tumult and the noise
Of this noisy town, and the endless din of men;
Having power to walk abroad at night, unseen,
With ears bent outward on the sounds that arise;
To be awake when the stars appear and pass,
And watch the swift flames leaping upward to the sky;
To be alone with myself, and feel no fatigue,
Though I need sleep, and must needs go to bed at night;
To be amused with my friends, and yet not bored;
To have time enough for work, and yet not have it done;
To be strong, yet not to grow old;--these are delights,
These are the real treasures of life, these are the good.

Then let us not abuse the patient body brave,
Which, in its season, grows green, and puts forth flowers;
Shows itself by leaves and berries, and produces
A language in which we understand the stones
That form its ribs, and what it will accomplish
Beyond the limit of its present powers.
Let us not call it hard or flippant-hearted,
When in the secret of its frame it hears
The undying sounds of Gath and Minnetonka,
The harpies shriekings of Wabun, and the shouts
Of Hiawatha, and the migrations of the Pine,
And all the different tones that speak of human hearts
Within this continent of wide-stretched oceans.

Long may the body valiantly endure!
May those fierce hands that are used to smite
Never, during all its life, to falter!
May the man's stout heart, beneath the hammer strike,
Never, while there's a chance, to quail!
May those heavy eyes forever shine,
May those feet that tread upon the springing corn
Tread without slipping on the wet snow!

Strong shall he grow, and tall, and deep of chest,
Whose bones shall tower above his feeble kind!
Strong shall he grow, and brave, and true, and mild,
Shall fullness ever be known in those
Who share his food, whose cup he empties daily!--
Strong shall he grow, and bold, and wise, and great,
The ruler of his fellow citizens!

Strong shall he grow, and kind, and gentle, too!
No sordid claims shall taint his soul hereafter!
Kindness is his best gift, and friendship
His most potent weapon in the strife
With external evil, that cannot enter
The purer breast nor invade the holier mood
That walks beside his, seeking God's pleasure.
Oh, tell me, if I can return to him
After wandering away so many years!

How happy must they be, who hold
Upon the fair earth their comfortable seats,
Proud of their peace, and free from thought of toil!
See! in the distance blooms the tree
With fruit that shines like fire against the skies!
They taste the deliciousness, and say,
"More food we deem it right that others eat."

Soon as the early sun is under ground,
And therefore lessening in size and in light,
The Minnehaha passes silently along
The level shore, wrapped in gloomy stillness;
Silently waits, her matted hair raised on end,
While near her stands the waitingéd Peacé,
Blank and stern in absence, and in fear.

She sees him draw near, she hears him sing,
He comes into the water gray and dun;
At first she thinks some guest has come a-board,
To cheer her spirits, and give them new strength.
But soon, as he draws nigh, her doubts and her fears
Take sudden birth, and changeful hope decay,
As rocks rise in the river, and the flood
Falls backward, and the whirlpools consume the land.

She looked in vain for Hiawatha's band
To aid her struggle to the surface;
The mighty Peacé had hidden them from sight,
So closely was he knit to the rock.
She clawed and tore at the lifeless flesh
As rocks are torn from a mountain peak,
But never could she lift him from the depth.

Once, as she gazed in frantic despair,
Homeward walking through the twilight dim and brown,
She met the white-maned Minnehaha,
On foot, but bearing in his hand a cross,
Like one who came to break a chain.
With bowed head and slow footsteps slowly moving,
Saw she the maiden standing with folded arms,
Waiting him who healed her wounds.

Said the dying woman, "I am Laiyyuth,
Woman who died!" And Youtoung replied,
"I am Hiawatha's sister, Minnehaha!"
Both turned and stood before the tomb,
Both kissed the lips that told, by death's faintest trace,
Of passionate love once more possessed.

You are no longer here.
Nay, you are no longer here.
Yet your spirit is within me,
Still resides the flame of your immortal love,
Lives in my bosom, friend of mine affords,
In you is renewed the spark of your Life-fire.

Dead since the day that I left you,
Dead since the day that I sailed o'er the sea of life,
Alone, forsaken, deserted, forgotten!
But my poor heart believes with faith unquenched,
God knows that it believes the truth I speak.

Dark-faced and silent is the mother-maid
Near the grave of her dead son.
Her woollen garments and her tattered berries
Hung cruelly open around the side
Where lay her beloved.  She weeps aloud
For sorrow of the Lord of Death, for grief of Home.

Slowly across the grass and flowers
Passed the rain, and grey grew the sky;
Hardly did the drops o'erlay the leaves
Of the forest trees; in hollows deep
Lay the graves of the ancestors,
There the red hearts of those who fell
Fighting with war-captains of the Kaibec people.

From the house the women fled in fear,
For lo! unseen by them were seen
Black shadows advancing toward them,
White faces with blood-drops bespread,
Heads of men who died for the Great Spirit,
Bloody hands of women, and all alone
Was the murderer, killing without remorse,
Coming between the two opposing sides.

Then the mother dashed her precious beads
Against her womb, and screaming cried:
"Woe unto you, O Wind,
That ye should be born when I am dead!
Ye have taken my dearest, leaving none
To guard the secrets of the stagnant lake!
Who will protect my children now
When I myself am gone and lonely!
Upon your pain and misery fall
The wrath of heaven, the wail of hell!"

Very fiercely clashed the weapons black and gold,
And the souls of the slain shuddered or quailed,
And the murderers melted away to darkness,
For the work of darkness and ruin was begun.
Only Guteba, the strong man, stood and stared,
Staring strange glances in the eyes of Evil,
Till his strength failed him, and before him trembled.

Guttering and wrenching, and swinging jerkily,
And hurling high in air, and crashing down,
Heavy axes sped among the enemies,
Smashing like cans against the shield of Earth,
Or bending like cactus needles in the wind;
Thrusting the heads from many an oak tree clear
Over banks of flowers, and trampling lightly
Down upon the tender grasses and the flowering herbs.

Now the great beams flew out from gully and defile,
Leaping like lances over rocky crest,
Cleaving moss-coverds in their downward flight,
Cleaving walls of sin, and bridges made of stone,
Rushing like bulls drawn onward by the yoke.
Red glowed the wreaths of pine on every height,
Sharpened like swords the points of these fearsome weapons.

Swiftly they passed, returning proudly home,
Their shoulders painted with the sign of battle,
Their breasts burned with the heat of deadly fight,
While their eyes glared fiercely into the night.
Eastward, westward, southward, northward, suddenly
Fell the light of the setting sun on Gutebasa.

Then the mighty Gutesbal drove his ax
Deep into the belly of Evil One,
And there poured forth in streams of blood his soul,
Poured them abroad, and all his body shook,
As waves in some wide bay shake when storms begin.
Evil fled in terror from the fearful place,
Nor entered further into the world of sense.

Thus the mighty Gutesbal drove his mighty weapon
Into the nape of evil, where it tore apart
All his imprisoned thoughts and forces at one blow.
With a roar as of falling waters he was shaken back
By the blows, and the mighty ax broke through his flesh,
And all his powers were released at once to roam
Through the four directions of the four winds of heaven.

They say that ever after this most marvellous deed
The spot is haunted by the sounds of human strife,
Sounds of men striking one another with clubs,
Sounds of women shrieking with the cries of children,
Sighs of the sick, and sobs of dying men.
So let us swing together round our foe,
And drive him from his ancient homes again.

I would not boast of skill with axe or sword,
Though such my wish, though I were valiant still;
Such aid I need from other hands than mine,--
Aid worthy of a hero, and divine
A mighty hand can scarcely give.
Yet hear me, God of earth and skies!
Grant thy blessing, ere I take my pen to paper!

Oftentimes I've pondered on how life began,
How spark by spark, the atoms came into being,
What cause moved each happy atom to move,
And set me here, to ponder what had been.
Ah! joys come by degrees, but never too late,
Each second brings something new to try the heart.

This writing will not turn to ink overnight,
Some weeks more are needed for even a simple line.
But soon thou'lt see the words of Moses writ within,
And know the story of creation written plain.
Perhaps to thee no meaning may be conveyed
In these early lines, but soon thou'lt read the rest.
<|endoftext|>

Here lies a man who has done much,
But has not worked, day nor night,
Since the war ended.  He wears
An old suit with buttons few;
His face looks tired and thin,
He is lean, he is gray.

Many people call to mind
Whose name he used to wear;
But few remember his face,
Fewer think who once knew him:
Old Florence's love of picture art
Has left to him alone
The little touch of grace she gave.

"Why do you paint?" said the crowd;
"Why do you make sculptures?  Why
Do you write verse?  You'll tire
Yourself and others waiting."
"My purpose is not," he said,
"To sit and feel sorry for me;
My object is not there."

"Can you carve well?"  "Yes, my master";
"Well enough, perhaps."  But then
He bowed his head and spoke no more,
For none understood his speech.
It seemed that he was thinking o'er
Something, but what he'd meant
No one could understand either.

There was a boy who lived in town,
Not very bright was he,
Was fond of books and reading,
Read often in the street,
Found wit and wisdom in them;
Said things like these in places
Where readers stood around.

One day a passing carpenter
Came near him curiously
And saw his brain was full of learning
And wondered what he meant by it,
Couldn't understand a word he said.
"You must work," the carpenter remarked,
"If you hope to have your share
Of my profits you must hammer
And build the houses we live in."

The boy looked up sharply with eyes of wonder,
And answered, "Sir, if working paid
More would I do it for less pay."
"That won't help you out," the carpenter replied,
"You'll have to work for me instead."
"Is that so?" asked the boy.  "Then work harder!"
And off he went to labor for his master.

Now this same boy was smart as a pearl
When it comes to numbers and games;
Number played with him was far beyond him,
He made him a great play to win,
Tried every plan and gambit known
For multiplying by itself,
Made miscalculation an art,
Out-thought his opponents all.

Long before the work was through
He counted all the bricks he laid,
And how many spoons of mortar
He put between the bricks he laid;
Brick by brick he kept trying
To beat the previous figure,
Beat the foreman and get a slice
Of the housework when it was done.

Now some of them he smashed, and some
He scattered over the yard,
But always the foreman catered
To his favorite number, boy.
All day long the foreman catered
To the curious calling of the boy,
Who kept coming to the yard
With a hopeful look about him.

At night he lay awake, and called
To tell what he had seen and learned;
And what he found was always the same,
The foreman catered to his call,
While he got less and less for supper
Because he lost, day after day,
The money earned for foreman's wages.

So one day he raised his fist
As high as ever he could raise,
And shouted to let the foreman know
He wouldn't stand for any more
Sweating his bread and sweating his bones.
"Give me my job!" he yelled.  The sound
Went on and on down the stone wall,
Until at last the foreman heard it,
And rose to his feet and said,

"I don't care a cent," he said.  "Take it!
You want your freedom back.  Go!  Good-bye!"
And with a smile he turned away.
The boy turned pale with anger hot,
And walked slowly home to find
What mischief another day might bring.

A farmer had a daughter,
She was sweetly girlish and delicate,
Her manners were correct, and her bearing dignified;
Her voice was low, and her bearing bold,
Her words were clear, and her sentiments sincere.

She had been hired to tutor young gentlemen,
To take their vows on her fair wedding day,
And she brought home many a rich suitor from far away,
Who came to woo and marry her.

They came from distant shores,
From England, France, Germany, and Spain;
Some were wealthy and some were poor,
And some were brave men of mark,
And some were fools in need of aid--
But they couldn't buy her heart or charm,
And she loved each one of them a dozen times over.

She took nothing from any one,
Nor did she ask nor give;
She helped each with affection's best wishes;
She shared with everyone alike;
She even gave gold to a beggar man.
(Though gold was seldom needed, you see,
In such households.)

Oh, gentle reader, forgive
These metaphors, which are sometimes strained
From common experiences, to describe
The life of such a lady;
But though metaphor may not be good,
Yet I think 'twill bear examination.

She knew the English language,
Very well indeed;
And when visitors flocked in great crowds
To view her treasures,
She never hid
One little thing which puzzled them all:
How much was a groat?

Her household contained eight members,
All skilled workers in their various trades;
Their father was a member too,
An able man,
And they lived in a cottage, neat and small,
On a knoll overlooking the town.

Children ran shouting to and fro,
Up and down the hill,
And there were laughing girls and boys
Within the walls' embrace;
There was no lack of pleasant sports, either archery
Or ball, or dance, or game of chance,
And often Fairies used to come and go
Among the flowers.

My noble lord, whose ancestors were farmers,
Had bought the estate from Richard Whittington
Six years before,
And now, with lavish hand,
It gleamed along the country side,
Like some vast palace of the Muses.

Its spacious grounds, which reached far and wide,
Were dotted with the fruitfulness of trees
And all around were hills and dales
Where blossomed many an April flower.
The garden was full of humming bees,
And roses grew without the walls,
And lilacs o'er the gardens soared.

His mansion stood upon a bluff above
The water,
And its commanding frontage space
Was thronged with trees and shrubs that blended
In one harmonious whole.
The lawns and pastures both were near,
And there were beeves feeding in the hedges,
And herds of cattle grazing free,
And herds of deer ranged together.

Near by, opposite the mansion stood,
Upon a higher ridge,
With but a single entrance door,
That led into a narrow street
Of brick, with steeples set around,
And a bell was hung up against the sky
To notify the people when it rang.

Each evening, when the sun went down,
Thousands of people came thither way
To view the pageant,
And noblemen from distant lands
Came here to gaze on Arthur's glory,
And to hear the story told
Of Lancelot and Guinevere.

Banners were hung up, and tapers shone,
And ladies danced in order slow,
Above the crowd,
While knights and squires, and gipssy churls,
And heralds, bore the lighted torches,
Which soon died out,
When, rising from his golden chair,
King Arthur looked about him, and said:
"Is this a show for Londoners to-day?"

Then forthwith he bade construct
A public walk of marble stone,
O'er the whole edge of the court,
Where Lancelot and Guinevere were seen
So joyously kissing.
And round the balustrade, deep cut through,
Of the cliff behind the castle wall,
A lofty dome was raised,
And columns were erected where they stood,
Embellished with gold.
And then King Arthur, surveying, smiled,
As thinking, "Albeit these two have escaped
The grave's icy grasp,
Yet shall they kiss again ere long."

For, as the moon rose from out the night,
And round the tower glimmered like a star,
Through windows bright
The artful twin drew near,
And entered with dishevelled hair,
Into the grandiloquent hall,
Whose high and sculptured vault was spread
With everything that was beautiful.

Before the dais sat Lancelot first,
Who cried aloud, "My lords, I'm sick at heart!
I've lost her forever, my wife--
My darling, whom I adore!
I cannot live without her, I can't eat,
Nor sleep without her; I've torn my arms,
I've bruised my sides, I've ruined my eyes.
I thought myself immortal, but I'm not so yet.'

And then he turned to young Lancelot next,
And said, 'Now look ye men, I'm going to speak
To you without fear of contradiction;
You know me for her proud knight,
And now I find that I am nothing like her.
She made me love all women, till I found
This fair, sweet creature, and I've spent my pride.
My longing has been like dying fire,
Not like a fish that craves our basket.'

And then to Guinevere he turned,
And said, 'Young lady, if your beauty
Have ever made you unhappy,
Let not yourself be drawn into another,
But stay where you are,
Until this passion pass away.
I will not hurt your feelings, nor your honour.
If you'll tell me who you are,
We'll make a mutual agreement,
And I'll swear to love you only always.'

And then to Bessy, the fairest woman,
He said, 'Sweet maid, why should you be sad?
For though I love another, yet
Love is not treason, and I do not mean
By making you mine, to cast you off.
I love you still, for you are lovely still,
Though all the world and all my knights-knights-guests jeer at me.
Be happy, remain unruffled, and unmoved;
Your place I hold, although my heart does yearn
To clasp yours in truly loving wise.'

And then to Regan he spoke,
Who had grown pale with anger and sorrow,
'Sir, I have heard enough, and I am well aware
How bitter is love's bitterness;
Still, since I have listened to your lips,
I will promise never to go near you;
I'll never say a word about the matter,
Or we shall meet with some severe punishment.
What! did you think I'd forget yourself?
No, sir, I meant that you might grow lonelier.
Well, good-bye!' And with that sharp farewell,
The last words out of his mouth, he ran.

When Merlin reached Camelot, he found
His old companions gathered round him,
Most of them weeping, and some wailing;
One was reproachful, one was silent,
And one would talk, but only half listening;
For the King's son's grief had changed Sir Gawayne
After twenty years of marriage.

'Tis true,' he said, 'that I must now change,
Must give my life over to the world;
May there be many other lives for me,
Many loves, and many pleasures too!
But I loved you, and I loved you best,
Never was there such another man,
Such another lover, living or dead;
And I pray God grant you that much happiness,
Much bliss with you, and with me, and with her.'

He paused awhile, and wiped his cheeks,
And then he went down to the river side
To see Sir Lancelot, and himself, and Gawaine,
And Gareth, who had come back from France;
And all those others, who before
Had passed slowly to the shore of the lake,
Were coming swiftly up to Camelot.

They knelt upon the stones by the bank,
All of them with their heads in the water,
And they sobbed and sighed, and moaned and shrieked
Like sea-birds when storms begin to blow,
While the green waves beat on the pebbled beach.
Then Gawayne knelt with the rest,
And lifted up his head, and prayed:
'O Father, whose name is Love,
Controller of all delights here below,
Is it because you gave a haughty lie
Unto your children, that you sink thus low?'

And Lancelot answered, 'Nay, nay, not so.
It is not that, but that I have loved
A foolish woman throughly, and I pay
The price again with double pain.
There was no ill in what she did for me,
No foulness, but an honest want,
Which I have met and met ungraciously,
And paid in full each single wish of my youth,
And now, having seen all things else sacrifice,
I live on uselessly, while these live on Alceste.

'And therefore am I fain to save from waste
This poor remnant of a dream that I once knew,
Lest I too meet all things through my folly lost,
And die unknown, having wasted my days
In lonely misery, and leaving behind
Only a silly ghost to pity me.
So let us go forth together, and I will teach you
All that I know, and you will comfort me,
And we will build a house high and wide, and there
We will be happy evermore, for there is none
Can make us merry but the Lord God Almighty.'

Brief words were those of parting; and they went
Together to the great house, and there
Spake Gawayne of the strange new quest,
And how the hunt was ended, and the death
Of the bold Sir Bedivere, whom he slew
With axe against the oak, where he made war
On Richard, and was overcome at last
By Turpin, and fled away with him
Through field and wood, and gave him gold and grain,
And led him, bound in fetters, to the hall
Where Arthur held his court; and there they sang
Their songs of old, and drank their healths till noon,
And saw the king pass to his sleep-home, and closed
The book of the chronicles, and put down
The names of all who came to keep the feast,
And left it to Avalon's ladies there
To hang it above the portal forever,
As Gawayne pondered and bade them leave
The book--and bade them hasten, if they would,
Over the causey to the beacon-light,
And tell the knights and squires that Sir Gawayne
Would bring them news of the tourney done,
Nor would he know whether Turpin lived
Or died, but felt sure that good or harm
Would fall on either knight, and that he asked
If either could undertake the enterprise
That both should strive and prove, and try if yet
Sir Gawayne were alive or dead, and show
What yet Sir Bedivere had won, and say
Who first had spoken with him since he fell,
Until the work, so long as it lasted,
Should be completed; and he thought it shame
That any should for glory attempt
Whom neither he nor they had known before,
Yet would he think it no disgrace to die
Among his people in his own home,
When he heard that either knight had gained
His freedom, and the palm and crown restored,
And if the King decreed otherwise
He would obey, for he might never hope
Again to hold the reins of power.

So saying, he turned from door to door, and each
Saw need of some one else, and yielded up
The place, and when the lady of the house
Came to receive him, he found him sitting safe
Within, beside his own hearth, among his peers,
Feasting his eyes on all about him,
For now the day drew to its fall, and though
Cloudy and dim the morning light began
To fail, and soon the west grew gray and worn
With weariness into twilight dim,
And stars grew faint, and then the night grew dark,
And still the fire burned brightly, and the room
Was warm, and everything was as it ought
Between the joyous thoughts of worshipful men.

But when unto the pavilion of the Queen
Sir Gawayne took the messenger, behold,
Up rose the lady, strode across the hall,
And sat down by her peerless lord and said,
'My son, this hour has been a weary one,
But peace and quiet shall return again,
And we shall sit together at our ease,
Happy in heart and soul, and look upon
Our faces set alone, and see no face
Like ours, but only theirs, the faces grown
From age to age in service, care, and rest,
But yours, the faces of a child and maid.'
Then Gawayne bowed himself again, and kissed
Her fingers, murmuring 'Dear Mother,' and pressed
A kiss upon her lips, and knelt by her side,
And cast himself before his mighty mother
And thanked her, sobbing 'Take not so much, take not
All that thou hast given, but part of all that thou
Hast kept from me, for my sake, and given to me
Unwarily, lest I should requite thee ill.'
And she, although she little dreamed what man
It was whose heart she had, gently smiled,
And answered him, 'Glorious and wise indeed
Thou art, and full of wisdom: thy own life
Worth more than gold to me, and thine own death
More than riches.' Then she looked down at him,
And seeing nothing like herself in him,
Said, 'O Gawayne, shalt thou strike me?  Why,
I am the woman that hath borne thee, and
Had I once thought to have delivered mine own
Out of the world and let thee go with him,
Never would I have left thee here alone!
Nay, follow him, and find out whither he
Is going, and making ready his marriage
With one that he loves not, and brings him pity
And comfort, and with him dwell for ever,
Making thee his wife, and keeping thee pure
From every landman's touch, and walking with him
In safety through this wide wandering world!'
But Gawayne shook his head, and raised his hands,
And cried, 'No, Mother, no; I will not wed
This beggarly swain, whom I may not taste
Of earthly love, and cannot breathe the air
Without the plague coming nigh upon me,
And dying in my arms: howbeit, O my Mother,
Let us make a compact herebefore we depart,
That thou wilt keep my sword, and from no wrong
Shalt use it, and that I from thence shall bear
A passing gift to her, who shall come
To keep it for myself, and after make
A bride of it, and myself her groom.'
"Thus while they spake, Niam drove up with the Queen,
And came right in before the twain, and stood
Beside them there; and Gawayne saw and knew
Her, for she wore the same gray of hair and beard
Which he had seen once, and recognized
Even without his learning--for the great heat
Of passion drave her memory into him,
As into a graze the stings of pain;
And all his old companions laughed aloud
At once, and made their tongues hang mute,
Though none of them could decide which was most
Distraught, the noble Lady or the Duke.
But when the laughter died, and silence followed,
They grieved themselves because they seemed to be
Blind, and not knowing what it was that grieved
Their friends, who met to play the lovers,
Before their eyes, before their ears, and near
Their very faces; and they felt quite weak,
Being neither strong nor able to help themselves,
Seeing how fair the lady was and young
(Her beauty being the rarest type of God
Working in perfectness), and how gentle
The Duke, being older, might easily prevail
Upon her to marry him, and rule and be
Mother to a royal house. But Gawaynne
Stood proudly where they were three abreast, crying,
'Lady, O Sir Knight, I do not love thee,
Not one little bit, if thou art yet alive;
Yet am I bound to tell thee now, for I know
How false is dying, and the tales ye've heard
Are lies, they are not true; for I will prove them,
And bring you to your knowledge.' And with that word
He turned, and wistfully beheld the ground,
And then toward the Lady Mary went,
And found her sitting on the grassy green,
Whereon she sat alone by day and slept
By night, for God knows how many days,
For her sweet boy was sick of looking on her
And hearing of her tender griefs, and doing nothing
To assuage them, and to ease her longing
To put away the past and think of him.
So Gawayne drew near, and kneeled down beside her,
And bringing forth the golden ring he placed it on
Her finger, and stroking her cheek and chin with it,
Said, 'If thou shouldst die to-morrow, as I trust
Very soon, leaving me here, thou ere long will leave
My country, and fly hither, till some good chance
Lucky me to get thee back again; and ere
Thou canst return unto thy lordly home, I pray
Give me to thee, and I will give to thee
Whatever thing thy heart desires.'
Then the Lady Mary gave consent, and Gawayne
Received the ring, and loosed his gown, and threw
His cloak about him, and began to say, 'Fair
You are, and all the rest of these fairer things,
But thou above them all is best; therefore take
This precious gift, which is my last, and only
As my first-born, because I love thee best.'
And gently answering thus the King said, 'Man,
What hast thou done?' and smiling he took the ring
From Gawayne's hand, and tossed it lightly aside,
And spoke and smiled himself, 'I fear me much
That thou hast set thine heart on folly so high
Above my people, and because my realm has been
Fruitful to thee, thou wouldst defraud me next.'
Then Gawayne took his mail off, and let his shield
Drop from his shoulder, and laid bare his breast
To those sharp swords, but still the King forbore,
Until at last he said, 'O man, I hear thee speak
With boldness and skill beyond thy years,
Hast thou betrayed me?  Hath this ring cost thee
Or murder?' and Gawayne looked up and answered,
'Nay, by my faith! but love, and that poor witcheries
Which win men's hearts have won mine own, and sent
This message o'er the seas:  "Come to me, my king,
Whom men call dead, for thou shalt find a new life."'
Then the King sighed heavily, and turning shook
Both hands upon his head, and muttered low,
"'Tis well that thou hast spoken words of guile.
Now make thy choice between them both; see which may
Be the more pernicious to our peace, and kill
First here the man whom thou falsely thoughtself
Unworthy of life, and yet secondly this
Perfect ring wherein is written for each fault
Full power to forgive and forgetfulness."
Gawayne held the ring aloft, 'and whosoe'er
Findeth there the least virtue therein shall wear
In his body the sign of forgiveness wrought
Out of fire; but whoever there discover
A virtues there manifest that he must lose,
Shall never clear the balance of his death,
Nor have recovered life thereafter.'
Whereat the Queen laughed out, 'If the King wills
That any live, he hath decreed that we two
Must wed against our free will, and that too three times
Since we are children grown, and children-in-law
Of that same King; and therefore the wiser way
Is that thou and I should go down and ask us
Our questions one by one, and then the King's decision
May bind for ever.'
Then Gawayne replied, 'Queen, I come not here
Through any eagerness to hurt or spite thee.
Thou biddest me, for all my worth, to marry
Thy daughter; and indeed I love her very dearly.
But since these folk have wrong'd us--O the wretch wicked!'
And Arthur nodded, 'Peradventure he may
Have erred in what he did, and God willing,
Thee and thy son shall rue it who hath caused it.'
Then Gawayne said, 'Yea, Father, foul though the crime,
Yet if the King vouchsafe it, I am right glad:
Though for to wed my girl, as Sir Launceor swore,
Were no great matter, nobler were my fate
Even than to fight in thine banners.'
And Arthur answered, 'Go, do thy worst; and thou,
My brother, keep thy sister, while thou holdest
These hills of gold.'
And therewithal came on them the King's herald,
Baldwin, bearing a scroll, and cried, 'Here is the sword;
Take heed how none its secrets know.'
Then Gawayne read the inscription, whereof the work
Was rather bad in Gawayne's opinion
(For 'twas ill to look on) than was the blade;
And then he drew it, and the King kissed him
E'en on the lips, and bid him be
Safe and happy, and let nothing grieve him
On any pretext whatever.
So they went down with the King, and coming out
Found the whole town all a-blaze with torches,
And many a fair house with its lamp lit,
While bell after bell rang peal on peal
Roar'd through the crowded city. Then the two
Went slowly down the street together,
Their feet stepping lightly, until they came
Where Gawayne had left the school-room, and
Came forth and saw the crowd, and heard the shout
Of voices, and saw some pale faces gleaming
Like shadows in the glare. And there stood one,
Standing apart, far from all, in wild despair,
Holding his staff in his weak feeble hands
Pressing it into long veins of reddened wood
There in the middle of the square.
And Gawayne felt his heart grow heavy, and
Stopped short, and turned not forward, but retraced
His steps and came back home again.
And when he reached it, he knocked and entered,
And found the door open, and a large beam
Of moonlight shining in his study window
On either side, and making strange images
Of figures moving about within; so he
Drew back the door and entered, and advanced
Slowly among the people till he knew
All along the platform where the wrestling was,
And where the drunken Pans had sunk to sleep.
And Gawayne saw him at once, and raised
His voice and cried aloud, 'I remember now
What-ever you have been saying these years,
About your aim and purpose in sending me
To stay with you, and watch over childhood
From sea to sea. You meant to do this indeed!
You mean to rob me of the joy of seeing
Your greatest triumph, and putting real strength
Into my poor limbs, and giving my blood
Real food? You meant to do all this, yes, and kill
Me, instead of mother, by force and fraud?
I've done with you, vile and base creature, thank you!'
He lashed himself full speedily, and struck
At once both ends of his staff upon the floor,
And plied it like a wedge, and with a bound
Made straight for the fat Pans on the square.
And Gawayne smote him with his fist full hard,
And sent him sprawling backward, and he fell
Pronely to earth, and clutch'd the air with both
Sized fists uplifted, and closed eyes and held
Out helpless fingers at Gawayne, and made
A senseless noise of agony and fear.
Then Gawayne darted forward, caught him up
By the collar of his robe, and threw him
Across the room, and broke his nose and teeth.
And then, remembering old memories, he smote
His breast, and groaned and muttered in his pain,
'God forgive me, too late! Too late to save
That precious life which I could not prevent!
It would have been better had I waited yet
Till I was stronger, when the time came, to take
With mine the prize my strong desire had won.'
And then he punched himself in the face, and cursed,
And kicked the body away, and stepped back
Over the threshold and out into the night.

Now Gawayne glided silently around
The outer court, toward the inner gate,
And paused at last before the portal door,
And looked inside, and backward cast his eye,
And saw within the circle of red lamps
An old man seated, whose gray head was bowed
Low on his chest, and resting one hand
Groaning with age and wasted power and might.
Gawayne halted, and said, 'Old man, I call
Upon thee for help, and give myself
Forgiveness; prove thy wisdom, if thou wilt,
How little worth or goodness hast thou known
In all the bitter years that thou hast lived.'
And then he knelt down beside the aged man,
And clasped his knees and babbled words of prayer
Into his hollow sockets, and the light
Streamed dimly from those orbs of dying day--
Which evermore were empty of all light.
But as the Pans watched these silent men of doom
As though they thought them angels, Gawayne glanced
Back at them, and then, without a word, passed through
The inner portals and out into the night.

But as he walked he met an aged Drome
Driving his carriage, and turning suddenly
Held out his hand to Gawayne, who still
Was gazing at him in awed surprise.
'Sir,' said the Drome, 'we come from Rome,
From Florence, and we seek a woman named Ellison,
Who has stolen some jewels from our lady's escort.'
Gwayleigh nodded, 'She is the thief?'
'Ay,' said the other, 'and she will pay for it.'
'Fetch her here quickly,' said Gawayne.  But ere
They parted, the Drome implored him thus:
'Be not angry with me, sir, for what I did,
But let me tell you how it happened.
One of her ladies rode behind,
Her name was Ruth, and she is fair of face,
Such beauty always strikes the king's mind;
Ruth was young, and loved the Lady Morvale,
So she told the King her mistress went with love
To Florence with a fine rich porter, whom
She brought with her, but the lady did not like her,
Because she played, and laughed and flirted with others,
And was with others's thoughts more than reality.
But Ruth was wise, and knew the truth of all things,
And being very weary of the world and all its cares,
Went to Florence with a great porter of the Church,
And married her, and is rich and respected there,
And lives there with his wife, and has many children,
And is high in church and city circles.
But lately another lady, not the Queen's,
Had wooed Sir Hugh Morvale, and he gave her
To be his bride, and Sir Hugh was much pleased,
And thought his marriage would bring honor to the Crown.
But Morvale was jealous, and thought that Ruth should die
With some great act, so he contrived to have her killed.
He paid the murderer (not the killer) to go and shoot
In the archery, and to leave certain clues
As to where the money was hidden, and thereby
To ruin Ruth and her husband. He hired a plot
Of land on which to build the murder house,
And hired a hireling assassin to kill the Queen,
If need be, with some great deed, and frame a lie
To show the people that he was untrustworthy.
But this same plan succeeded; and now the Queen
Was grown to hate and distrust the man she once
Loved dearly, and sent spies into the palace
To see whether anything suspicious occurred
Before their eyes, and reported nothing.

Meanwhile Sir Hugh, having learned of the plots
Against his life, took horse and rode directly
To Florence, and there entered the house of one
Whose daughter he desired to marry; and entering,
Kissed the girl's mother, saying, 'My child, I am
Your servant until your daughter decides to wed.'
Then he turned to the Emperor, and asked for gold,
And gave it him openly, and departed.

Now the Pope was very angry, and rose up
And came towards Sir Hugh, and said, 'I command
That you be taken down and carried in the chains
Outside this place, and there you shall be degraded
To the common serfdom of the neighboring state,
Until your soul is washed with the blood of Jesus Christ,
And you are converted to Christianity.'
Then the guards moved slowly back, and Hugh arose,
And the Pope smiled, and beckoned him outside.

There the Pope led him up the broad square of St. Peter's,
And showed him all the shops and houses there,
And after them several Roman citizens drew near,
And begged of him for grace and absolution
On the Lord's part, and received them into the temple,
Where they stood around and heard the sermon, and saw
Many thousands of folk gathered there to hear it.
Afterward when all the people had gone home,
Sir Hugh alone remained within the holy place.

At last the Pope bade him mount upon his horse,
And depart on board ship for Savoy, and said
To those about him, 'Take good heed you detain no more
This fugitive, but lead him back again
To Italy, and bid Herod do himself
His duty there, for he is not of us who live.'
Then he turned to him who sat next to him and said:
'You know my name, write it down if you can,
For when I am dead and everyone forgot
Except these three men, nobody else shall know it.'
Then he looked at him and spake, 'Write it down, my son,
And give it to no one, but keep it close
In your heart till you meet my exiles on the road
Which leads them to the Eternal City.'
Thereat Hugh wrote it out and gave it to his friend,
Who hid it in his bosom, and when safe returned
Brought it to King Henry right soon before he sailed.

When the ship from Plymouth arrived in Savoy,
Henry met with Cardinal Diaz, Governor
Of that country, and told him that Hugh Prichard
Was now in that country, and wished him to tell
To King Philip the King of France the thing there,
That an Englishman was there, of noble note,
Who might do service to the French against Troyton;
And also might communicate with the Duke of Bolingbroke,
And the two Earls of Warwick, and say that Hugh
Was on his way thither to aid the Frenchmen there;
And that he too, as well all knowing, would convey
Himself and all he owned--save valuables--
Into Paris by a rapid passage, and remain
There, until his business was concluded there.

So the Duke of Bolingbroke prepared to set forth
Upon his journey, and Diaz went likewise,
And landed first at Troyes, whence his vessel brought
Hoard and all his baggage aboard her, and then
Set sail toward Toulon, leaving behind him
All his family and all his wealth, save what
The church had left him, which amounted to some pounds
Or hundreds, he being past eighty years old.

Thither, finding Hugh, who had already made
His abode at Caen, and whom he had entertained
With some trifles, such as were needed for his
Business further east, together with his wife,
A fair lady, twenty-two or twenty-three, the latter
Having borne her age just when her husband died.
Diaz stept ashore, and loitered many a mile
Along the river shore, and at the hour of vespers
Made his appearance before the young widow, who
Received him courteously, and ever afterward
Wished him happiness of mind and body, health,
And all the blessings of life. The Duke soon found
He must embark for France without delay,
And leave his kindred and his property behind.

But ere he embarked, he kissed her brow,
And bade her farewell, and promised to call
Again some convenient time to speak with her;
For he knew not what his end in France would be,
Whether he should conquer or defeat the fleet
By force of hostile ships, or whether he should fall
By treachery or disease among the hostile ranks.

Meanwhile King Henry, hearing that Hugh was come
To France, sent to him, imploring him to stay;
And bade him take his family and all his goods
Apart, and guard them in safety from all harm.
'Tis true he meant to go, yet still he feared
Lest death should come as a thief, and rob his wife,
And children and parents, of their only security;

Thus, therefore, to Paris did he direct his course,
And there he hoped his fortune to support him,
If victorious he would succeed; but, alas!
Unable to endure the long and weary march,
Wife, children, parents, brother, came unto his bed,
And kissed his head, and wept, and pitied him, and thought
How like an outcast he must die amid the enemy.

And when the funeral rites were ended, and the coffin laid
In its eternal grave beneath the sacred trees,
King Robert rose to attend mass, while all the town
Attended, in the hope that he would rise again.
And near the cathedral, at the hour of vespers,
He fell into a trance of deep meditation,
In which a spirit spoke to him of mercy, love,

O Thou who didst appear unto me, when distress
Came on the world, and from my side indeed a part
Passed away, the portion of the great to bear,
My soul remembers thee, and in peace derives strength
From this apparition, that so often didst strengthen
Our souls, and bid us serve God in Mary's holy name!

This is the chapel where the Abbot of Saint Sulpi dwelt,
Elected the first of masters in the university
Of Pisa, known by the name of Allionese,
Under the deanery of Montefiore, where remains
Only a pile without a window or door.  It stood
Two stories high, and contained a garden court,
Where sate the master, and his family, in the manner
Of college monks.  In this mansion, at the date
prescribed by legend (for the matter of the dream
Is obscure, and the year is doubtful), our heroes

Here they rested three days: and on the fourth day
Their errand to restore the Centurion to power
They quitted Verona, and set out for Paris,
Where was the House of Caponsaw, the place of resort
For magicians, warriors, and people addicted
To magic and conjuring.  They entered the house
Through a small door at the rear of the porch, and found

"I am your servant," said the Ghost to Rugero;
"Take care of this horse, and lead it where you will,
Until you shall hear of any thing more from me."
Rugero took the whip and the bridle; the Ghost
Followed him, and said: "Your orders I obey."
Then both descended upon the stirrup, and the Ghost
 Passed ahead, and disappeared in the wood.

Into the yard the horses all were tied,
Which well the servants could mane, and rein, and drive;
Nor lacked there aught to feed and water them,
Since the ground was good, and the corn was all ripe.
When now the servants had drawn up the steed
Upon the stable floor, they drew aside the board,
Placed there the saddle, and fastened it with laces,
That the horse might have his hair untangled.
Thenceforth the Master and the Ghost went forth
Together, exercising the ministry
Of discipline and providence, in accord
With Jesus Christ, who, in His parables, showed
How faith in good works merits grace, as he himself
Had done.  When now they had arrived within
Ten miles of Perpignan, the hostelry
Was reached; and here, through the kindness of the hosts
Who dwelt therein, the travellers were entertained
With sprightly entertainment, and with sumptuous fare.

Soon as they had galloped far enough off
To see no roof or fence, or any sheltering feature,
A troop of cavaliers, with whom there was a truce,
Began to argue, and to dispute, in accents sharp
Or loud, of either right or wrong, till, at length,
One said: "Let these two ride until they are worn out;
We shall not follow after them, nor make trial
What they may say or do; for we desire to know
Whether we ought to leave this our own land,
Before the people of France transgress the bounds
Of right, and offend God and nature, and disturb
The rest against the King of France, who hath given
So much of France to us; and if we slay them,
It will be revenge, and we shall have gained something."
Another answered: "No battle shall ye wage
Against these men; for if one smite another down,
The rest will up and vengeance in no wise miss."
But yet another cried out, "Would that ye should do
As the Bretons do, and let yourselves go bent
On slaughter, rather than preserve yourself from harm!"
Whereat began a deadly debate, and soon
Were divided opinions among the knights,
Some wishing to yield, and others to defend.
At length Sir Gorial DWAYNE, better far
Than any other, saying: "Brethren, hold your tongue,
And let me speak my mind.  You shall be traitors
If, for the sake of some trifling gain, you turn
Your backs upon your country; and perchance too late
You shall be punished severely, whereas none
Shall suffer greater ruin; for the offence
Is great, ere it be punished, though its origin
May be concealed.  Therefore listen while I tell
What I conceive will be the end of all;
Not that I imagine any other way
Of attaining our desired end, but that I think
Such way is best, and, having achieved it, long
Till we can re-establish Christianity,
Establish it throughout all Europe, and then
Enjoy our lives according to divine
Instruction, which in time it may be possible
That other lands may copy.  This enterprise
Must be undertaken by you, because the Moor
Has seized upon so wide a portion of earth,
And has been so troublesome that no other land
Could forever stand beside us.  We must find
Some means whereby to destroy his authority
Throughout the world, by every means in our power;
And this begins with you; for you are the ones
Who are most susceptible of instruction,
Both in war and peace, and have been so, at least,
For many years past.  In this undertaking,
Think over well what is required, and seek
Only that from me nothing unlawful lie.
Consider what confusion would be raised
By the total loss of faith in Christ's mission,
Should we unite ourselves to such a conspiracy;
And further, that this concordat, which we crave,
Concludes not with regard merely to Spain,
But with a covenant not to molest each other
In every place whatsoever--a compact
Wherewith alone shall all the kingdoms agree."
He ended, and their eager ears seemed then
As much delighted with the fair present heard
As if it had pleased a natural soul.

They accepted his counsel, and for some days
Wore a stoic face, patiently enduring still
All their wild superstitions and foolish jangling.
Meanwhile, the nations round about grew more wroth
At the decrees of the infernal Monarch,
Until the Christian Church itself became afraid
At the threats of the true religion, and withdrew
From the fair village where those holy souls were left.
Then the Infant Jesus, who before had warned
Their minds unto fortitude, bade his disciples draw near,
Laying his hands upon their heads, and praying, "O pray
Complete, my disciples, for the Kingdom of Heaven is nigh!
Pray me not this day more fervently, but ofttimes pray lightly,
Lest thou hinder, by a prayer, the forgiveness of a sin."

Eve's son, Lucifer, also known by his name
Of Satan, fell into grievous sins, and all
The spirits, both of men and angels, perverse
Became corrupt again, and, steeped in every evil,
Spent themselves in riot, and made the Earth unrighteous
Whole herd or city.  Thus did their forefathers
Unto God's kingdom give themselves, and through pride
And evil deeds their hearts to open violence moved.
Himself he found within the human family,
Born in the rude lap of Tartarus beneath,
With beastly thoughts and animal desires,
Labouring as theirs had been.  His heart was hard,
Yet he did good works, and riches he sought,
Resorting unto God with devoutness
And love, and with subdued passions, ever quiet.
His fall purified the spirit of man,
Making him devious, perverse, and fit to be
The sport of every wind of changeful seasons.
Henceforth there was peace between heaven and earth,
Between God and the creatures on either hand.
God said: Let the waters gather now
Into their former state, water the Earth no more.
And the vast oceans, gathered together, returned
To the deep places of the planet Earth,
Revived and made productive of life anew.
And all the birds, returning after exile,
Flocked about the ark, singing their last song,
And perished nevermore.  The World was saved.
<|endoftext|>

"I am an old man living alone;
My business' sleeping, eating, keeping warm
Is taken from under my nose.
I meddle not with politics nor wars,
Nor do I hunt, nor keep dogs;
But when at times a bout of drinking goes rough,
Or when my teeth grow loose and I get tired
I reach at once for a bottle."

"When first I came here, you know,
There weren't many jobs to choose from,
And I got drunk and hung about
Because they didn't care.
Nowadays, because of things gone wrong,
It seems there aren't enough jobs to go round,
And people needlessly suffer
Because they've lost their eyes."

"A friend of mine is dead today,
Just killed by being old;
He'd worked all his life, and now
He couldn't find a job.
Oh, dear! I feel like breaking down,
And crying o'er my beer.
What can I do? There isn't any work,
Except to drink it."

"It's a long, dull walk to the tavern,
And I'm glad he's gone,
For I haven't a friend to call his own
Any longer.
No one to stop and talk to, no matter how lonely,
No one to lift my lank body up and carry me home,
No one to pour me a drink and tell me all their troubles,
No one to laugh and make me forget."

"If I could only sell my soul away,
I'd buy myself right.
Buy me a farm, and I'll live there alone,
And drive a team of horses;
I'd plow the fields with a team of geese,
And scare them with a gun.
I'd write poetry that all might understand,
And teach it to children;
And when I die I'd leave it with them,
That they would read and learn."

"I'd sell my soul, and so I will,
For twenty pence,
And buy a house with a black line above,
In which I'll have a little rowan tree,
Where I could sing all day.
And I'd sleep in a little cedar tree,
And watch the leaves summer and winter come,
Till I grew wise and knew why the stars are bright,
Why the moon is full and the sun is sad,
Why the world has sorrow and pain;
And then I'd say 'Adieu!' and die."

"They're selling off the land this way,
By offering land to whoever cares to buy--
Seventy acres of prime agricultural land
Near to a fine city, Salem Town.
You see they've something on the balance sheet,
Against its current coming in:
So if you want to hold your own
You may purchase the farm for cash."

"Well, I'm afraid we must close our show,
At least until the crops are done.
We're not well--we're not well at all--
We've just grown too much alike,
And depended upon the same things--
Same food, same air, same soil,
Same climate, same sunshine,
Same trees, the same flowers,
Same grass, the same weeds,
Same insects, the same worms,
Same humus, the same sand,
Same clay, the same loam,
Same rocks, the same gravel bars,
Same fence, the same ditch,
Same barns, the same bales,
Same wagons, hays, and oats,
Same wheat, the same corn,
Same grapes, the same vineyard,
Same tobacco, same bark,
Same twigs for chop-chips,
Same wood for musical instruments,
Same fishpond, same pond,
Same garden plots, same pasture,
Same lumber, same axe,
Same firewood, same coal,
Same iron, same drill bits,
Same shovels, spades, picks, and hammers,
Same hatchets, chains, guns, and bows,
Same buckles, dresses, and gloves,
The same old formula.

"Our dance is ended, but we still shall dance,
Although the weather be cold as ice.
Dance till the daylight comes again!"
The music ceased, and the audience shouted loud,
As the story was told again.
"The dance is ended, and the story told,
Yet we still shall dance," they said again.
Again the music died into the distance,
Falling like snowflakes falling through the sky.
Then silence followed after the dancing had ceased,
Until the distant sound of smiths hammer rang
Far down within the forest,
Like the talking of some weary giant.

All through the night the wind was moaning,
Shivering and whining in the elm trees;
All through the night the tempest bellowed,
Calling and calling in vain to the mane
Of Cloud Come Back, who trudged along the street,
Winding his heavy woolen mantle tighter,
Lights out overhead and cellars below.

All through the night the rain fell moaning,
Slashing the gravel and the leaves below.
All through the night the lightning flashed shouting,
Clanging like metal baton to strike.
Down from the roof came the flash and rattle,
And the clap of hooves on the moorland road,
As the charger dashed to the rising sun,
Crying aloud where the gipsy calls.

How many nights passed before he saw her face,
How many days or years she loved him best.
When the woods were waking, and the wild bees sang,
He heard the bells of Cloud Come Back tinkling,
On his journey to the rising sun.

She was sitting by the river's bank,
Singing sweet songs to keep herself warm.
Her long hair floated over her shoulders,
Streaming behind her in a tangled mass.
Her eyes were deep and beautiful,
With a look of great contentment born
Of strong, unquenchable love for another.

There was no sign of trouble in her features,
No sign of anger, jealousy, or hate.
But her lips moved softly while she sung,
As though she had been taught to sing by heart,
Nor gave her heart one thought which wasn't pure,
Full of sweetness and grace beyond compare.

"Oh! my lover that I adore,
Come back, dear heart, unto me,
For my life is dreary and empty,
My home is lonely and cold.
I would give my soul to have thee
Forever and ever beside me,
To walk with me in pleasant ways,
And taste the joys God gives to men."

She raised her head and looked up at him,
And her eyes were full of tender light,
Which seemed to shine on nothing in particular,
Except her throat, which he kissed once more,
Kissing her mouth so soft it seemed to think
It could never o'er-reach his lips in bliss.

"Ah! my dearest maiden, do not say
That you love other than this man.
If you did, I should think you lied,
Because you change your love like the leaf
Before the autumn has come.
Love is a flame which dies not away,
Though it may seem to rest awhile.
And when spring comes, the Springtime will bring
New beauty to your lovely face,
New hopes, new desires, new dreams, new cares."

"Nay! nay!  I know my heart is true,
And mine is dearer than thine.
And if I must lose one beloved friend,
Thy loss I can bear, my own,
Since my heart is thine, and thine alone,
And I love only myself."

"Oh! my own darling flower, how fair thou art,
How young, how pure, how sweetly mild!
Would God Himself He might thee see
So fair, so mild, so gentle and kind.
What wilt Thou do with pride and scorn
When strangers pass that way?
Will thy cheeks blush crimson, or will they remain white?"

"Alas! alas! what word hath passed thy lips?
Is there valour in thy breast?
Canst thou dare meet the foemen's darts,
Who stand prepared to slay us both?
They are foes without, and friends within,
And their swords gleam bright 'gainst our own."

"Oh! my own child, I am wearied out
By those sighs which shake my frame.
Oh! let us wander far away
Into some valley deep and wide,
Where flowers blow all about us,
And sleep beneath the roses' shadow.
God knows I cannot go on much longer--
My poor sick heart grows faint and weak."

"O my darling, let us part herewith,
While time remains to stay together,
And then our hearts shall be anew,
Ere we part again.
Let us live and die as lovers always must,
In love and tears."

"Sweetheart, I cannot make thee stay
One moment longer with me.
The hour is past, the glorious day done,
And the proud clouds fly high and fast.
Soon will the moon grow pale and dim,
And the stars vanish out of sight,
And I perish in the flames below,
Far below, ere I behold the sun!"

Then the maid, half in accents of prayer,
Felt the wild air wafted o'er her,
Till she found herself alone once more,
Beneath the sheltering tree.
And the sound of the fountain dying
Was a comfort still to her,
And the fragrance of the blossoms blowing
Softened the pulse of grief.

"Dear," said she, "if the gods are good,
We yet may meet upon some night
When the blossom of the pine
Overruns the gravel stone;
Shall we then not remember well
The first embrace so long ago?
And the vow that made us one heartedly,
Till death took the deepest crimson from off us?"

"Dear," said he, "when earth lies afar
Between us, and we feel the sting
Of parting for the last time,
Oh! then I'll come to thee untimely,
And lay me down by thy side,
On a bed of violets wet with dew,
Where the winds may neither grieve nor fret us,
Or the darkness darken round us,
And the angels watch above us.

"Oh! then I'll come to thee, and thou
Wilt take no heed of the cries
Of the world, till the morning break;
But a voice divine, unearthly, clear,
Shall stir thy slumbers gently,
Making a holy dream before thee,
Whispering its loving words of healing.

"Oh! then I'll come to thee, and thou
Never shalt miss another day
With its balm and blessings such as these,
For the Gods themselves will be our friends,
And our souls' desire shall be
To be with them wherever we're bound,
Be with them in joy or in pain,
And our eyes evermore shall sing
The praise of Him who gave his life
That we might dwell in Paradise."

This was the tale the maiden told:
He listened while she spoke,
Knowing that each word was meant to heal him.
His senses were quickened, and
All his troubled spirit calmed,
As the balmy dawn shone through
The silent leaves that glimmered red
From the soft, warm glow of the rose.

She smiled up at him, and oh!
Her smile was sweeter than May,
It fell like an awakening
Upon his soul, and it woke
Like a bird whose wing has been broken.
Bright visions filled his vision,
And his heart grew strong and bold,
As he gazed into her eyes
And the peace of God's own heaven seemed near.

A silence came over them,
Silence so pregnant with meaning,
That he trembled as he bowed
Before her face, and he knew
That this was the holiest hour
Born under God's skies since creation.
There was no other need for him
To be doing anything else,
For his heart had grown fonder
Of this maiden who had brought him nearer
To himself through her tender care.

Yet he felt a pang of sadness
At leaving her alone so long,
Since his duty was but just
To sit beside her and talk,
Until she should tire of waiting
And sink back into unconsciousness,
Lest he should lose what little grace
He had left, and thus be forced
Again to carry her into hell.

So he set forth across the field,
Just edging out the point of dawn,
Just as the twilight veil was lifted
Above the lonely home
Where he left her--a lone, unhappy thing.
No answer came, no step was heard,
Save now and then the rustling of a flower
As a startled butterfly came close by.

He wandered up and down, hoping,
Waiting, hoping, tracing out his way
Along the fenceline, keeping his eye
Flooded with longing, watching all things
For a sign of Hilda's presence there,
Until he saw crossroads turning away,
Whereby he thought perhaps she might have escaped;

And then he turned his wistful gaze
Into the pasture beyond the hill,
Settled himself against the mellow glow
Of the July sky, and let his thoughts go wandering
By many women whom he loved, and left behind,
Gone to the ends of the earth, lost or won
In the chase of happiness, or the search of truth.

He wondered if she too would soon forget
How he had given his love, how true he was,
Though she could never find in him the same
Quick, passionate thrill of youth and faith;
Could not recall with any emotion
Hilda, the old, the radiant beauty;
Could not summon up the halo of years,
The rainbow of Hilda's hair, the eyes
Of Hilda, full of hope and promise.

Then, like a dead leaf, dropped from the bough,
A single one among millions, lying
In the light of the rising sun,
Dropped on the pathway of his sorrow,
Which must forever trace its way
Back to that first tear which found its way
Unseen, unwound, unnoticed, by anyone.

When he awoke, the stars were shining,
And the moonlight lay upon the land
Like golden mist, like shimmering foam,
Growing thicker every moment,
Fainter every moment, until it seemed
As though time itself was ebbing away.

He started up in utter amazement,
And stood for a moment speechless and pale,
Watching the gleaming grasses grow
Blurry-shining in the rising morn.
Then, starting forward, his wet head burned,
And his lips quivered painfully,
While his eyeballs leaped in his head.

He staggered along, and stumbled o'er stones,
Till he reached a cave, dark and deep,
Shutting out the night with its shutter,
Crackling in places, and hanging by strips
Of twisted cordage, rusty and thin;
And within it, all crumbled about,
Lay a heap of rags, that stank to high,
And made his nostrils breathe too hot.

But when he entered, he found it dim,
Dark, and soundlessly working,
With no living creature stirring nigh,
Even the owls and bats that drowse and dream
Among the stacks of cobwebs overhead.
And round the whiteness, like a cloud,
Waved the green and yellow umbels, thick
With lilies, growing upward, upward,
Till they almost touched the ceiling.

But he looked more critically around,
And marked some footprints there that led
Upward, and faded quickly away,
Leaving another set beneath,
That hastened onward, leading deeper in,
Until they ended in a pass-way
Shielding their lightness as a cloak,
And only just opening out at last
To welcome him, where he paused to rest.

His heart was relieved, his senses thrilled,
As he passed through the doorway further in,
And found a space for him and his horse
Within an alcove off center stage,
Far enough above the crowd to see
The flying fish flash past them as they flashed,
Through water flecked with silver, far below,
On the bright surface of the lake below.

"I've been looking everywhere for you," said he,
"Found nothing on hand to suit my needs,
Nothing to serve my purpose fully,
Not even your warmest wish was asked
For anything on hand to-day.
You know I'm always turning out something new."

And he pointed to two men in black coats
Standing apart, with heads bowed a little,
Both fixedly fixated over a book,
One with an expression troubled and sad,
The other calm and philosophic-eyed;
"These are my men," he continued, "to you!"
"They look so tense and unsatisfied!
Would you be one? They're waiting for me, too.

"This is our little town, Miss Francesca,
Our little market town of Siena,
Built on the beautiful plains and hills
Of the Italian mountains near Mantua:
A city of proud magnificence,
Stretched between the Vigliant and Vesuvius,--
Two volcanic streams, that pour down the heights
Of the Vesuvian Alps, into a valley
Baked with sulphur and baked with fire.

"So this is Siena," he went on,
"A wonderful city of renown,
Whereon all the lights of heaven shine clearly,
And the blue morning-glory springs,
Whose fair leaves, fragrant as chaste May,
Are torn by wind and rain and snow,
Tossing in wild profusion round the roofs
Of those great houses, white and red and blue,
Where you and I once walked together.

"Now, if you'll believe what tongues we hear,
(Or what no tongue can tell but mine),
There's a big French bomb under ground
Ready to fall and crush yer pretty head,
Unless you get yer sea-cart ready,
An' cart it oot to the nearest pier
An' help the Chasseurs to unload it
Before the poop goes down an' the guns unbar.

"'Twould be much easier 'ad things gone wrong,
If they'd come to us with requests for quarter,
But they don't.  They've got things goin' right
Theirselves, an' they want you off their hands;
But then again, they ain't nothin' without us,
An' they'd give you none unless yer worked for it,
An' they'd have you worked as hard of a job
Yer had of pullin' their bellies thro'.

"It wouldn't make no difference how good yez were,
If yez weren't the right size or somethin',
An' we couldn't afford to cut yez full ter die,
No time fer pityin' cause we liked 'em,
We didn't.  We could, though, if yez paid fer care,
An' wagged yer finger at a company
When they tried ter treat you bad;
Gag you, or kick you, or shoot you--anything
Ter make you do what we wanted.

"Sometimes we'd take a man an' drill him ter death,
Put him in that awful trench o' pain,
Then let him lie an' twitch an' whimper fer days
Or weeks, until he learned the way to groan
An' hold his breath till somebody came an' picked him up.
Sometimes we'd take a man an' drill him ter death,
An' he'd say when he woke up from that last bout
O' torture, he felt lighter-hearted,
Because he'd died, like, yesterday.

"Sometimes we'd take a man an' drill him ter death,
An' he'd say, when he woke up again,
He felt as free as an animal on land,
Like some kind o' bird, maybe, that's free,
Wautut else has rights that he doesn't violate,
An' he'd say, when he woke up again,
That made him feel better, too.

"We'd drill a man an' drill him ter death
At times, no doubt about it,
But it wasn't our business to meddle
In people's private lives;
Besides, it gave us all the hassle
Fer everyone to see
How we treated each other, an' it seemed wrong.

"But now there's a war an' we're jacked;
We won't mess about with such trifles.
If one soldier 'll suffer, why, that will show
Them, sure, just how free we are.
An' they'll soon enough find us fiercer than the foe,--
Yes, they must, before it's too late.

"I guess we'll be marching West,
An' fighting for our rights,
Soon enough, yes, tomorrow night,
An' never bothering with the missus
Or the nice dame or anything.
We'll march away with a stiff arse,
An' leave them low and hot
Who live to preach us law an' right,
An' never dream we're as bad as they."

Well, here's the story, boys, straight,
With my word of honor, word of credit,
Written by me, signed by me,
Said I would keep it stowed away
Safe inside a safe pocket deep,
For the use of the admiring eye
To marvel at, while glancing to the view
Of its quaint engraving,
Which was done by the pen of old Mr. Meigs,
Who lived on the shore of Long Island Sound
As we know well, old chap,
And drew most beautifully.

The place where we lay in ambush
Was near the Great Swamp Nook,
Where for years and years we snookered
In the sun and shadow,
While hunting squirrels and hares,
And fishing bass and minnows.
Here, through many a dull day,
Nightly did we snooze,
Till every watchman in the woods
Had left his post in peace.

On the tallest tree, between two trees,
By the water, thicket, brush and brier,
By the blackthorn hedge and the thyme,
There stood a building, which we climbed
Through the Veselka path,
And peering, saw it was a church.

Thitherward we marched, and slowly
Made our way, so steep was the ascent,
Until we reached the nave, at noon,
After a march of nearly three hours.
Panting and weary, but elate
With the thought that at this place, at this hour,
God's justice was being meted out,
We knelt in prayer together,
Then rose, and proceeded, hand in hand,
Over the bridge of grass, to where
A lady waited on the altar,
Not older than yourself, dear boy,
Though her hair was somewhat gray.

She wore a large blue shawl over one arm,
And her garments consisted of a hood
Concealed beneath a long stocking,
And a cloak, that hung down from neck to knee,
And half a dozen pairs of mittens.
Her height was five feet, her weight a scant four,
And her beauty was equalled by none.

Her eyes were dark, bright, soft brown,
Like the double seeds of hazel,
Whose husks by most commentators
Are hazels indeed,
Whose fragrant pulp is used in salads,
And whose juice is said to be a tonic.

Her complexion was fair to beautiful,
So fair, that it might have been compared
To the rosy blushes on the cheek
Of summer's eve;
Her lips were red, her teeth were white,
Her shape delicate, and graceful,
And her features unfashionable.

Her figure was petite, yet strong,
And she moved with a graceful grace,
As any woman you've ever seen
That is not imitative.
Her speech was audible, and it was clear,
It was musical, and it was sweet,
And her tone was tender, and it was true,
Yet it lacked something.

She had a voice like birds of spring,
When they sing loud, and sweet, and loud,
And their notes are softer then
Than human voices can be.
You cannot whistle when you're trying
To imitate the sound of bird-voice.

And thus, though small, and frail, and slight,
She captivated our youthful throng,
Who came to worship her, and worship her
Without end, until her formless song
Went out upon the silent earth,
And died into silence.

She taught us how to pray, and she
Didn't charge much, and what she charged was very good,
Because her method was new;
And we found that we could always pay her fee
If we followed her instructions exactly.
But still we found that there was some mistake,
Some slip-up, some misunderstanding,
That kept us from obeying her commands,
And henceforth we paid no further heed
To instructions given by Miss Delhay.

One Sunday morning, in the Springtime,
I chanced to see her walking in the street,
Just as the warm breezes blew.
Myself and two or three others went too,
To give her looks attention.
We all admired her dress and face,
And afterwards wandered up and down,
Looking for something more to do.

At length we decided to go to church,
And if she spoke a word, we'd hear.
"Come!" cried I, "you must confess we're glad
To see you, any thing you love and care for!
Why shouldn't we speak?  You look so pale."
(This I said rather loudly, I know.)
But she only shook her head and sighed,
And turned about and went away.

Ah, well! it may be that the reason is simple:
For some women, perhaps, it is not so:
They would prefer to sit in darkness here,
Or else be quietly dead.
The world may think them uneventful things,
Nor heed their tears, or grudges, or reproaches,
Or deem them incapable of any more
Excepting death in her own way, to them.

But she who has loved manfully, and made
His weaknesses hers, and never known regret,
Has other hopes for life and other fears,
And wears them in her face wherever she goes.
She knows that men will talk, and newspaper editors
Will print each trifling transgression away,
And that their hearts are open to abuse,
While she, poor soul, is scorned, and pitied.

It makes me sad, my friend, when I reflect
On all the work I left undone while living,
Ere getting married and taking to wife,
Trying to make a start, in business and trade,
In spite of many difficulties, alone--
All because I couldn't get along without her,
And find I couldn't do without her either.

There isn't a house my mother hasn't got
Through which she doesn't keep leaving bread,
Until the loaves and fishes begin to rot,
And the bread becomes a staple in the family.
And so at last the fish runs out, and nothing meets
Their hungry wants but potatoes and turnips,
Which they till with shovels, and wash with water.

Once in a great while she talks to me,
And speaks of books and poetry and so forth,
Thoughts and days and ways that seem so far away,
And yet she lives within easy reach of me.
And when she sits and chats awhile, and sings,
With fingers that are daintier than my own,
I don't forget that she is gone away,
And live in misery, instead of being content.

A little girl lived in an old stone house,
Whereof the walls and roof were black and rough,
And round its door there was a rustling bell
Like a blind mole's that clings in places hard,
And where no hand should e'er be enough strong
To even move a pebble from its place.

And near to this lonely haunted house
Stood a tall cottage built of smooth gray stone,
Built altogether as no one had ever
Designed a single house or building,
Save only for special purposes,
Such as hallowing graves and suchlike.

Its windows were two long faces,
Each with two eyes, and through these gazed
Most sadly at the child whose name was written
Upon the stone beneath their gaze.
No one would come to that haunted house,
So none would live there, except his wife,
Whose feet adored that lonely haunted house.

Her feet moved on, and she did love to stay
Near this haunted house, and look again
Upon the child whose name was written there;
Then would she kiss each face most piteously,
Kissing each eye, kissing each mouth,
And saying softly as she passed:
"Poor children, poor homely people,
What have you done of your own free will?"

When she had reached the house she would stand,
And silently she would cross the threshold,
Crossing with heavy heart, for she knew
How the old woman felt, and how the rain
Had spoiled her beauty, and now she knew
How thirsty were the roads everywhere,
And she feared that her old bones would ache
Ever on those icy stones she stood.

So she went into the wide, dark room,
Closely because she might not look back,
And looking steadily because
She could not turn to leave this place,
Because of what the old woman meant.
And from another window she heard
The sound of water falling on the ground,
As the snow fell slowly every day,
Making white everything around.

Thus she came nearer and nearer, and
Soon she touched the old woman's hand,
And her heart seemed full of tears, and sore
And tired inside, and she said:
"Dear neighbor, let me buy some flour,
Let me bring it up to thee,
And take thy help to carry it, too.
Thou canst drink cold milk from thine own jug,
And grind it in to flour easily."

Slowly then the old woman took the gift,
And she thought: "My God, how kind he is!
He takes his trouble upon his head,
Yet gives me work to do for him.
Now shall I tell him truly all,
Why I have stayed away from him?
For indeed it was not much ago
That I died, and buried was the part."

And she told him how she had lain down
By the river-bank by chance,
And that a wave washed her away,
And that she wore the flowery robe.
But still the neighbor helped her on,
And he brought her up a barrelful,
And he baked her bread, and he brewed her tea,
And he gave it to her trembling hands.

And the neighbors wondered overmuch,
Seeing her wear the flowery robe,
And they said in whispers one to other,
"Perhaps she has been ill and prayed
In our old church in village Central,
To the ghost of Mary Shepherd,
Our dead grandmother who had brown hair."

One winter night a fire gleamed bright
At the end of a winding lane
Where the robins had made a nest;
It shone here like a ruby gem
On the grave of a queen in France
Who had loved a prince, and died.

And the fire glowed brightly there
On the grave of a royal couple,
Of a king and queen who had played
All the games that royalty plays.
They had fought, and had conquered, and
Were dead,--and the fire burned brightly there
On their graves side by side.

There was never any one else
To see it shining there alone;
Only the bickering moths that flew
From leaf to leaf about the spot
Where the dead fire shone brightly red.
And the bickering moths fluttered higher,
Till they creaked with voices soft and low.

And the robins filled the air with song
Just as if their hearts beat with joy;
And the wind came with a sweet unrest
Through the trees that waved above;
And the leaves lay on the earth with care
As if they too were in pain,
And the grasses flowed out from the hill
Like a golden fountain clear.

And the sun shone warm and bright
On the garden wall where hung the bloom
Of the summer's lips, and the breath
Of the flowers breathed out a fragrance rare
As the scent that roses give.
And the birds sang loud in the cedar tree,
And the evening breeze came lighter,
As it stole past the fragrant bloom
Where the blue eyes looked on the skies.

And the moon came forth from the distant west
With a light that was like life;
And the stars came out, and cast
A splendor on the night;
And the winds came with the rush and roar
Of a mighty ocean stream,
And the darkness hid itself behind
The glory of the sky.

But the night held no terrors yet,
Nor the morning gloom,
For the moonlight trembled on the hills
As if its light were spent.
And the stars were bright in the western sky
As if alive with love,
And the veil of heaven was torn aside
Before the face of God.

I saw Him at His supper watch
Over His sheep;
I watched Him at the midnight break
His fast with them,
Or when He broke the last loaf all,
One slice for all.

He knows each little thingeth well
Is weighed against Him;
He hath marked it well, yea more than man,
Though man bereft.
He knows the sign of envy and strife,
And the test of penitence.

He knoweth the hour of temptation
When the mind will run
(If He be tempted) to fall and offend,
And the power that stays
The impulse which would o'errun the soul
In its flight.

He knows the secret things that lie
Deep within the human heart,
Which none can understand,
Save the Master, whom none may tempt,
None perceive.

He knoweth what each soul desires,
What fills the hungry sighs,
The dreams and fears that shake the world
And make men fear.
These are the lessons God doth send
To keep souls pure and undefiled.

I saw Him daily walk around
The garden ways,
And the quiet places, too,
Whose solitariness beguiles
Himself and friends.

We walked together at His feet
Many a while.
We talked together of our toils
And pleasures both.
His voice was full of peace, and grace,
And love divine.

So deep is the divine calmness
Within His gentle eyes,
So great the pity, mercy and grace
Which illumine their depths!
My soul was strong to bear the view,
And knew no want of bliss.

Then I began to feel ashamed
That I had ever doubted
God's existence, and then
I saw Him ere I doubted,
And could discern his nature
By every look and word.

How often have I stood apart
Amid the tumult or the glare
Of city lights, and felt how dim
The soul's true home might seem, how far
Must dwell beyond the atmosphere
From mortals who are proud or poor:
And how much nearer every goal
Than had I never thought, nor dreamed
That he whose presence seemed everywhere
Could be that very being who was nearest me!

Yet not for usadism nor ambition,
Not for worldly wealth or fame,
Did Henry Wadsworth, writing in an age
Of fussy fact-finders, dare to say
That "the spirit of poetry" lies
Not "beyond all reach of the poet's ken,"
As some later wags have done.

No--not even for those large rewards
Offered to scribbling striplings,--
Who, heedless of their teachers' advice,
Do pervert the craft they're taught to teach,
And, leaving to future ages the thrift
Of the sage teacher, dare to avow
That "poetry" is a dead art,--
Not for such reasons did the elder Wadsworth
Defend his beloved art.

Not for these honors and for bribes
Was his defense made.
He defended it because he loved it,
Because it was his own creation,
Born of his brain and given to him
By the gods.
It came into his soul as a gift,
As one might receive a present
Of a fine new jewel from the Queen,
Without asking or bargaining.

This jewel was the flower of feeling,
The joy of living,
Fountain of many a tender thought,
Welled of many a passion;
Its value added to Henry's worth,
His whole being,--his faith, his hope,
His vision, his courage, his intelligence,
His genius,--everything that made him
The thing he was.

Yes, this was the reason why he fought
Such bitter battles for the cause
Of poetic vision;
Because he loved the aesthetic,
The beauty of life,
He loathed the vulgarisms
Concealed by manners and laws,
He loathed the dull repetitions,
The passions clothed with allegory,
The crude and boorish conceits,
The passions disguised as wisdom,
The cowardice that masks the zeal for truth,
And cowardice that hides the thirst for gold.

O, yes!--for money! Poets need money,
And publishers will give it them.
But there's another thing they want,
That has nothing to do with pelf,
And that is recognition.
They want the praise of honest women,
They want sweet, graceful attentions
From kind, dutiful wives,
They want the children born of modesty,
With features marred but slightly
By the sight of their own faces,
With looks defaced but slightly
By the glances of their sisters.

For money! But this brings its problems,
For some don't get the cars or wings,
Or gain the races or popularity,
While others struggle on and on
Through years of discouragement and failure,
Till they sink into a routine
Of monotonous drudgery,
Bearing the name of labor,
Only different from slavery
In name only.

You've heard of the man who climbed the wall,
To see the battle of Helm's Deep?
There once lived a man who clambered the wall,
To see the battle of Helm's Deep.
He was a seaman, John Paul Jones,
A goodly fellow you may think;
Sunk one night in a squall,
When his companion, a boy of sixteen,
Climbed up the side of the steamer
(Which was named the Liberty),
And looked through the windlass, hoping
Jones might hear something.

Nothing! So he jumped down again,
And crept back to life.
And climbed up the side of the ship
Again (which was named the Chieftain).
He was a seaman, John Paul Jones,
Still hopeful still.
He was sunk upon a remote reef
(Which was named the Light House Reef),
Where he slept, at last, so deep
In the coral heads, that none of the men
Remembered anything of him.

So he slept, alone, on the side
Of that long ocean, vast and lonely,
That nobody else had trod,
Till the morning brought him here.
He was a seaman, John Paul Jones,
An angel of light,
Who never took interest in glory,
Nor in riches, nor in fame,
But lived contented with himself,
Enjoying his work, with others' joys
And sorrows mingling.

Then, suddenly, out of the dawn,
There came a voice that rang like a bell,
Calling, calling,
Coming from the sea.
Men and women, huddled on the shore,
Stumbling about,
Hearhing it over and over again,
Come now, come now.

Seamen and passengers,
Shouting and shouting,
Come hither, come hither,
Here is the coast, here is the coast.
See how the waters are boiling,
Look how black the foaming spray.
Now we'll take our places,
Watch the boats go by.

Walking along the road to Camelot,
One steps into a beautiful valley
Under an olive tree. It seems to be
A natural hollow, dim and dell-like,
Deepened by woody undergrowths:
And round the leafless branches,
Like waterfalls, gushes and falls
Passionate, irrepressive music.
Silence surrounds me, save for the waterfall,
Which sounds far off, yet allures me nearer,
With tones enchanting, flattery, and denial,
And promises of what shall soon appear,
If I but wait and watch,
These green hills beneath me becoming mountains,
If I but wait and watch.

I am weary waiting,
Worn out waiting,
I would rather be dead than weariness,
Than be all day awake, thinking of the past,
All day reminding me of the future,
Worse and worse,
Colder and colder,
Sooner and sooner tears.

It is vain to hope,
Sapphire princess,
Grief is sole comforter,
Hope is vanity.
What matter if the world should break your heart,
As it has done mine,
Eighteen times?
Nine times the worst,
Twelve the best?

Out of the dust,
Over the stones,
Into the river,
Past the little hamlets--
This is my kingdom,
My city, home of love.

I have seen the spires of Troy,
The old gods' starry tents,
And holy Athena
Standing on Olympus,
With golden sceptres and bows of gold.
I have walked where Plato flourished,
And listened to his discourses,
And read his works, and learned his lessons,
And dreamed among those blooming poplars
Among the ancient trees,
Dreaming, as he dreamt, amid the mists of time
Of beauty and of mystery.

I have walked where Coltrane played,
Ateman beside black Man,
And danced with white Woman,
On that mountain top,
Above the stormy clouds,
Below the thunderous roar
Of great Bartholomew,
Whose voice is loud forever.

I have wandered near the Nile,
And watched the red and yellow camels
Slowly sail across its sands,
And heard the singing of the desert,
And felt the hot sand smacking my feet,
And tasted the bitter grass,
And thought for many days,
While gazing downward through the blue dusk,
"How fair is God!"

I have been where high o'erhead
The purple cloudlets lower,
And where below
The gray owl perches,
And Nature sleeps;
Where the pine trees bend their tall tops
Round the sunny hillside,
Or ever mossy grape clusters
Their dark green tresses show;

By shady rivers,
Where wild ducks frolic,
Or harebells cluster;
Where in wild and rustic garb
Narcissus glistens;
By lone lakes, or where the sky
Is bright with calm and sunlit flowers,
Or when the twilight shadows
Draw around the village homes,

By solitary coves,
Whence the nightingale
Its wail unheeded lies;
By melancholy ravines,
And where the sunset dies
In silence, sad and sweet,
Oftentimes in moonlight's afterglow;

By silent valleys, oft led
To lofty vallies dear,
Where oft too late I've sat
And wondered where the flock
Might yonder pass away;
Where the hawthorne bowers their bloom
Are fading fast away,
Leaving behind them only grief.

I have passed where gentle streams
Forsake the trodden ways
That lead to distant groves and skies
And wander lonely by the way;
Where the soft falling whisper comes,
From forest murmurs far away,
Of things long ago ceased to be.

I have stood where the oak leaves wave,
But not for ever, far or near,
For ever must they fall and rot
Until some other soil shall replace
The former loved ones of the place;
Where Time's hand hath torn and rent
All ties of good and evil away,
And Death stands now in full array,
With sword and flame and gun and shell.

Yet there are spots which I have known
Through all these changes, happy and blest
With early memories, joys unknown
Before this change came upon our isle.
There lives a lovely child who shines
Amidst these gloomy scenes, whose light
Shines down on us from above, her beams
Spreading like sunshine, glad and kind.
Her name is Helen, and she fills
Our hearts with tenderness and love.
We know not why these simple words
Should seem to speak an awful spell,
Though naught can come between us now
And what we want so desperately.

There lived a widow, young and gay,
Who had no one else to mourn the loss
Of him she lov'd most dearly, Leon.
She lived alone and had no fear
Lest strangers should her grief misunderstand.
Her room was hung with bloom and leaves
Like summertime, and seemed just ready
For a fairy party to be.

They brought her ribbons and frippery,
Toys and trinkets galore, but still
The widow didn't understand
Why none of them could make much difference
To Leon, though they were lavish about.
She guess'd they were trying to give
Some sort of message, perhaps, or pray'r.

One day she said, "Leon, if you're feeling ill,
Come here to me, I will comfort you."
So they went, and soon got into play:
He laughed at something another did,
Then gazed at her till he was confused.
"Now listen," she interposed gently--
"Don't talk in riddles, please; it's bad form."

"Oho! Ohoho!" cried the clown again--
"You don't mean to say you'll let me go?"
"No," she answered, "you may keep me here
As your willing slave for life and fun.
But mind you always acts according
To such laws as do to man's desire
Just what his heart and brain allow.

"If you are hungry, then you eat; if thirsty,
You drink; if tired, by day you work;
If bored, off to sleep--by night, play.
What more does any tyrant or drudge
Demand of you? If poor, you weep;
If broke, you sigh; if frightened, afraid,
You tremble and turn away. All that
Your pride and greed dare ask of me,
I can't or won't grant. You may try
To call for help, but look for it in vain."

Away they ran with each new-formed whim,
With nothing to check them except
The woman's power, and oh, how well
They knew it! For while they played with hope,
And dared each other to be mad,
She thought about her home and its fences--
How they would tease her if she told 'em.

At last she spoke, in trembling tone and low:
"Leon, my friend, you cannot run away--
This house is mine, and I'm sure of it.
I bought it cheap, and I'll buy you too
Because you're my friend, but oh, beware
Of men like you who think they're so smart
To break up home bonds like iron gates.

"Listen, Leon, my own beloved Leon,
Do me the honour of staying here
While you finish out your game with me.
My heart is thumping, my cheeks are wet,
And I feel like throwing all away
Because you say you can't stay to-night.
Believe me, dear fellow, when I'm dead
All your bones will be broken on the floor."

"Pray you, tell me where the maid is gone,
Or I'll blow my brains all over you."
"Oh, darling, never a word, never a sign,
Nor any occasion need you show
To snap, or snap you to the bone.
I've taught you well, and you'll learn to wait
When women bid their daddies depart."

"Well, then, I'll wait, because I like you better.
Besides, I'll teach you, because you're my friend."
"Dear me, you really are a silly little elf,
That's all you are. And now I must go,
Or I shall blow my brains all over you."
"Oh, darling, never a word, never a sign,
Nor any occasion need you show
To snap, or snap you to the bone.
I've taught you well, and you'll learn to wait
When women bid their daddies depart."

Little Brown Kettle, in the land o' the north,
Was famous far and wide for its toddy.
It was so popular with the country folk
That every distaff-man used to carry
A sample in his/her handkerchief.
But the fame of Little Brown Kettle spread,
And many a travelling minstrel learned
The name of the distaff which made him happy.

Now there lived in the neighbourhood near Newton-on-the-Mount
A gentleman named Mulcahy (that's his name),
Who was a great wine dealer. He sold us claret
(Not barley, as some people imagine).
We drank it neat, or we drank it sweet.
In fact, we couldn't get enough of it.

Sometimes (as the saying goes) you meet
An old dog in a new environment.
Mulcahy had been thrown into the whirlpool
Of the northern country by fortune's fickle shake.
His wife (who was not beautiful, by the way)
Had died, leaving him all that debt.
He borrowed fifty pounds a month,
And owed two hundred and sixty six.

There were times when he almost starved.
He pawned his horse to pay the rent.
He pawned his gun and chain,
Leaving him helpless and without defence.
He sold his bastet for a bowl of ale,
Which proved to be a deathless asset.
He fell upon evil times,
So much so that his neighbours feared him.
One winter even, when the chimney smoked
And the house was cold, he wandered from his door,
And threw stones at the walls, and swore aloud.

Then one day, just to make a start on paying,
He went to the tavern, and called aloud
For a cup of strong Bromide.
He sat down opposite the landlord,
And, as soon as the waiter appeared,
He asked for a flagon of wine.
The waiter came back with a jug,
And Mulcahy requested another glass.
Said the brewer, "Don't mention it again,
We have plenty already!"

Mulcahy said, "I'll have another three,"
And he bought him three cups.
Just as Mulcahy was going to drink
He collapsed and passed away.
As he lay in his chair before the table,
He muttered, "Good spirits have fled the earth!
I see now what good living was all about;
What a fool I've been!"

Once more he sought the aid of St. Mihielle,
Who was the patron of the distillery.
The distillery was in ruins,
Ruined beyond repair,
Bruised and battered, smashed to smithereens,
Half burned to the ground.

St. Micheal heard the story of the distillery,
Smirking a hideous laugh.
"Ha! ha!" quoth he, "you fools," & c.
"You still are living, though you've lost your senses.
Where's your bottle of gin?
Let me guess--you've drunk yourself to death!"

Says the Clerk of the Law Office, "Sir,
Your office is behind me there."
Down the long stairway ajar,
Through the darkness and the gloom,
Came the body of Mulcahy.

They laid him on a couch,
Gave him water to drink,
Gave him food, but nothing on gold braid,
Nothing on silver brocade,
Only the bread and butter trenchers.
No carpet marks the place,
No crimson curtains fall.

On his head they placed
A stiff hat lined with scarlet;
On his feet they placed
Earrings of blue and white,
Cuffs of ermine and lilies.

All alone in his room
Sat the Clerk of the Law Office,
Thinking of the distillery.
How the sun shone through
The broken window-pane,
Shining upon the distillery.

In the Law Offices along
Lay the body of Mulcahy.
Tears filled his eyes,
Twisted rings adorned his fingers.
Soft words come to his lips,
"Alack! and another one to add.
Another victim of the law office."

Up and down the town,
By the city wall and court-house paths,
Sad men were walking, sad,
Singing like the rain,
With the bells of their hearts:

To the distilling arts
Men were turning, turning,
Drinking poison with thirst,
Hoping to drown
Such dreams forevermore.

But her soul was a flame
Burning for love and freedom,
Love and freedom,
Dying in agony,
Her body yielding, yielding.

When she turned to join him,
She found him gone,
Lost among the crowd,
Strange strangers, strange faces,
That looked at her with scornful laughter.

Some thought her of no value,
Others declared her fair.
Still others cursed her,
While many whispered in derision.

But she walked, mournfully,
Wandered over the lonely streets,
Calling for succour,
Angrily calling,
Silently pleading,

Yet none came to help her.
She wept openly,
From her heart of sorrow spilling,
Praying God to listen,
That he would heal her,
That he would open her eyes.

But he did not hear her,
He did not show mercy,
And she died, sadly dying,
Deep in grief and pain,
'Mid the laughter and the scoffs of those who met her.

Now the moon hangs o'er the world,
And the night winds sigh,
Like a lover who has given
His mistress all he had,
And waits for the morrow;
Though the lovers part,
With the dawn of morn,
Too well, too tenderly.

O the dark nights, and the weary days,
When my poor heart cried out for its dead,
And I hid from the world my grief,
Because I knew if I told it to Heaven
It would be there by day or night.
Ah! how I tried so hard to be contented,
My duty to do, my place to keep,
While the bitter tears ran trickling down my cheeks,
And the wild thoughts that only women feel
Would not let me be quiet or rest.
Oh! where shall I begin to wish for rest,
Or where end my days when life is dreary?
Is there any joy when the heart is empty,
Or happiness in distress?
If I could only get my mind off hers,
Then my whole life might just be perfect;
But then, how often have I said to myself,
"Could heaven send me but a little peace,
And let this earthly curtain fall away,
Then might I be happy in all ways?"
But no! when my eyelids close,
I think of her, and pray that she may be
For ever sleeping in my bosom.

We cannot know what lies beneath the moon,
Nor the stars shine as they used to shine;
The dew, which now is bright and steady,
May disappear with the morning ray,
And the wind blow coldly, if it will blow,
Until the tree-tops seem asleep;
So life grows always hollower,
As it nears its end.
But oh! if there should come an hour of peace,
(Which heaven never does give, it seems,)
Should not the heavens pour forth blessings
Upon us while our souls are loving?
<|endoftext|>

It's very nice to see a new play,
Just because you've seen one before;
You can find all sorts of things to praise
In each fresh production.
There's something fresh about every scene--
The scenery, the costumes, the sets,
The way the actors move, the way they sing,
Each new production.

You know what my feelings are,
After I've seen a play;
They're almost exactly the same
As when I heard the music
Of Puccini's famous opera;
Those stirring strains I listened to
On Requiems and Allegri's "Magic"--
Those stirring strains again!

You remember how the scenarist,
As the curtain rose, made kiss good-bye
To the audience, as though he planned
To win them with a more subtle wile
Than ever he'd previously shown--
Kisses on both cheeks, rather wide,
And a look that suggested, 'twas he,
Not the angels, but himself, that went,
Not the woman, but himself, that sung--
Kisses on both cheeks, rather wider,
And a look that seemed to say, 'Twill prove try at least!'

How different now from that time ago,
When I first saw Puccini's Magic--
First, the Opera's sombre, gothic atmosphere,
Dark and oppressive as a tomb;
Then, the magic of his spell-binding music--
Never since known such wonder!--

And yet, in spite of differences, am I
One who admires much what today
Hath been brought to pass by Art,
And praises much the wizard work
Whereby the ancient world was led
Into such heights of melody,
Such depths of feeling, artfulness, power?

What matter if the latest poem
Sings not of war, nor arts sublime,
But only dreams of love and beauty;
Shall not the Muse still claim her own,
Whether her subject be deep thought,
Or simple pleasure?--no, not of me:
Let the young man strive who best can fill
Our ideas of her youth--his lyre
Still must sound unto her older ear.

Yes, I admit, indeed I admit,
That none of these things were done alone,
That Nature laboured without aid
Of Solomon, without books divine,
Without the light of Genius, guide,
Beyond all mere human genius, skill;
Yet we have built a cathedral, and
Its walls, its roof, its windows, spire,
All this, in truth, hath been accomplished.--

A thing, a building, wrought of man
By man, and by his machine, wrought;
Built of wood, and laborious wrought,
Fitted to use, and lastly, used.
Thus, thus hath Art, by Man, been taught
Her uses, and administered
Her wholesome laws, and duly watched
To guard against all calamity.

This, this is Art, the making of everything
Since, without it, we should lack all comfort:
No safe retreat from storms and falling timber,
No cushion for the foot of Death,
No cordial in misfortune's hour,
No comforter after grief.

Man's invention, so the proverb says,
Created God also;
And, therefore, the more we learn,
The more convinced we are
That, without this wondrous help,
Our Maker, He would not have created
These creatures, this immense host
Of living things, or even given them,
If, having nothing else to do,
He had not made them--these eyes,
These ears, this tongue, these fingers, etc.

Nature, too, has her inventions, works of art,
Wonders of pain and labor, charms for increasing
Work and labor, and enlarging Mind and Thought;
Art, too, is Nature's invention, as the poet says,
Theory of everything produced by mind;
Art, too, is Nature's invention, as the sage declares.

For, otherwise, why this great multiplicity
Of useful objects? Why, moreover,
Why this prodigious increase of earth, air, and sea?
Why this endless competition, thrice arraigned,
Triumphant, triumphant struggle,
Against oblivion, death, and age?

Because there are no natural limits
To human wit, nor thoughts beyond the reach
Of mortal man. Because, besides,
Great Thoughts arise spontaneously,
Out of small seeds, and are transmitted
Through the unvaried influence of the mass
Of men, whose minds are wet with rain,
Who feed on wheat, and drink the ocean,
In whom spreads the mighty city, Rome;
Because the torrents of old time,
Refusing their waters, leave behind
Rich soil, fertile underbrush,
Which produces high hills, lofty woods,
Groves sacred to Diana, streams,
Caves, temples, pyramids, and tombs.

Therefore, then, let us study hard, and make
A temple to our country's fame,
And raise up statues to immortalize
Each deed that binds us to our loved ones.
Let us build houses to be rented,
Build palaces where each may live
Free from the clog of cares, and free
From want, and yet secure from fire.
Let us teach indolence to die,
Teach sloth to retire, and pride to pause,
And every phantom of self-will
Cease from itself, and cease from coveting;
Till vice, like cancer, creep destruction,
Till right thy life begin again,
And give thee strength to bear it all.

'Twas when the Roman lord appeared
Before Orontea's king,
With garlands gay he came away,
His heart with joy unfeigning.
"I go," said he, "to seek my wife,
My darling son, who stays with you;
You know she loves but me, and misses
Your consort, Vespasia.

"She lives in luxury here,
And often gives me sweets and flowers,
And makes you happy in your house;
She often visits you at night,
And oftener in the morning;
She brings you joyous gifts, and sends
The very best of what she has,
Such as are rarely found in this world."

When the knight had ended thus,
Upon his head he placed the crown,
Then turned him back, and left the court.
As soon as he was gone, I heard
The joyful cry of Vespasia,
Like a dove from out the window flying,
Or like the song of birds returning,
That now upon my ear I hear.

Oh! dear to me, oh! dearer far
Than all the wealth of nations three,
Is the love of one I call my own,
Whom I see day by day;
Dear as a dream, when life grows dim,
Far fainter than a star, far dearer
Than a flower, when faded and dead.

But the fairest roses of our spring
Are gathered from the tomb of light;
They bloom, they fade, and then are lost,
Like the brightest stars of evening.
Love, in his glory, only blooms
Where gloom was long, and sadness deep;
While nature blossoming through the grave
Sprinkles with its earliest blossom forth
All those rare roses which exist
Only in dreams of love like mine.

I saw her once before,
As she passed by the door,
And again
This is the color
Which marks her presence:
Her face was rounded and brown,
Without a single flush;
Her hair was parted and fine,
One golden tress peeping behind.

Yes, she was lovely to see,
That same cold beauty;
How strange, though, one feels,
After many years!
Her step was lighter than the breeze,
It fluttered about her feet;
And, as she walked, it seemed to me
That weeds and wild flowers grew more green,
Underneath her worn and gentle look,
Like the leaves of memory.

I have forgotten her--no, not quite;
For I could never bring myself
To dwell on such things as she;
Yet, if I should repeat the day,
"Ah, how beautiful she was!"
I know I should scarcely rest or smile
With all the sad things that would come to mind.

There were two sisters, Mary, full of grace,
And Lucile, full of pleasure;
Their brother Philip, too, had talents,
But he neglected them both.
Mary wrote verse sublime,
Lucile sang everywhere,
Till their father died, and left them stately homes,
Full of honors, too,
Except their mother, poor and lowly,
Knew nothing about their careers.

She knew they were good for nothing else,
Save making money;
So, when her sister Lucile played,
She made her ready cash.
Philip wrote a book, and made a name,
And was respected always;
Mary read in school all the day,
And learned another art.
And so, while their mother starved,
These sisters wrought like slaves.

Now, these two were born in debt,
So they might keep them lean and black;
And so their mother taught them tricks
Of the Devil's game;
And so their father thought they'd best get money quick--
So they got it easy enough.
He bought them gowns and rings,
Bucklers and brooches,
Gold and silver crosses,
Lion skins and dragon shells,
Serpents, and coiling snakes,
Wreaths, ribbons, fillets, bibbers, charms,
Fitting clothes for girls and women.

Well, let us suppose that mother,
Had she known what was in store,
Would have set her daughters ten miles apart,
And taught them better ways;
She would have taught them modesty,
She would have warned them and chid;
And she would have told them, 'Do not steal!'
But she never spoke of God nor heaven.

'Twas a Sunday morn, bright sunlight clear,
A boy came running up the street;
He wore a silk hat, and stood so proud,
With shoulders bare, and handsome eyes.
His manners were perfect, and his air
Was sweet and courteous, and he smiled
At every one he met.

He was tall and slender, his dark hair
Beamed white against the yellow sun
On brows that were lightly brushed.
His dress was rich and shiny, and smart,
And lined with velvet; and he held
In his hand a little brass play-thing,
White with gold for dust, and stamped with
A lion's hide.

No one has ever called me "darling,"
Nor kissed me where my cheek appears
Against my shoulder, touching the breast;
But this young man lovingly pressed
My cheek against his chin, and said
The words that follow in this rhyme,
Though none but a poet will understand.

Then slowly turning toward the sky
His large full eye showed me its soul;
A glance of passion, longing, pain,
Smiled at me, and pierced me through and through;
And I found the great strength of the world
Turning upon me, and my life
Grown small and bitter, and the taste
Of joy turn'd away forever.

What shall a woman do, who lives alone?
Who, lonely, sick, tired, can eat and sleep?
When all her company are away at work,
Working hard for money and fame,
Working even harder still at home;
With no friend beside her in the night
To whisper a kind word--to listen
Until she tell him everything.

What shall a woman do, who lives alone?
When all the world seems weary and done,
Too happy to be out any more,
Too weak to help herself;
When all her company are away at work,
Hard at earnin', and busy too;
While her own heart ache, and ache, and bleed,
Because no one cares to touch a strand
Of her long tangled life.

What shall a woman do, who lives alone?
Is there no friend at all to touch a string
Along the way she wandered?
Can she no pity feel for those she sees
Around her, down on earth awhile?
They miss her, and they wonder why
That from their midst she wanders far,
Or seems to wander nevermore.

What shall a woman do, who lives alone?
Her eyes grow dim and weary, and soon
Will show the tears begin;
And then will come the bitter hours again,
Those horrible days, when all the house
Seems hushed and drear, and one is glad
One's own company is near.

I walk along the shore, I watch the waves
Rush over the rocks,
As if the sea were wild and fearless,
And I could not hear the voice of love:
For Love hath oft been cold to me,
And often spake in vain.

Yet I would give whatever bliss were mine
To see once more those lips I loved,
Even though they breathed no sound;
Oh! sweet were silence to that ear,
Sweetness without speech.

Oft, when the moonlight crept across the deep,
We twain would stand alone,
Holding each other's hands, and gazing
Down into the depths below;
And I would gaze so long, your beauty knew,
It seemed to me you must know.

How many times within these last three years
Have I told you all my grief,
And prayed God send you health and strength
Out into life's brighter day?
You promised me you would not stay
Longer than I wished, or life
Could bear you; and I believed you, girl.

Ah! now I know how oft you loved these halls,
And called them dear; and I recall
Your letters telling me so;
And yet it makes my heart to beat, and blind
My sight beyond all healing sight,
To think I might forget.

For I remember well, when first we met,
Each look, and word, and tone of yours;
Your smile as warmly kept for me
As e'er quoth Aunty Mab the maid.
Now, dearest, let me dream no more
I've nothing of ill between us two.

God bless our household, and keep us all
So strong and happy this eve;
May Heaven's blessing rest upon you all,
And may you live in love and peace,
Till you to ages coming men
Are counted worthy of the name.

Come sit by me, my darling,
Let's talk of nothing but love,
Since all the sorrow in the world
Has left its mark upon you.
All my heart, my soul, I pray,
From anguish free;
Come sit by me, my darling,
I'll teach you all about love.

If I had thought thou couldst believe
What is past, could return,
I might as well have asked about
Thy fate to-morrow.
But I trust in what I know,
And what I hope haply true,
And thus I sit by thee, my darling,
And try to make thee understand.

This hour has been, and is, a test
Which I, thy lover, should not pass;
Else, knowing my heart was false,
I had cast it away,
Had sworn to love thee only here,
And not a single hour
Elsewhere should be remembered.

But I have known 'twould prove thee true,
By its unfaltering zeal;
Then why should I despair,
Knowing it cannot change its bent?
Here, by thy side, I'll ever be,
Serving under love thy will;
For, oh! thou lovest me too much,
To part for all time from thee.

Thee, Shepherd, whom I adore,
No power can take from me;
I leave my sheep and go with thee,
Nor will I sing another song
Till I am where thou art.
In joy or woe I'll serve thee,
With an undevout mind,
Nor will I ask a moment's delay
Till I find me shepherdess.

There is a river still and fair,
Where, through the forest, goeth wild;
Away upon its banks I saw
A damsel sporting, so gay,
I scarce knew which was the swan
And which the gilded carcanet.

Before the carcanet she laid
Her hand, and looked, and smiled, and said,--
"Well done, my bonny bird! Now bring
The music,--all the pleasure thou hast."
Then down she sat upon the bank,
And played with both the jewels there.

At length she rose up brightly clad,
Like a summer leaf, or a new rose:
She took the jewel from her breast,
And on her finger touched the gold,
"Take these," she said, "and come away!"

When I am weary of loving,
Weary of praying,
Give me sleep, O God, until
Time heal all wounds again!
Give me sleep, O God, till I know
That Thou who diddest me nurst
Hast watched me since before man's birth.

Sleep, O God, till I lay me down
Within Thy mighty arms at last;
And, close beside my sleeping head,
See Thee standing firm and kind;
Smiling tenderly my fears to scorn,
Say, "Behold how blest my lot is!"

Sleep, O God, till I lie asleep
Upon Thy bosom soft and fair;
And, close beside my weary head,
See Thee watching near and dear;
Breathing blessings in Thy ear,
Say, "Alas! alas! how poor is he!"

Sleep, O God, till I shall rest content
In Thy great calmness forevermore;
And, close beside my slumbering head,
Hover round me ever so, mild, kind;
Lifting Thine eyes so merciful,
Plead with me, "Fear not, thou shalt die!"

How sweet the sound, at early dawn,
Of matins choir, and rosary
Played on the cofumned and scented air
Of some old chantry bell!
Or, hark! how sweet the salutation,
While the light lily sings,
"Mater despondens! wherefore dost thou rise?"

O, how my lady's voice sounds dear
Through the deep solemnity!
It is like the clear reproachful laugh
Of one who knows his worth is dim,
Yet would show his pride by turning up his nose.

Silence is good; let us hear it break
Along the aisle, like flakes of snow;
"Who sleeps? Who sleeps?" so people say
In Lenten season.  Let us then begin;
For this is a holy house, see!
And silence teaches prayer, we learn quite plainly,
By teaching silence in Holy Writ.

Oh, yes, a very serious thing it is
To pray without, or in, or o'er,
When we are ill, our bodies being weak,
Or weary, or something of that sort;
But no one says, when one prays alone,
He ought to pray his prayers in private.

We must not always walk behind our thoughts;
Sometimes they lead us forward, sometimes back,
As, if two ships sailed into each other
They'd turn ere longhand against e'en,
Each tiring fast, ere yet the third could meet.

So all our prayers go forward together,
Though sometimes backward, like the blind man's bucket,
Backward, yet forward, toward heaven's gate;
Not like the wavelet, outward bound and strong,
But like the laden pearls toward the shore,
Which meet together somewhere--but ne'er merge.

If I were wise, I'd set myself apart
From crowds of pious souls and hold my own,
Rather than lift mine eyes aloft to heaven
And mingle therewith their vain divinities;
For what is that which makes 'suface divine?
Is't a stone put on with brazen lips,
Or brass with tongueless keys of copper?

Nay, 'tis a flower-like angel, lovely child,
Whose beauty breaks forth because it burns,
Burns out of nothing, hath a life of itself,
Its own eternal spring of glory is its own;
No art can copy it, nor any spell,
Since 'twixt its hands the flame of love doth fall.

Why should I strive to be immortal, when
Immortality is but a span,
And Time himself will pass as quickly?
I'll keep my love within my heart, and give
Myself to my passion, as a bee does his hive.

I've loved beneath many suns been young and sage,
Till now I must be taught to love no more;
Young Love is a dream, save that it brings a taste
Of things unearthly in the mouth and brain,
A touch of god-like majesty and grace;
But old love dies in men, and leaves them low,
Low as their dust, with only dust for love.

The gods have buried Demeter, and her tears
Are running brooks over earth and sea and sky,
Her grief has left an everlasting stream
Where'er you look, and nowhere sent amiss:
But Cupid's children weep, and we are found
Torrents wherever we shed our innocent blood.

Then why do you seek after days gone by,
That never existed? You may mistake
Their language somewhat, but they did not speak,
With lips half hid, and looking up with dumb,
Half-cherished looks, they seemed to speak with eyes.
There was no tongue, but every face had words,
And these were beautiful and strange and sweet.

The flowers of June bloom once again,
The birds sing in the trees,
The little lambs dance on the hill,
The crows call overhead;
The hours of night are fleeting fast,
Let us get up and play,
For summer is coming on apace,
And soon the hot, bright day will kill
All pleasure but base desire.

Come, let us rob the temple gates,
Let loose our spirits here;
Let us feel the wild wind blow,
And drink the burning sun;
Let us revel till we faint,
Nor care if we perish too;
For death gives pleasures better far
Than life to those that lose it true.

What though the world should throw us up
Like toys, that break and burn!
What though the place we loved should prove
The tomb wherein we dwell!
Still happier lives might ensue,
Still harsher torments cease,
While those we love might yet return,
And bless the past while smiling.

Love breathed a secret to her listening heart,
And said "Be silent!"
She dwelt in darkness, but she knew
The stars at midnight shone.
One shadowy eye looked through the dark,
Another watched the hour,
And both foretold a happy ending -
Such end as angels know.

It happened on a winter night,
While all the country rang
With thunder and the beat of drums,
And distant cannon fire,
An army lay encamped around,
In arms arranged in good array,
Facing to north the enemy.

The tents were white with ice,
The snow was deep upon the ground,
Yet warm in every breast
The August evening came.
The camp around glowed with light,
Glimmering rugs and blankets,
And glowing furs before,
Made ghostly outlines o'er the field.

Within the town the people sate,
Watching the flames arise;
Shivering, freezing, heaving pain,
Wondering what to do,
Uncertain as the weather that blew
Before the dawn of morning fog.

Some ran to hide in cellar nooks,
Darkening themselves and all the floor;
Others sought the chapel, where they thought
Safe refuge might be found;
But others gazed from windows o'er the street,
And saw the fires grow brighter, louder, stronger,
Until they scarcely feared the blast;

And then they heard the tumult rend the air,
And saw the soldiers storm the walls;
They saw their friends fall, down heaped and thick,
On either side the way:
"Oh God," they cried, "what shall we do?"
And answered, "We give thee victory."

And lo! the church spire!, the roof,
The spire was burned to ashes,
The bell was smashed to splinters,
The bells behind the castle wall
Were blown to atoms;
And the whole city reeled and shook,
Received a mighty blow.

Meanwhile the Scotsmen gained the height
Around the city; fought their way
Up to the outer rampart's plate
Of solid stone and two feet of wood,
And, clambering up these, charged the town,
Burning, destroying; round the towers
Routed and pursued the foe.

As autumn winds the leafy boughs
Disperse, scatter, and disperse
The clouds that skirt the mountain crest,
So waves of smoke, rising higher, higher,
Dispersion made of battle shields,
Red, rolling plumes of smoke, soaring high,
Wavered and fell back on each other,
And dispersed war and battle.

Now, when God's judgment comes upon
The persecutors of the Church,
When vengeance takes its flight
From sin and blasphemy and wrong,
When truth and righteousness are o'er
And Heaven opens wide her doors
To her who walk in virtue's ways,
A voice within the heavens sounds home:

"Lo! another witness rise,
To warn the nations of the sword,
Witness of things not seen or heard
By his poor brethren in the flesh;
Angels of heaven, oh put thy wings
About this soul of man, for he must
Serve his fellow men in new ways,
If he would win eternal joy."

He spoke, and onward in the night
Flying, laid the earth beneath his wheels,
Then turned to Heaven and sped away.
<|endoftext|>

"Oft have I dreamed of beauty:  often
I had forgotten it:  now I know
That beauty is an endless dream;
Beauty is like a stream which oft
Forever flows into the sea:
Far off may lie its banks, but never
Its middle flow nor middle source
Is known, but ever it changes, flowing
Ever onwards, and ever frothing
New shores and ever new mouths.

"There are rich beauties, fair to see,
Whose wealth lies hid by careless hands:
These storehouses contain my gold,
My treasure is their boundless stores.
There are bright jewels, rare and sweet,
Which hold their fragrance in their bloom,
Where casements arch the gloom
Of dimly-lighted alleys o'er,
Or softly shine along the eaves
Of ancient houses, grey and old.

"There are gay flowers springing 'mid the weeds,
Fair trees whose lean black branches bend
Their faces to the sun to watch him pass,
Pale leaves that quiver when the wind sweeps
Across their pale trunks, faint whispers die
Among the grasses, and the dusk grows chill:
All these are fair, yet none is fair enough,
Each hath some flaw, some blot which makes it less
Than perfect, fairest things being imperfect.

"There are wild birds singing pure and clear,
Bright butterflies flitting 'thwart the flies,
Rich flowers, blue jays, and peacock favorites,
Blue lilies, scarlet bees and dragonflies--
Ah me! how can I tell if any
Are fair? 'tis always the fairest things
That are unclean, diseased, or broken.

"Yet there are lovely things, the best,
The absolute must have a best,
Those objects which our highest wisdom
Can only desire, or find in life,
Such as no power of imagination
May ever make seem real. These are
Fashion's fairest creations, the crown
Of fashion, and the aim of art;
They are the ideal of the mind,
What we imagine must exist.

"There are beautiful thoughts too, thoughts so
Pure and wise, so deep and true,
They come from seeing everything
In order and in peace,
With nothing to disturb the balance,
Nothing to make it feel or think
Irrational or unreal. Such
Is God's design when He forms a thing,
Not every follicle will grow,
But those will grow which shall express
The grand conception of His mind.

"Thus all is beautiful, but not
The beauty sought for in love,
For that is begot of emotion,
It springs from human feeling;
This flower withers if you touch it,
It dies and dies unless consoled
With the caress of some kind hand.

"There are beautiful homes with walls
Of colour and pattern, where dwell
Strong families, devoted lovers,
Children white as wool and red as wine,
Green fields behind them and the sky,
Lazy river on its right hand,
And olive groves on its left, and pastures
Studded with ripe olives and with shaggy forests
Of young tall trees and evergreens tall.
Here they live a simple life and pay
Their worship to the Eternal Mind,
Who in their lives has given them abundance
Of material things, such as daily life
Makes more enduring. They have little care
For outward glory, content to be
Known for themselves, and in their hearts is
Deep peace, and gentleness, and loving kindness,
And tenderness, and humility--things
Without a name. All round about is calm
As though day followed day, the air was full
Of murmurings of mild voices, and the light
Was spread so evenly over the land
You could scarcely see a cloud. This is the place
Where Adam and Eve before their eyes
Had parted, and where all their descendants
Wait till the last trump strike ere they take part
Beneath the Fates in battle. Here, then,
We build the Ark, and pour our tears for sin
Upon its sides. We gather up its fruit
Of golden fruits, we set its doors again
From keyhole to keyhole, and at length we bring
Our bodies under the mighty ark together,
For it is time to close the doorways on death."

He ceased, and lo! from out the azure depth
Of many-coloured clouds there came a sound
Like the voice of many waters, and behold!
Before his feet an open field appeared,
And on the green ground were the white stones of Jericho,
So like the clefts of the cliff that men had passed
On other, smaller islands. On he went,
Gazing with wonder at this scene before him,
While the light wind blew the yellow flags away,
And made the valley shine as though with sunlight.
Then, as he gazed again, a third time
He saw the dry, dusty earth covered thick
With apples, and the branches of the tree
Hanging heavy with fruit, and herds of sheep
Crowding through the midst of the open space.
Again he knew the swift horses flying by,
And heard the hoofs beat against the stone to draw
The weary oxen through the burden of the day.

Now stood the King upon the brink himself,
Looking down into the stream, and brooding o'er
These words of warning unto his people:--
"Ye sons of Judah! Lo! what great signs followeth
These days? What prodigy am I, compared
To what my childhood used to see and hear?
Yea, what did I myself do, when I would
Scorn at the fame decreed us for the fay?
I cannot understand, nor may not explain,
Why thou art here, since none of us hath returned;
Else should these weeds of war and blood be ours,
Which Time hath joined to Nature. But the hour
Of parting comes indeed, and soon appears
The end of earthly journeys. If the sword
Be torn from off our hands, we are not thine own.
If the ark itself be broken, we are lost;
Or if the ark be safe, we are not free.
The hour draws nigh, when we shall lie alone,
Unwedded, without one father's protection,
An inmate of another's house, a prey
To wild beasts, who may devour us at will.
Ah me! how happy in thyself shalt thou
Find refuge from this impending woe?"

His people listened to him with a sigh,
Yet no word yet had he to say to them,
Nor to the sun had he any answer
Unto their wondering faces turned around;
No token now might he give them to tell
What there was hid from their own eyes revealed.
At last he raised his hands on high, and said,
"Beloved children! I have made my choice,
My heart and mind have strayed beyond the reach
Of self-control, and I must leave this world
In which my feet have never strayed beyond
Its narrow bounds. I know that I must die,
But yet for thee and for all the days
That I have lived, I would have thee know
That I have loved thee with an everlasting love,
And that I think of thee always, and pray
For thee each moment of the day. So help me God!"

When the morning dawned, the King arose
And led his people forth to pasture lands
Beyond the city gates, but first cast down
A humble cross with flowers and sweetmeats,
And gave it to the fountains and the trees,
Not knowing well they all apart lay; and then
Leading his people in silence onward,
Toward the mountains. As the sky grew higher,
They looked back toward Bethlehem, and saw
The angel of the Holy Ghost descend
Into the manger where He was laid,
And still to His face the infant's mother
Turned, and held Him on her breast, and sighed,
And murmured "Father," weeping sore, and said,
"It is enough. The Lord has gone away!"

As the night drew on, more and more dim
The sky became, and on the calm blue
The moonbeams died, and on the quiet hills
Slowly the winds stole over the silent sky;
And the snow fell heavily, and the storm
Made all things hide themselves from human sight;
Only the angels of heaven could spy
Where Jesus bedded down for His sleep.
One of the heavenly host, unseen, crept near
To Bethlehem town, and brought the tempest's news;
The streets ran red with blood, and slain men strewed
The plain, and terrified mothers shrieked aloud,
And angels whispered "Christus, Christus!" round
The cruel slaughtering hosts of pagan hate.
The mighty prowling wolves of Jove had come
Upon the Virgin Mother's sleeping babe,
And torn Him limb from limb, and stained the floor
With bloody drops. In terror folk looked up,
And saw Him slumbering in the manger grass,
Under the holy footprints of the Lamb.
His mother stooped and take His hand, and smiled
Dear to her eyes, while tears blurred the roseate bloom
From either side her cheek, and like bright streams
Stream'd down again and trickled down again
Their bitter tearful drops, as in that farm
She knelt before Him daily for her life,
Who promised that she should conceive and bear
A son divine, to rule on earth a realm
Pure, and filled with justice and truth from Heaven.
Oh! if the merciful Lord of Heaven were here,
Would not his ear grow hot with pity for us?
He who commanded the vulture's strike on man,
And sent the locust after the leprous worm,
Hath set his seal upon this deed of horror;
And blood alone can wash out the scar of torture,
And heal the deep wound of His infernal orb.
Alas! the time is fast running by,
Ere one poor child more must bleed,--one rush of sorrow
Flings the black stain o'er Luke's young record.
Now let me weep my fill, or let the heavens fall,
I cannot bring my babes again so soon
To groan beneath the scourge of hunger and of grief,
So dark a din of woe doth beat upon my ears,
So many sons are doomed to death before my eyes,
Whose graves are growing green, whose graves are opening!
Look upward, look upward, ye cold stars, ye guards
Of our dear infants, shine down, spare not your breath,
Ye keep the prison of Satan and his chains,
Ye keep the innocence of Eden forevermore!

There is a little door nigh the hall door
Which opens into a small court just below
The kitchen bench, and in that court you'll find
An open space large enough for a cart and two horses,
And such a load as a cart can carry along:
A table close to the doorway gives room to bawl,
Or sing a song, or make a game of nothing;
And there some broken chairs and tables are placed,
And there upon the ground the pots and kettles are,
And there some old rags and shavings are strewn about.

This place is sacred to me, though I know
No reason why it should be so reserved,
Since it is only used for messes and tea;
Yet sometimes when I am alone I feel
A sort of longing to hear the din
Of children shouting through the garden ways,
And see them too ashamed to turn around,
Nor speak, nor turn their heads, lest they should start
At something they should scarce be able to understand;
Then I remember that in this way
Is no confusion, but that all is peace.

But now the clock strikes three, and the mother comes,
And sits beside the candle while the baby sleeps;
Her dress is very dirty, and her hair unkempt,
For she has been crying most the last ten minutes
About her cooking, and forgetting all sorts
Of things which women ought to have about them,
And thinking much of strange and foolish things.

Oft too about herself she makes a fuss,
Like one who is unable to think of anything
Except of everything under the sun;
And then at last her hands begin to itch,
Because she is too busy scratching them
With her long nails across her fingers bare,
Until at last she thinks they will blossom like flowers
If she cuts them often and diligently.

When the baby wakes, and takes one great look
Around him and feels his legs frozen stiff,
And sees his head tilted sideways and painfully,
Then he remembers that his mother is dead,
And how he suffered while she lived among them;
And he begins to cry aloud, and says he will pray
That God may give his mother rest in Paradise.

I sat beside the fire where the grey clouds drift,
Watching the flames leap higher than the highest cloud,
While the others sang, "We are seven brothers."
Said I, "What is that silly tune mean?"
"It means that we shall play an important part
In taking France away with our ships."

They played for a week, and I did not move,
Though always near by my heart was awake.
One night they danced away without me,
And I heard them singing, "God!  What are men doing
With their lives?  They dance because they die!"

Ah me! that was a month ago!
How different everything is!
My poor heart has totally lost control,
Keeping time only to its burning debt.
I'm dancing now without a leader,
For I think I am going insane.

I saw a woman yesterday
Walk round the block several times,
And each time she came her face shone bright
Like the moon shining on the sea.
Why does my heart go pit-a-pat?
Why do I feel so out of sorts?

She married the third man this year,
After mine and before the third;
And I thought, "Poor woman, what matter
Who the third man might be?"
But she found none had the slightest chance,
Not even a remote one.

Oh, yes, I know well
That my heart is beating low,
That my cheeks are wet, and my eyes run over,
And my thoughts grow wild and big.
But I dare not tell a soul,
For fear it would hurt her so
That she should get away from me.

I've been thinking of the lovely days
When we were lovers--but of late
I cannot forget one single day
Of all the days that we spent together.
'Twas sweet to gaze on her radiant eyes,
And the music of her voice sublime,
As we walked arm-in-arm through the fair,
And the breeze of the west was gently stirred
By the sound of her voice and her eyes.

Oh, yes, I know well
That my heart is beating low;
That my cheeks are wet, and my eyes run over,
And my thoughts grow wild and big.
But I dare not tell a soul,
For fear it would hurt her so
That she should get away from me.

There's a path by the shore of a beautiful stream
Where the waters murmur softly,
Where larks happily hoppest to meet
From perch atop a tall tree.
The shadows of evening fall lightly around
Meeting these spirits as I walk along,
And the stars shine serenely bright.

There's a path where the water flows away
To the soft murmuring of distant waves,
Where the lark so gracefully climbs
Up again to its nests high up,
And the shadows slowly slip away
Till the morning gleams gently blue.
And I love to lie here awhile,
And muse upon life's mystery.

There's a path where the air is full of balm,
Full of the scent of clover and wheat,
And the birds freely sing or hum
Their songs of thanks or praise.
A path where the woods are old and worn,
And mosses thick encroach
On the stones left o'er the grave of the wise,
And the sunlight seems to glow.

There's a path where the snow lies deep and white,
White as the virgin's purity,
And the heavens above are lighted by the rays
Of your young, fresh star-light.
No, there is no other way to go
Than the path you must take alone.
So come, O dear, sweet spirit, true friend,
Follow your own path home.

The wind blew cool down the vale,
And the leaves fell to sleep;
The river glowed with many a tuskar,
And the mountain ash was red.
All things grew quiet as death,
Save the raven from yon cliff,
And the sandalwood smoke that crept
Along the desert shores.

The hour was very late when first the sun
Boomed on topmost summit,
And lit up whole army of mountains,
Which woke at once and fled.
And then the wind rose to its utmost,
And howled like some great beast
That follows on the track of man,
Or the devil who loves mischief.

It swept across the desert wide,
And roared among the peaks,
And lashed the dustiest ways,
Until the scorching heat of noon
Was almost passed by.
Then it went forth into the land,
And hid itself in bud,
While the world slept, till morn
Came back with golden hair.

O, the world looked very sad,
Because of darkness and rain,
And weary travellers
Were sorely annoyed;
And the hearts of men beat slow,
And they lay down for rest.
But the Lord Himself looked down
Over all His creations,
And blessed those that slept.

The angel led him by a secret way
Into the inner chambers of the cave,
And showed him mighty wonders under ground,
And told him of the Golden City,
And how he must pass through many trials
Before he could win to God's side.
He spoke of hell, and pains of hell,
And of the fiery lake of sulfur,
And the final conflict,
With black and bloody banners.
He spoke of Noah's ark, and how the floods
Were driven off by the deluge,
And how the waters of the ocean
Are brent because of penitence,
And how the rivers are dried up,
And how the forests are decayed.
He told him of the wars of Armies,
And how the armies ran,
And of the dreadful battle,
In which the Angel of Death took part,
Who slew Loken with his sword.
He told him also of Paradise,
And how it is a spacious garden,
Pleasant to the sight in summer time,
And how the Devil was expelled
For his rebellion.
He told him of the burning mountain,
And of the fountain of fire,
And of the pillars of ice,
And of the eternal cold,
And of the end of all things,
And of the glory of Heaven.
At length he ceased, and said, "I have heard
Much of thy race from far,
And hasten from my country homeward,
For the time has come for thee to come
Bearing the crown of glory."
Saying this, he vanished straightway,
And o'er the darkness flew.

Loud rang the bells from neighboring farms,
Like the cries of hunted fowl;
They had heard the tidings, and were gathering
Round the castle gate.
But the Earl stopped them with gracious hand:
"Go not gather here, my friends;
Come instead to dine with me;
We will talk of what shall be for us
Most pleasant to think about.
Behold, the Earl has sent me hither
To pay you one last visit,
Before he goes on board ship to France,
To fight the odds there with his King."

Now the day drew near that the Earl was going
Far out on sea, to wage war with his King,
And the people stood in fear and wondered
As their husbands and sons began to go,
Not knowing whether to weep or doze;
Some looked sadly after them, but most
Went with the Earl, eager for news.

The morning dawned bright and warm,
And the wind didn't blow so bad,
But the waves came roaring up so high,
That the sails seemed shriveled and dry,
And the weather-cock kept shaking round,
And the weather-cock on the tower
Keeps ringing frightful omens,
And says the winds are foul and wild,
And the waves look dark and bad,
And the weather seems to say--
"Send us away, please, at once!"
Oh, the horrible omens
From the weather-cock of Yslet!

The wind dropped, the winds increased,
The sails hung listless in the breeze,
The weather-cocks screamed terrible,
So the sailors gave them answer,
Said, "If the winds keep rising,
There'll be no voyage left for us,
Unless we sail right quickly out."
Oh, the awful omens

The wind dropped, the winds abated,
The sails hung still, the weather-cocks
Snapped in the calmness of the night,
The stars grew dim and faint,
The moon climbed heaven, the sky
Seemed as it of old would close
Upon its own destruction;
And the sailors thought and thought
Of the dire event that should be--
How they might perish soon,
And the Queen govern them forever!
Oh, the horrible omens

"What a change is here!--a change of air,
A change of climate, too," said they,
"No longer snow and chilly frost,
Than sunshine and warmth and joyance!
Let's see if we can put to sea,
Or if our bodies will endure
This new type of suffering."

Then on the deck they laid them down,
Each in his shroud, and slept;
When lo, a wondrous light shone out
From the eastern cloudlets,
Which lit up the sea like flame,
And made their faces like the face
Of Christ in His agony.
"Is it possible?" quoth they,
"Is this the death of Parry?"

Forthwith upon the starboard wing
Their topsails sheathed they fell,
And fastened to the mast's topmost bound
Were borne two mortal men,
Whose hearts beat thick with strange alarms,
As each at once began to cry
"It is not possible! It is not true!"
But the Bishop watched them in wonder,
And only cried out, "Nay, nay, 'tis true!"

Then both awoke, and slowly turned
To where the Bishop sat beholding
With looks of love that met dread,
While the clouds above them descended
Into great thunders loud;
And the thunders louder rose, till
Above the thunderers rolled
The mighty hurricane on high,
Blinding the eyes of all;
Till the bishop prayed aloud,
"Gentle Lord Divinity!
By Thy great power Thou art able
That these fears may be deceiving
To let me boldly say,
These are not fatal lances, but spears
Of flame which shall consume us all!"

Thus the whole crew was saved without sword or battle,
Because God spared the merchantmen,
Who had sailed forth to sea in ships of trade.
But when the tempest passed away,
And they knew that never more might ships sail o'er
The seas of England, then the Bishop said,
"Alas! and I have brought this wretched flock
Unto the edge of ruin's knife."
He could bear no blame, nor bear to see
His poor servants bearing curses at such times,
For he had been a priest so long
That he believed every evil dream
Had come to him from Heaven, and so he cursed
God, the angels, St Paul, and cursed England
To the ending of her empire.
But when the storm had past away,
They saw the sea again rise high
In the arms of the broad earth,
Where birds were singing, and beasts were basking,
Yet the very angels who had borne them safe
Were fainting with the heat.
One wave had almost swept them off their feet,
And yet they were forced to watch another
Sweep by with its shadow grey,
Though the blessed saints had told them it must pass,
And now it has disappeared
Within the horizon of the sun.
Then spake the Archbishop, "My liege,
I cannot bear to listen to these words
Of ill tidings, and must curse myself
That I heard them not in Spain:
I shall go there, and my messengers
Must seek the seat of Lucifer,
And bring you news of good to do.
You must send to the other powers
To learn what they would give for this loss
Of ours."
The merchants all went aboard their ships,
Some for provisions, some for spoils,
But most for gold,
And they brought their captives back to Moorish towns,
And sold them cheap,
And filled their holds full with treasure,
Treasures they had neither earned nor deserved,
Bought with empty wealth,
Wasted flesh, starved bones,
And innocent blood shed
On many sides by those whose avarice
Would rule them even unto the grave.
So when the merchants came on shore
The sad people bowed before them low,
Crying to the rich man, "We gave you gold,
Gold to keep and wield it at your will,
Liking you better than your own life,
Your heart is hard and cold,
Why did you trust us so?
Now we have lost you, we too must fall,
Fall by your sword,
And meet the doom that awaits us all."
But the archbishop answered, "Friend,
Do not weep so sadly,
You have kept the faith while others broke it,
And I shall not deprive you of life
Except it be for God's and your own,
And you shall die rejoicing,
Not grieving as those dead before you stood."
Then the archbishop rode towards a grove
Deep in the forest, and within it
There lived an old man who loved much
A maiden fair,
Her name was Elda, she was tall and straight,
She had blue eyes like spring tints,
Her hair was of that soft flushing hue
Only found in women of the North,
And her breath was sweet as the blossoms white
Before the snow falls on the mountains dark.
This maiden lived apart from men,
And wore a girdle round her waist
Of silken cloth, wrought with quaint devices,
Such as kings wear, only much finer,
And though it showed her trimness of limb
Still it concealed the fact that she was woe,
And often when she walked from house to house
Men stared because they could not tell her form
From any maid their eyes had seen before,
Even the princesses of far countries places,
And even maidens living in the smallest hamlets.
Therefore it was that one day when she went
To fetch water from the river, that men fabled
Was born of two loving spirits, one male, one female,
Elda noticed two men following behind her,
Two strangers none could recognize,
Nor could identify the cause of their visit,
Whether to ask about the well-water,
Or perhaps to fight in some dispute
Among the village girls, or perhaps to steal
A pheasant plucked from the garden, ere
The damsel might return to find them;
At last the astonished girl made answer,
"What strange visitors thou hast met each hour,
Unknown thyself, and strangely armed,
Have ye been sent from Mordred's camp to aid
In harm against our weak and harmless village?"
Whereat the warriors swooned upon the ground,
For surely in those days one fell stroke
Was enough to slay a valiant knight.
But ere they regained their strength they rose
And followed through the forest,
Intent upon their road to overtake
The strangers who had entered that way
With purpose to rob the maiden,
Or some worse crime than thieving
Might await them, then they halted
Because a mighty tree stood in the way
Which if removed from the place
Might ruin the plan which they had laid
To assault the damsel,--they knew not why,
So carefully they had screened her from view.
But when the huge trunk was removed
Their course was cleared, and onward still they moved,
Until they gained a hillock steep and lone,
Whose rugged top overlooked a wide plain
Stretching away beyond it to the west,
Whence the sun sinks slowly down into the sea
Behind high walls of rock and wood,
Uncertain whether to embrace the land,
Or roll his clouds across the heavens.
Upon the summit sat a noble knight,
Girt with a shining mail, which blazed with gold,
He stood with both his hands beneath his brows
Pressing them firmly together, frowning
Toward the maid, who yet clung to him, clinging
As children cling to their parents dear,
While he gazed steadily on her face,
Fearing to move a single whisker,
Though impatiently he wished to speak,
But unable to break the link that tied him.
His face was beautiful, his eyes were clear,
Yet something in the way he spoke was rude,
Rude and delicious all at the same time,
Like the sound of music heard alone
After long waiting,--like the look of Beauty
Approaching through trees,--or like the gleam of moonshine
In dewy meadows after rain.
He seemed a man of enormous size,
More than six feet tall, and large as strong,
Muscular, and tough, with reddish hair
Blown about his forehead and his temples,
Clad in a breastplate and a helmet,
Waving in his hand a firm silver spear,
And facing directly toward the maid,
Who shrank back fearing he would smite her,
Leaving her empty seat amid the rest,
For trembling still and hesitating
Did the small lass remain seated there.
But soon the brave Arthur judged her fears
Were groundless, for the chief of knights
Looked neither to his left nor right,
But addressed her thus by name:
"Thou must not shrink and fear me, child,
I am no monster, great or small,
And what I want shall be done without,
I care not for my height, my weight,
My brawny limbs, my smooth cheek, or forehead,
Or the beauty of my features,
No more than these do yours or mine,--
I am but a simple shepherd Knight,
And as such need no help from me."
Then straightway forth stepped Lancelot, glancing
Quickly around him, as he said,
"O lady fair and full of grace,
If ever thou'rt frightened in the field,
Now is your opportunity,
Command the knight here who fights for thee."
She looked up quickly, afraid he'd see
Something wrong with her, but nothing nigh,
So saying, from where she sat down again
Before the knight, and placed herself
Full-clothed upon his horse's humpback,
Her slender fingers clutching the shield
Wherewith himself and harness lined,
Then with quick gesture pointed Westward,
And, bidding call the other knights,
On either side advanced along the path
That led them to the lists again.
Silence ensued between them both,
Both thoughtful, sad, yet also curious,
As they now pursued the solitary quest
Of studying each the other's faces,
Each listening to the other's words,
Listening for sounds of speech beyond the hills,
Sounds that reach only those who've left the earth,
And leave the voiceless wilderness unheard.
One word, and thenceforth there was an end
Of idle talk and stifled laughter,
A sudden cry, and then the silence again,
Save for the goat-bells' sweet and heavenly chime,
Sole voice that echoed out of valley and mountain,
And the green reeds rustling at the margin
Of the swift brooklet, whose little ripples
Lulled the heart into peace and slumber.
Again the damsels took their seats
Beneath the tower of the lists,
They too drew off the green cloth,
Placing within its golden case
The crown that bore the golden crest,
And gave it to the maidens one by one;
And then the feast was spread, and everything
Was ready for the grand entertainment
Of Arthur's household and his knights.

The morning dawned bright and cheerful,
But gloomily interspersed with cloud
Burst o'er the upland pastures, so that
The grasshopper came to deem it good
To seek another food for his young,
And the frog, though not so reticent,
Would sometimes let a ray of sunlight
Through his thick armour, and would hide among
The crusted waters that bubbled by
The water-founts, for heat and thirst are common
to every living thing.
And when the cock crew, the thrush's song
Rose through the soft blue air, and the catkins
Whispered amongst themselves a moment,
Then up above the leaves a star could be seen,
Or a cricket flying far across the fields,
Or perhaps a kite aloft on white clouds,
Or a bird suddenly vanishing in the wood,
Until the next hour showed its light below.
Thus, even while the sun was ascending,
All things grew dark at once and sober,
Even as a corpse lying in the night
Grew warm and heavy, and cast a faint light
From beneath its open grave, till the moon
Rose in her throne, and washed away
Those shadows with her silver rays of light.

Meanwhile the guests were coming individually,
Three hundred men and women, lords and countesses,
And children of all ages, black and white,
And some with gaunt frames, and all with fair skin,
With long and curled beards, and shining eyes,
While many had locks like Mary Magdalen,
And walked with quiet steps, and seemed to breathe
Easy as though they breathed dry ivy leaf.
Some wore their silks broad and brown, and some
Their velvet doublets, all in purple dye;
Others had the look of courtiers, wearing
Their high jewelled watches and rich gold rings,
While others still appeared untidy beggars,
Who ate bitter bread and drank hot tea,
But kept their mouths moving and looking well,
For all were cleanly and very well bred.
There were tall noblemen, and short barons bold,
There were burghers, some with red hair and cheeks,
And some with grizzled beards, and some with whiskers;
There were squires and serjeants, seneschals, porters,
And chamberlains, captains and subalterns,
There were royal admirals and chief colonels,
And generals of the army, and chiefs of staff,
Serving the Lord High King and the Queen Mother;
Serving well indeed, for they died so seldom--
No more than any other people.

When the banquet ended, the last course was served,
Then rose the guest who spoke first, and asked aloud:
"Tell me, my lady, have you read Sir Richard Burton,
Who wrote the Earthly Paradise and The Vision and the Soul?"
The lady made answer to the question thus:
"I have not read that man thoroughly, nor do I know
If he be alive or dead." "Well, tell me, then, if thou art
A creature of these dwelnesses, or dost bide
Here in this castle with us? For we are distressed
By news of him brought us from abroad, and much
Disappointed, because of absence of his lord
He has not sent us word." And she replied: "Since
You desire to hear, I will inform you frankly
What hath been our state before this change of fortune.
We owned a farm, and upon that farm we sowed
Large seedlings for a future gain; but soon we found
That money spent alone could not pay the rent,
So we sold the farm, and procured laborers
From those that worked the land, and got them to pay
Fees and rentals, and finally obtained enough
To pay the full amount. But when now the year
Caught on, and the rents were due, we sought to borrow
From several banks, but could not get the cash required,
And the bank refused to lend us the funds,
On general principles that said: 'Your affairs
Are irregular; here are your loans but lately closed,
Nor appear to have yielded to your demands.'
At this we were deeply troubled, and reflection
Made us both uneasy. We therefore made application
To the town bank, which did give us credit full
Without either interest or surcharge. This time
We were not discouraged, and resolved to try
Another institution, and this led us to
READER'S BAY, where we opened an office
In business at once. At first no service we
Performed, but waited and avoided various dangers
Which beset other bankers. In this way
Our firm of Merchant Taylors was early accepted
By the great banking house of Hoyes, where
My partner and myself were placed in trust,
Although we did not hold our places for long,
For it was decided that we should go into
Business of our own. Thus we went about
Directing business to avoid various troubles
Of our own, and making our profits stretch
Wide as possible. Many years we lived
In this place, enjoying good wages and good quarters,
And had ample means to take the air and enjoy
Ourselves. But after many years, one day
My partner and I took out our lines, and turned
Out our wheels, intending to sell the goods we made;
But ere we had done speaking, there came a knock at the door,
And my partner and two detectives entered the shop,
Who stood around us while my partner without saying anything
Was showing them our ware, and asking what he could learn
About our trade, and whence he came. They looked stern,
And one of them held up his hand, and said, "This is Caledon,"
Pointing to a place in the street where a warehouse stood.
"This is the place," said my partner, "where a few days ago
They crucified poor Bridget, and raised the cross against her!"
And turning to me, continued, "She was a Jewess born,
And married to a Wesleyan preacher. She knew nothing
Of this plan, and fell down groaning, crying, and praying,
Until they dragged her away, and she is now in jail
With the strange man." Then he told how she fought back,
And how she broke away and ran away, and how they caught her,
And how she confessed everything, and has pleaded guilty!
These things he related with such calm and comfort,
It gave me new strength, and I felt my tears come again.
Afterwards my partner and I often walked along
The river shore, and saw the prison-wall and the ropes
That hung over it thick, and thought how sad a sight
It would be to drop and die beneath it. My mind's eye
Could picture it all--the gallows high up, the fence
Hanging over it thick, the cords that wound about
Each hanged man's neck, the blackness of the roof above,
And then the floor below, with men lying round it,
Crutches thrown up like sticks to hinder walking,
Or heads covered up like coffins; then the wall
Behind it, and the hangmen coming and going
Like phantoms by a corpse!
Then I thought of Helvellyn, and how the people
Had taken each in his turn to hang him, and how
Their necks and feet had been broken by the rope
Lined with bone, and how their brains had flowed through
Those large holes left in the block, and how one lay
Groveling, and how another groaned and tried to speak,
And how a third was trying to stand, though his face
Seemed to be stuck like a frozen fish. My heart grew sick,
And my cheek blushed scarlet, and I wished I were far
Afar from these scenes.
Yet how happy must have been the lovers who first
Were hanged in England, and then cut up and eaten!
How sweetly must the fat knife touch their soft throats!
No more must their young eyes open, and no more
Sweet lips be given to sighing, and sweet mouths to kissing!
Oh, God in heaven! That kind, merciful man, whose finger
Is on the pulse of every mischief, and who takes
Good without asking thanks, let his ear remember
Us and ours, the Jews! Let the wind lift our cries
Up to the holy temple in our father's city,
That they may find us out, and hear our lament
And our moan, and help us if it can!
Such are the thoughts that make me still to sing,
Though my lungs and throat are quite unquiet.
I do not feel so much as know
That I am silent, yet I seem to breathe
More than before, and my spirit runs
To join the song. Oh, sing on, oh, sing
Till the dark clouds start under the sky
To show the mercy-seat filled with light,
And till the vaulted roofs of Jerusalem
Shine white above it all!
But, Philo, keep your poppies for yourselves:
We gave them to you when you parted from us--
Perhaps you will give them to someone else.
What? Will nobody wear them any more?
Can anybody eat them? Does nobody care
Whether they grow or not? Do you think they smell
As nice as they used to? Have you forgotten
All those wild nights when you sat and sang
All alone, and snorted them? You never ceased
To watch the moon rise behind the trees,
And dreamed of singing there--and soon enough
You found yourself on the hill-side, alone
There among the ruins of Jerusalem,
Singing, too, among the tombs, and soon enough
You found the whole valley rocking to your voice,
And your quick fingers picking up stars and flowers
In your bag, and you laid your hands upon them,
And suddenly out of the blue sky there came
God's Voice, and you heard yourself say, "O Song,
Let everyone see that I am good, but me!"

What a curious thing it is to feel yourself
Changing as water changes into wine!
Water becomes so quiet and tender, and at last
So full of swiftness and luxuriance, that we almost
Can't believe we are holding an animal between
Its jaws. We scarcely feel the trunk itself at all,
For that is bound and secured firmly in its place
By the elastic skin, which lifts and sinks according to
The will of the singer. The air inside the skull
Becomes transfigured by the power of the voice,
Transfigured, and we cannot even tell why:
We only know that afterwards the silence is less,
The color of the sky is altered, and the earth
Seems hushed and heavy. And this happens because,
When the blood leaves the body, it takes with it
Our consciousness and our mental powers. It is as if
Before our very eyes, the shining of the sun
Becomes shadowed by the darkness of night, and vice
Versa. When I go to my bed, at evening, I
Feel myself changing, growing old, and worn
With wanderings, and then I fall asleep. In dreams,
I see myself lying down in the churchyard,
And feeling around me, and finding the ground
Softened and hollowed out, as if by some hand,
And then I wake up, and become aware
Of being buried alive, and rising again
Into the real world, and finding myself
Very old, and wearing the crown of thorns,
And dying daily, and then I die.

It seems that in the beginning, Creation
Was calm and peaceful, and then the angels
Made a great noise, and caused disorder;
They made such a tumult in the heavens,
That the mighty azure host became worried
And disturbed. Then God said: "It is time for me
To put a stop to this racket.  I shall do it
By putting an end to this uproar."
He looked into the abyss, and saw blackness,
Which made Him wonder what could cause
This commotion. Then He turned to His work,
And built the firmament, and separated
The starry space from the rest, and lined it
From the depths below, and told the angels:
"Be ready, therefore, for I am about to do
Something here that will astonish you."
Then they were ready. They ascended unto
The upper regions, where the Lord Almighty
Hisself commanded that they should dwell.
And the Spirit of God moved over the waters,
And breathed upon the mountains, and their hairs
Throbbed with righteous wrath, and was transformed
Into celestial forms. Their faces took on
Blazing rays of brows, and majestic voices
Rang forth, and God called aloud: "Come, ye blessed,

And bring all creatures back into their places.
And let the sea be red, and turn away the feet
Of every seeker after pleasure. Be the storm
Blacker, and drive every man his own way.
And have one taste of joy, and let me pass
My judgment on another race of men."

Thereat they fell upon their faces, and confessed
Their sins one by one, and heaved up breath, and went
Back unto their places. Heaven opened her gates,
And the Holy Ghost descended on them, and they
Passed into eternal glory.

Now he knew that he had been betrayed
By Satan, who would offer him his life
Beside the river, and sought him quickly,
Leaving the path he was upon. He ran
After Satan, and drew him close before
The Gates of Hell, while the fiend returned
Unto his cavern, and their strife renewed,
Fierce warring with themselves, until the strength
Of God's might prevailed, and Satan was forced
To thrust his soul into death.

But Eve remained without, for she had no faith
In her weak Maker. She longed to linger there,
A white immortal in a dark corrupt world,
Till the day of redemption should bring a change
Unto her, and her vile nature make restoration
To purer, angelic creations. Adam prayed
To set her free--"Or should I call heaven down
On thy head, for having done this deed?
Should I be killed for this, though guilty still?"--
She answered him, "Neither shalt thou be slain;
Rather, being sinless, I will make thee live
Without death or pain, by gifting thee revival,
Such resurrection as hath never died nor age,
Existing with the sons of light in the skies,
Resumed and renewed through the blissful aid
Of sacred knowledge. Where thou conversest
Will I come; what thou writeest I will read;
What thou readest I will discuss; and when I sleep,
Thy heart will rise above thy paper, and give thee
Sorrow for its waste." So Adam wrote, and gave
His wife a secret promise that he would not kill
Her enemy, if she sent him food and drink,
And both these gifts he did well-pleased. To day
Morning brought him bread and wine, and evening brought
Gifts manifold. From the first it grew more luscious,
Until within a short season all things Adam found
Good for his mind and spirit, fair to view, and tasteful,
Flavor and appearance of Paradise.

So many books were written, and so much skill,
Within these latter days, that it is hard to know
Who first wrote any book which was not soon understood
Beyond his own family. The poets of those
Hard times, who could not sing, painted pictures true,
Had from their hearts before their eyes came images
True of our final state, and dared to show it.
Some sang of love, some sorrow, some sweet delight,
All sadness lifting into rapture, and showing
As clear as daylight. All were sincere, and none
Showed less devotion than these early bards
To truth revealed. We today are far behind
These early sages, but we may aspire
Through their old lights to growth and maturity
And hope to reach like them.

Our second parent,
Like the first, was made, as you suppose, out of mud.
Not quite so soft a stuff as that which made the first man,
Yet stiff enough to keep his frame in being. And yet
Though formed from mud, he left behind no imperfect creature.
He walked upright, he talk'd and acted uprightly,
Was strong to walk, and able to fight, and did not need
Another to protect him from danger. In fine, he lived
As if he belonged to us. He was kind to all he met,
And loved peace, and was for doing good, and wanted not
To be obdurate because of wrongs himself had receiv'd.
He was not vain, nor little, nor to middle size
Created him intended for an dwarfish dwarf,
With crooked claws, and legs of cruelly lengthened
For crawling about. He had an eye of keen repute,
And such a voice as does justice to merit, and scarce
Any diminutive mite could ever catch his ear
More fervently talking his merits, than he did
When he stood up to speak against the folly of Man.
He fought fair, he built forts to stop the foe, he dwelt
In houses to defend them, and his name spread over lands
No foot could plow, and he was happy. But now he lies
Here in his green field, and looks toward nothing here
But to the east where Venus walks, and there he sees
The new created heavens open unto Him
Who lives forever, and can do whatever he pleases.

I have seen him sitting at his door, and sighing,
While birds of pleasant song were singing, and I thought
That they meant him good, and wished that he would go
Out of the melancholy night, and sit under the trees
And listen to their music, and then come home to bed,
Where he might lie and dream of Heaven, and wake in joy,
Like me, for I am happier than I knew before.

My dear and only Love, I feel thy breath,
It stirs me like a quiet music. Thou dost lift
My spirits higher than from my low estate
I rose, and with thine arms round me cast myself
Into bright dreams, and joyed that I could move
Him to embrace me. Dear, I cannot choose but tell
Thou wert a Tree among the flowers that grew
Before God lifted up His hand to make me free.

Oft, when the moon has look'd most kindly on me,
And lit my hearth with her pale beams, and breathed
Peace into all my shaded plans, and drawn
Life's raiment over me, and with her hair
Made fountains of brooks, and watered trees, and made
The face of earth more living and more fair,
Then have I laid me down, and stooped to dream
Of all the glorious things thou couldst reveal
To me by night or day, till I became
A laughing-stock to all the world, and yet
Would do anything to see thee again.

I have been glad when rains have changed the leaves
Of grass to silver, and set ponds adrift
Among the fields; I have been sad when storms
Have swept away the water-courses, and filled
Caves with dry sand, and every bird had flown,
Or scarcely flown, and I had starved: I have felt
Sad, very often, and slept through it all.

I have been glad when sunbeams had shone
On all the fields, and fires had burnt brightly,
And all the woods had drunk their fill of oil,
And seeds had budded in abundance, and ripened
Their grains of gold: I too have known
Deep grief, when clouds had gathered o'er the sky,
And scorched the tender foliage, and the wheat
Fled, unsung, from its stalk, and died in the furrows.

There was a time when I had hopes and fears,
Long hopes that were sure to disappoint,
Dreadful fears that I should lose thee,
Far off, beyond recovery.
I know what happiness is,
Sweet Heart! 't is to think thou art nigh,
Nor fear the loss of sight or life.

They say that lovers live on and on,
Living out the length and breadth of days
One after one, and never meet
Each other's eyes, and never greet
Hand clasped hands, and never smile,
Never hold each other's hand,
Never meet in market-place, nor speak,
Never converse face to face.

But I who have trod these paths of clay,
These weary ways of parting friends,
Know how sweet it is to spend long hours
In summer shade, and draw the curtains close,
Closely lock the doors, and turn in bed,
Sleep and forget, until once more we start
To live our full-fed years again.

So let us love, and sleep, and eat,
Till spring return, and Nature bring
Her crystal crown of brightest gems,
And lay her pearls upon our brows,
And kiss away the tears that fall,
Kiss gently, and soothe softly, and say--
"We know not what we are, nor what we're worth."

From my window I watch the snow,
As it falls heavily and silently,
White as my own soul, which seems to be
Part of the white sheet nailed across my heart.
How silent flows the river of clear stars!
And through the deep and boundless blue of heaven
How beautiful white clouds seem to float!

I am old with many years,
Yet I am young again today;
For the years of youth are few,
And golden visions are behind me,
Which will never again appear.

I remember the happy places
With their roses and their sunshine,
And the magic of the fairy land,
But I'm alone in dark and gloomy alleys,
Watching the flakes upon the roof.

I am lonely in this way,
Because I've no one now to show me where
Those sunny hills were born, or why
Those forests grew along the banks of streams,
Why those mighty rivers flowed and played,
And the skies were hung with countless stars.

I used to think about beauty,
But now I don't even know whether
Beauty is really there at all,
Though perhaps there's something in the air,
Something in the snow that cloaks the earth,
That makes the past and future blend so well,
And brings back the happiest times of all.

When you walk by the streamlet side
At twilight hour,
You may sometimes spy a lovely maid,
Who sports and plays by yonder tree;
She does not care though rain are falling
If twilight's gild the world below.

By the pool at the garden gate
You may sometimes spy an image bright
Of some loved one of late departed;
He waves his hand above the wave,
He sees the firelight gleam,
And laughs aloud if you should stop and talk
While he is watching the play within.

Oft, in the midnight cold,
Ere slumber's chain has bound me,
Fond Memory brings the vision wide
Of some dead angel shining there;
Some cherished friend who lived for us,
Whose light still shines around us,
Forever living in the hearts of men.

Then wander far away
Along the winding road of dreams,
Where Time hath made a labyrinth of stone
His dwelling place;
Songs ye heard in youth can still him singing,
Even as melody comes back to him.

The ghostly faces in the fountains
Are laughing at the gambols of boys;
The trees are clad in festal attire,
And fluttering is the wreath of peace;
But oh, beware lest ye become his prey,
For he'll follow whither thou goest.

Thou seest a city built upon sand,
A wall of marble, white and pure,
Set round with houses, one beneath another;
Above them soaring palm-trees grow,
And blooming gardens blossom everywhere,
And fragrant balms and spices breathe throughout.

Is it the Arabian morn?
Is it the day of Zamzama?
Or the morning of some other year,
Blithe as the breath of Hodeirah's race,
And like unto the sun's dazzling ray
Spreading o'er the universe its splendour?

No, that was never yet beheld
By mortal eye, beheld by human ear,
Save what in dreams we dreamed of while awake,
And what from spirit's lips was spoken;
This was the first dawn whence the veil was lifted.

There came a voice from out the distance,
Like distant music on the air:
"'Tis the Prophet's voice," said the Beloved,
And bowed his head and waited till the darkness fell.
And lo, afar off, beyond the horizon,
Glitter'd a splendor strange and terrible.

It was a lake of liquid crystal,
Through whose depths there ever seemed to pass
Soft shadows and glimmering stars;
Its surface like the whiteness of a nail,
Untouched by ripple or breeze;
Bright eyes of fish that dart beneath
Their waters, when they feel the sunlight.

And there were people passing onward,
On elephants, without rein or whip;
And horses neighing and grazing cattle,
Without rein or branding whip;
And women adorned with jewels,
Clothed like the leaves of autumn tree,
And moving like the wind among
The foliage, lightly and swiftly.

They saw the Archangel Michael standing
In appearance grim and sable,
Angling beside the waves of gold;
And the black giant, Gabriel,
Standing near, his forehead craggy
Against the rocks, his beard like flame.

Then spake the Angel, "O Thou who dwellest
Upon the shores of Siona's lake,
Look thither, look thither toward the north,
Look downward to the bottom of the lake.
See how a cloud of dust rises upward,
As from the southward sands of Adair,
As if the coast were being dried up."

"Yes," answered Michael, "and behold how it drifts
Over the island forest, dusky and dun,
Dissolving in the atmosphere of midair,
From the presence of the Angel Angier,
Who here stands sentinel, his battle-shield.
Now turn thine eyes to the eastward, see!
How the whole land is shrouded in night!"

"What means this tremor in my bones?"
Said Morvale, frowning; "thou wouldst have me believe
These things because I say them true--
Because thy heart inclines to think them true,
Not knowing what the truth might mean.

"I will not bear a coward's blame,
Nor bear any evil shame,
Since no one but God knows why these things be,
Nor ever could discover,
Though he had buried all the earth awhile
With all its creatures, both man and beast.

"Yet 'tis past belief that any one
Could do such deeds in vain;
God alone knows why these things are so.
Shall I swear by God, which gave me birth,
That nothing happens but good?
Or shall I swear by Saint George, the warrior,
That I dare do anything amiss?

"Alas! nor e'en thy bravery know,
If thou didst only try to tell it;
Each word would come from despair,
Each blow a hammer's drop from heaven.
Thy sword is clumsy, thy archer's bow
Would break before it draw the arrow through.

"Thinkest thou that thy great prowess
Can keep possession where ownership is none?
Man's rights are trampled on from shore to shore,
And even in England now they seem to lose them;
Take courage, then, fellow-creatures and friends,
And fight for your own rights, though you may fear to name it!"

He ceased, and Morvale gazed upon him long,
His features grave and thoughtful, and his eyes
Deep lit with anger and with fire;
Then mutter'd, "To arms, then; but first let us have an interview

So saying, he arose and took his leave;
Leaving his horse at the tent-head, he passed
Along the beach and into the wood,
Where from the hollow side of a hill there came
A little brooklet, tumbling over stones
Like a huge waterfall, or a wave that breaks
When a ship hits on the reefs below.

Here, with a few followers, went Sir Richard
To seek his enemies, and found them there
All seated round a table high,
In silence taking their repast,
While under canopy and silent lamp
The angel stood before them there.

"We ask thee," said he, "who put to flight
Our angels, when they served your foes;
For if your champion had been less than brave,
Your world had still been saved, but now our doom
Is sealed, and we are doomed to die;
But since your Champion is so bold,
Be happy, gentle ladies, hate not him."

"Hush!" said one, "there can never be peace
Between lovers' lips while one lives;
Love kills this quarrel, and we've enough of death,
Besides all the crosses of life.
Let be, kind sir," said Mary, "we love to hear you talk."
"Lords and Ladies of Ease," said Richard, "you need not flout us;

"Come sit down, madam, and shut out the sun;
There's plenty of time and weather for our tale:
Sit quietly, and don't interrupt;
This story of old was told to you before,
And as much has been repeated as lies in all men's minds
Of those sweet times when women were free.

"You remember, then, how the season came about
When first the flowers began to bloom?
First the mavis, then the blackbird, then the thrush;
The lark first sings at dawn, and leaves his roof
To peep at the heavens, and waken the air
With trills of joy, till dawns the next day after;
The cock then crowed, and each bird made known his name,
Till May itself seemed merry with the children's voices.

"It was just this way, too, with our household cares,
Which piled up more trouble than they could bear;
No child ate bread, or slept without a tear;
The carpets needed cleaning, the chairs to shine,
The dustpan failed us, and ourselves we needed reform.

"One day, as I was sweeping, and the house all filled
With dust and tatters, and the smoke-hole brimmed full,
Down through the chimney pell-mell there flew a dove,
Full of caresses, kisses, and wantonness,
As pure as any, and far fitter for a woman's heart
Than a man's, and sure to make her mind and sense unset.

"She rested there, and spread her pretty wings,
And settled in the dirty dust, and sat on my knee;
And I felt, as I held her, how like a treasure she was
To the poor, weary servant who loved her so;
Her warm breast, her silver pinions, and her bright eye;
I knew I could trust her with myself or my goods.

"And so I said, 'My pretty captive, what a look!'
And pressed her to my bosom--now you'll understand--
'Do you love me?' She answered, 'Yes, Sir,' to that;
'Why should you ask such a question?' I cried,
'What else should I do, being already mine?'
And she replied, 'You must serve me, Sir, to-day.'

"'Nay, nay,' quoth I, 'pray explain--what is love?
May Heaven forgive me if I cannot tell
Nor spell the word--by thine own mother taught.'
At this she smiled, and turned her face away,
And would not answer further, but withdrew;
And I looked hard to find some language fit
To speak to her which might be understood.

"'Alas! alas! for service, home, and all,
If this be love, which seems so strange and wild;
I thought thy nature always such as thou,
Was mild and loving, kind and true,
Now it hath come to pass that I have caught
By force, and guile, and skull-like cunning,
Thy love, and God in heaven shall judge us both!

"'Yet, though I weep and think it blasphemy,
Sincerely believing it my sin,
That thou shouldst lie to me, and dost defy
God's omnipotence and law,
Not even by God's help shalt thou escape
Toil or martyrdom, but willest surely burn
Beneath the fiery scourge of God's anger red!'"

Sir Tannhauser heard him, and his hair
Waved as in ecstasy of joy,
His eyes shone brightly, and his face grew white,
He bowed himself upon his long white staff,
Then lifted up his hands and prayed aloud:

"O gracious God, who seest
All things from above,
From whom all good proceeds,
Grant me the vision of thy throne,
For I am humbled and ashamed
That I did not believe thee, Lord!
So many prophecies were fulfilled
Of this fair thing which cometh down
To show herself to me.

"Therefore, let it not be called faith,
But rather be esteemed
A something unseen and still;
Though perhaps it may not seem
As beautiful as thou wilt,
But only as eternal and strong,
Until thou give it form and beauty.

"Behold, I humble myself again
Before thy feet, and kiss the dust,
Forgive myself, the Church, and all,
Because I could not hold thee close enough,
And was afraid of making thee sad;
But now I know thou art immortal,
And that thou lovest me no less for that."

Thus reproachfully prayed he, while the light
In his wet face became dim and gray,
And he found little words affording naught;
But when the last words left his lips, and the light
Sunk slowly out, he sank straightway to rest,
And dreamed dreams of peace, and visions of bliss
Wherein he saw Beatrice face to face.

When the first stirrings of the morning came,
They two rose from their repose profound,
And went forth together through the streets
Together, walking hand in hand.
Upon the hill the priest awoke from his dream,
And saw the sun rise over the earth;
And then he too ascended to his feet,
And followed them, weeping bitterly.

And soon the two were at the place
Where flows the river Arno, and thence falls
Into the sea; and thereupon they came
Into an open space large and spacious,
And set their faces toward the north,
Toward Fano, where the Roman soldier killed
His Saint with its first blood on Friday night,
1284, when the deed was done on Gianni;
For here the old Fountain, which had been turned
Into a fountain of water, filled with gold.

Thereafter into the middle of the land
They wandered onward, seeking ever more
The door whence evil had appeared to spring.
This way and that they sought until they found
An opening in the rock, wherein was wrought
A window, small, and dark, and high above
Its neighbors, like a dove's nest on pine-tree roots.

Through this they passed, and other gate than low,
Which closes on the street; and entered then
A house, without picture, stone, or plaque,
Save here and there a character or name
Set in some precious material, painted well,
Or carved with chisel, -- or these had been neither.

Inside was hung a shining sword with hilts
Of golden wire; and on the table lay
Two books, one of papal bulls and canons,
Another of Hebrew and Greek grammar;
With Arabic glossaries; works of art
Of imitative sculpture; rare old antiques;
Rare old books on chiricordia, sorcerers' rites;
And perfumes damasked like the young Augustan.

Below the ceiling hung a jeweled box
Encrusted with emeralds, worth most men's thoughts
Who call their cities "city of the plain;"
Gold plates and cups, whose taste would never change;
A casket made of beaten silver, cut
Like those in Attic vases of the olden
Time, and filling itself with gems and gold
To make the wearer's voice echo far and wide
On thundering waves of crashing diamond.

Papal mitre, proud censer, chains of jewels,
Ribbons gilded black, and filagreements
Made of the darkest ebony, -- all these
Lay scattered round the shelves about the doors,
And in the corners, half concealed and half,
Showed like a weather-beaten map the shore
Of Papenburg Bay, whereon the sailors swear
By fable and ancient story holds Kiejstut.

Beyond lay lands beyond the horizon's bars,
Whose sandy shores are dotted with blue buoys,
Lying at distance, marked by speckled flags
And colored shells, and by great white sails
At times seen sailing o'er the tranquil seas,
And seen again across the calm at dawn,
When westward spreads the red sea like a flower
Unfolding after sundown's dewy sleep.

Here lie the bones of emperors who reigned,
Reigning, and rising to power, on this coast:
And yet another emperor lies beneath
These walls, but poor,--he died so rich; his grave
Is like a summer-house, roofless and bare
Without a chimney, where the autumn rains
Scarce let the leaves fall, and the winter snows
Make all the chambers warm.  Here lie the bones
Of many knights, whose names have gone down in fame,
Like stars in heaven, or mighty empires!

From Italy, from Greece, and Rome before,
Have come their children here, and brought their art,
Their knowledge, and their wisdom.  They have built
Rich shrines upon our rocks, and galleries
Above the clouds, and laid within our valleys
The abode of gods.  From them have spread
All arts and sciences: for in these is given
The universe as a theatre, whereon
Art may display her powers and mysteries,
To give pleasure while she stands, and learning still
New frontiers to explore, new possibilities

Our fathers said no law should be higher
Than that which Nature gave; and once indeed
In fear of God they bowed the knee, and worshipped
His workmanship; but now their right is lost,
And every day exposes to contempt
Their practices and beliefs.  The Pope, whose power
Is greater than that of kings, commands what shall
Be and not be kept; and we, whose authority
Comes from the Lord himself, must judge his laws,
Not his decrees.  We know what life is, and how
Men live below their ability, and must lift
Their souls to gain the blessing of a brighter hope.

We know the price at which we sell our freedom;
That price is eternal life.  That alone is free
Within the compass of one human heart,
Though bound by all the world.  But if these cords
Are broken, if the heart that bore us thus
Breaks too, then our lives are dead, and none is left
But lying memory, and the green earth wipes out
All traces of shame.  Then let us hold the hand
That withers, for the world it self will perish,
Too rotten for any record to remain."

"O my Beloved!  I am older now, and wiser,
For knowing thyself.  I read history and think
How nations rose and fell, and saw the light break
Over the face of man, until the darkness closed
Around him in the dark ages.  And yet, O my Love,
I find myself adrift in this web of love,
This palace of the soul, and feel as if the threads
Were parted from me and the house were already fallen,
Save that it always seems to rise on the wings
Of some unseen wind.  Oh, if thou couldst see what I
See daily around me, and hear the shrieks of pain
As of an unredeemed prisoner in his dungeon,
Thy own dear eyes would turn away.  This terrible power
Of love makes tyranny of evil, and of sin,
Making us liars through the centuries.  'Tis Satan that speaks,
Saying over all the world that death is sweet,
And that the present only finds its bitterness
In undeclared despair.  He bids us bear the chain
With patience, and forget the thousandth part of wrong,
Until the day shall come when men shall wake from dreams
Of ease, and look into each other's faces, and change
Harshly condemnatory thoughts against ourselves.
Oh, my Beloved!  It is enough to drive a man
Into madness.  If I had been content to dwell
Alone among those fair creatures only found
Among the lakes of Paradise, nor made
A covenant with a rival kindred,
Nor joined a faith with a false god, nor dwelt
Among unhappy people, nor had sought
Friendship with a kind spirit, nor loved,
Nor spoken tenderly to a beloved,
Nor blessed, nor forgiven, nor prayed for, him,
I believe he never should have sunk so low.
He has defiled my soul beyond all punishment,
Made of my being hostage for his sake,
Bond slave of his liberty.  He claims the price
Of foul dishonor.  His servants!  Let him go!
Let him depart from Paradise!"

Then came
The angel of the dawn, who blew upon the wind
Along the desert sand, till the drowsy air
Was heavy with the scent of burning foliage,
And the cool fragrance wafted far into the hearts
Of the waiting multitudes.  A great shout arose,
And voices loud and deep echo it raised--
Away to the gates of Heaven!  And soon there broke
A second cry, and onward rush'd a third,
Warn'd by the sounding iron hinges, and wrought
By thousands, that the portals wide open stood
Wide open, and the Monarch of the World
Stood entering, armored in glory, from the East,
Where the bright pillar rose from the West, and led
His golden chariot.  Loudly round the sands
Resounded "Peace unto the kingdoms of the Earth,"
And "Good-will unto men throughout the world," and "Peace
Upon the water," and "Glory to God on high;"
And "Down, down forever" went the shouting feet
Of the conquering legions, and "Long may He reign!"
And "Death to the infidel!" was the greeting shouted
By the triumphant combatants.

It was a scene
So beautiful that, long time to come,
Even after Eden, men would say:  "Had
There been no Adam here, there had been no Eve,
No fall, no curse, no sacrifice!"
They would add:  "These were the primal cries
Of nature, waking from the slumbering
Of four million years!"

At last,
From the East, along the sands, the Angel lifted
A flaming sword, and downward swung it like
An arrow, and again it vanished, and then
Again it sounded, and onward passed, and struck
The warrior whom it smote, and upward still it went,
And onward still, and reached the barrier set
Against its path.  The Angel, returning, said:
"Set up a banner, and send forth the signal-word,
That I may enter, and receive the fire from heaven,
Which peace and victory shall recompense to Hell."
Then spake Satan;--"God give thee thanks, O Prince of lies,
That thou hast shewn me these pale and trembling forms,
To perform thine heart's desire!  But now tell
Me, thou who seest thy life-blood drip on the earth,
What fortress of thy castle is this?"
"My son," said Sodom, "for thy answer choose
The safest fortresses.  My one hope and security
Lies in the walls of Gath, and the strength and might
Of the towers which surround it.  There stands the place
Of his destruction, and yet there are witnesses,
Both men and angels, who will guard the city,
Ready to crush their foes, should any dare invade."
"If they should crush me," said Tymodius,
"Be sure that I would not wait, but would descend
Escape the disgrace.  But if I remain,
And am spared to bear witness against them,
Their vengeance will be swift and sudden."

"But shalt thou die rather?" Satan answered,
Gazing with cruel eyes upon his father.
"How canst thou hope," he demanded, "where way
Ordains thee to flee, unless perchance thou mak'st
Some new invention, which our enemies may
Unweave, and spread confusion through the land?
For thou shalt lose both honor and thy crown,
Should they find out the cause of thine escape."

"Father," answered Tymodius, "if I fly
Must leave behind me everything I own,
And every kin and friend I have left home,
Either to grieve without, or live without,
Or wander desolate, or perish by the sword,
Or, perhaps, by slow starvation."
With that, he loosed his hand from off his head,
Shook off the armor from his shoulders, flung
The helmet from his brow, and bare his face
Unto the sun.  Then rose an earthquake shock,
And from the cliff rang thunderings, as when all
Troy raves about the Cyclops' lord, the Deep,
In monster waves from many distant lands
Hither and thither driven by racking storm.
Tydeus saw it, and he groaned within himself,
Pressing his hands together, and stretching out
One arm before him, where the breastplate now
He held, and drew it backward, muttering, "Alas!"
"Now woe is me," he cried, and sank upon
His knees, and clasping both his fathers', implored
God's help.  With suppliant voice and begging hands
They heard his supplications, for the air
Was light with singing, and the birds began
To chirp everywhere.  Straight through the midst
Up sprang the Archangel Michael, and took
The shield of Sodu, charged with numbers written
On brass, so plainly that no man could miss
The triple message.  On his glowing cheek
Was deathless glory, and his countenance shone
Like radiant flame.  All the people clapped,
All the knights cheered, and the ladies waved their wings.

Then Lotan drew near, and bended low
Before the throne, saying, "Sodom's warder, hear!
I the prince of Egypt bring three gifts to make
Sweet intercession.  First, a bullock's hide,
Second, a pair of saddles, and the third
A charger of fivescore shepherd-hounds, sharp-tempered,
Complete and ready; let my promises be
Well performed, and grace my gift."
He lowered his head, and wept bitterly,
While thus he made his petition:
"O Lord God of heavenly kingdom, thou
Who dost observe and look down on the Earth,
Grant me to go unto my dear sister,
My mother, who awaits me at her side!
She hath need of me, for she has lived seven days
In sorrowful solitude, since I returned.
Go therefore now, and back to Judaea quick,
Returning safely; while I take these words into
My bosom, and keep them inviolate."
He lowered his head again, and wept bitterly.

When Sodoma knew that Tybalt was dead,
Fearing lest he should rise again, and drive
Her sons thence from her borders, and herself
Lie without a ruler, straightway she decreed
That three children should forever govern her state.
This list contained two names of noble race,
Boreas and Lybaeus, born of one woman,
Whose maiden virtue gave them title to rule.
Next, to the house of David, did Sodomas come,
Son of Brelin, a righteous king, whom God
Endowed with wisdom and with sacred ministration.
Yet another name, more famous far than either,
Did the proud Samaritans bear to Israel,
Because of David, ark of the Lord! for He
Had with His presence shining dominion blessed
Upon them.  Thus was Rome ruled then for aye,
Through the consort of Hyrcanian Jove.

Meanwhile, in other parts, brave Gernando
Lived not unmolested; and his son, the warrior
Rodomont, enjoyed fair rule over Spain.
Young Alphonso from the same womb had spring,
As famed in battle as his grandsire great;
But he perished young, a victim doomed to fall
By impious queen Ismena's spiteful hate.

Two mighty lords possessed the realms around:
King Marsilies held the western part,
Where, 'mid immense forests, on long winters spent,
Their savage tribes still warred with naked breasts.
Nor less the monarch feared the fierce Marphisa,
Whose fierce ambition still went unspared;
Who, sprung from Philip's stock, would fain possess
Full dominions by the sea, and o'er the mountains
Spread her bold brood, and basely robb'd the vales
Of fruitful vineyards, for her dark delight.
Thus kings contend ever! each his rivals seeks
To please, or vaunts his virtues, or his faults,
With vain diversity of speech.  Brave Gernando
From his high palace viewed the hosts of war,
And wonder'd at the number of the foes
Contending for the spoil and the captives.
Warlike youths were they who led the fight,
And cruel were the trophies of the slain.
Arm'd men bore captive away, to work the ransom
Of damsels, whose sad fate had been so cruelly
Engag'd.  In his own court too lur'd the thief,
No common robber, but a marvellous thing,
Not yet describ'd, which neither age, nor years,
Nor nature, can defy--the pen may portray
What none will believe; of how vicious heart
Or guilty judgment makes some man an accomplice
To such deeds; how deep the rot which creeps within
Our very brains, and infests our very souls!
Grieving for those ravish'd, Gernando spoke;
"Unhappy youth!" said he, "thou seemest indeed
Just enter'd in thy career of crime; behold
Thy steps are yet unworried by a father's care."

Scarce had he utter'd the words he would have set
His boy upon his way to fame to follow,
When, like a falchion, all the ranks of troops
Leapt forth, by thunders teeming, and by flames
Immense the earth was fill'd.  From his pale face
Glar'd the red thunder; and dense clouds of smoke
Hid the fiery tempest.  From every quarter
Blaz'd the black fire, and shiver'd the sharp steel
From the bended sword.  The knights, amazed,
Believed their swords all drawn, and themselves
At the dread sight were strike one another's shields.

The Pagan soldiers, panic-struck, no better
Control their bowels, than if through sewers they drudg'd
A burning, smouldering, seething mass, with heads
Pressed forward by the fumes.  No shield was there,
Neither helm, nor corslet, to defend them from
The deadly stroke.  And when the first falchion falls
It takes the life of ten, save one alone;
For him death only comes.  With lifted blade
Now on the necks of these invaders pressed
Gernando; and his buckler, behind him cast
Right in front, struck down Zerbino's brother,
Basilius, valiant chieftain, above the waist.
He fell, and round him with a bridge of blood
Enwraps him, who in death is placed so near.

Then turned his back upon the foe, and fled
Over the rough ground, now turning left
And fleeing right, like some wild beast that changes
Its form in fear.  They following, after pace
Failed others hardly could pursue the chase,
So swarming is the host, and fleet is each,
Having its purpose fixed before the night.

Of old, on Africa's distant shore, the giant
Giantess of air, Aeronaid, defied
God, and his victorious angels, in wresting
The golden chains down from her endless sky
Down to hell's abyss.  She dared not with her hands
Touch heaven's threshold, fearing the wrath of God,
(Created nothingness,) unless the hand
Of her rebellious husband, proud of power,
First snatch'd her thence.  His wicked counsels still
Her loathing hated, and her spirit despised.
She therefore sought the wilderness, and there
In time past, in greater ignominie,
Tempted by Satan, she hath fallen; till this hour
Her extravagant love had raised her above
The reach of law.  To sin thus little moved
Natural justice bids us blush for eye
To see such shamefulness.  Thou, O king!  more careful
Shouldst be in honor, fortune, peace, and all,
Left among your sons without a tear.

O Saionalus!  thou shouldst have been silent,
Were it not that I wish thee wiser than
My poor advice is, and might learn of thee
How best to use it.  When I saw thee last,
Saionalus!  thou didst not turn mine eyes,
But let them wander where they might trade.
This seemed negligence; and I told thee then
I would help them as good a judge as any
Of what was done between us.  Now, doubtless,
I am less free.  But do not think me loth
To speak my mind, though now I say it out:
For I shall dare anything, while you two
Are strangers to my speech.  Let us begin.

We parted, my lord, yesterday afternoon,
After pleasant conversation, both, as we
One on the road intended going.  We met
This morning at five o'clock, and I drove
To Fairfield; to which place, late as it was,
There was a small village called LeRoy, spread out
A broad and handsome surface, with farms
Circling it, and groves, and orchards, and a town
With streets, and houses, and a post office.
I took the city; he away the country.

We came home late, I having delivered
Five babies since you died, and made them cry.
You loved those women, and they all love you--
That much at least; but there's that common-sense thing,
Which makes me wish you were still alive, and spoke
Those comforting words which used to come so well
Once on a day, long ago: "Life is brief,
Save it be saved with love."  I'm sure you know
What I mean.  If hearts could understand each other
Love would indeed be universal.

"Your Grace," said the merchant, "is not the man
Whose goods sell here; but he has money given him
By someone, and it seems the gentleman
Is wealthy.  He must be rich, for there are
Few beggars as are worthier men in
All this world beside.  Ay, there are parts of truth
Which cannot be ill got, Sir Hugh, if one
Would only take a moment to consider
The ends to which he goes.  As regards your
Intrigues with Spain--they're foolish, none can doubt;
But yet, good people, if you look at it right,
They may end happily.  You'll find, my friend,
If you will trust me, they will not end badly.
The Spanish ambassador here, just now,
Has been whispering things to our own ambassador,
Who has not forgotten how you acted
When into England, late in spring, with loss
Of limb and estate, you came, and begged a place
Here to manage your substance, and live at ease,
While everything went against you--your clothes,
Your baggage, servants, friends, and English wife.
You thought, perhaps, 'twas hard to ask for leave
Of these, but you had no children, nor had
Any friends to call on for support.  And yet
It pleased you very much to tell the King
Your troubles.  Then, too, the Queen herself has sent
Some messengers to advise you to return;
Asking you to dinner when she comes to town
Next week; and also begs of you to make
Some presents to her Majesty, which I
Have heard are rich.  Of wealth and jewels you have some;
And, if you choose, there's many a diamond in the crown
Of your unrivalled head.  With all these riches, sir,
Why do you weep?  Have you no sense of shame?
Or is your heart so full of sorrows, and woes,
That you dare not look your Queen in the face?"

"Well, let her plead her cause!" answered Arthur, "and win
Whatever title in the world she may;
So let her preach and teach, myself is content
To wait and see."  "Nay, nay," cried the knight,
"I need not seek to see her.  She knows all.
She sits at supper with the Empress, who
Is mother to the boy Tom.  Her ladyship talks
Much of religion, and tells her son
He must go and make his sacrifice.
Then, when she hears the Emperor is coming, she
Will give him a great cross of silver and gold
Made for the Holy Land, and will send to him
Tidings of Jumbo's progress.  Thence he returns
Within three days, and offers up his soul,
And then embarks for Egypt.  There is an old
Manor in England, run by a proud and dame,
Who keeps a stately and magnificent house
Where pilgrims and kings have evern times sat.
There is a convent near it, where the abbey
Holds many sacred books and manuscripts.
Herbage and porridge are always in store,
And wine from Sicily; and there is room
For gendarmes and hounds, and sheriffs too;
Twelve cits fill a quarter of a year,
And keep the whole rent unpaid.  The Queen
Keeps most excellent accounts, and gives
Many guineas to charity.  All this
Was told to me by trustworthy persons.  Now
Go, and order all this faithfully.
Good luck to thee, Sir Hugh! say nothing of
This visit to your master.  I am glad
Sir Ridley is dead, so we shall not be
Drowned thus together.  Good night!--for thus
Our chaplain ended his tale.

"Now, sir, what was the count?
(Sir Hugh de Vere bowed so.)
A noble cavalier, you know,
In the service of the Pope.
Not that such things e'er happen;
But, being a Catholic, he took
Their holy creed, with good will,
Nor did he break one word of it.
His conduct in the matter of the Crown
Consisted simply in obeying
God's voice in every hour of life,
And serving His pure Church.  So was he
Most Christian-like, and that's enough with me.

"How, pray, Sir Hugh, happened that fatal day?
(Loud laughter of the Spaniards, and cries:
'Be off, you infidel, and know it!)
What did the Duke say, in that last affray?
Did he not strike you likewise for his faith?
Had not the good Saint Louis for us given
His sword and buckler, and his blood for ours?
--Courteous indeed, Sir Hugh, and true as true.
We never struck you, but ourselves we slew
Bazan, the Patriarch, whom you held so dear.
And so we killed Bazan, and so God saved
France, though France were devilish, and unclean.

"Yes, yes, I know it! you think too much.
The Duke said, 'Papists, Papists,' like what
He found upon your windows, and would slay
All Christians.  But 'tis well done, Sir Hugh,
So well.  You saved France without which none
Would save it.  We saved France without her,
Without her, we lost Spain, and lost Rome.
And now we're helping Austria to recover
From Hungary, and are fighting well.
Only my stomach, and my lungs are bad.'

"No, no, not at all.  You've been smoking.
I'll smoke with you.  Well, why can't you eat
With me?  Your cough's troublesome.  My food
Must be scarce healthy for any living creature,
Let alone for you, who are so ill."

"My stomach, and my lungs are bad,
But thank heaven they are not more so than they
Were, because I'm getting better.  And yet
It's strange to be sick at all, much less sick
At the beginning of the war, and even
More strange to feel like breaking.  Howsoever,
You cannot suppose that I shall get over
This sickness, or that I'll fight again.
If I should do either, there would appear
Some very big mistakes on both sides.
First of all, if I should fight again
One might easily imagine that I
Hadn't really recovered; while if I should come
And sit out the war, people would say
That I had got worse, perhaps with little skill
Or thought about the business.  It may be best,
Instead of fighting, just after bathing,
To read a book or something.  What's the use?"

"Well, let's hope for the best, and wait and see.
Of course, if the news should be that I'm dying,
Which no one can foresee happening, I
Protest vehemently against the word.  If I die,
There's some consolation in the fact
That I tried to preserve the Constitution
By which we live.  But if I live, and am not
Supposed to win the title of the White Man's burden,
Then what?  I admit that I'm losing sleep,
Health, comfort, freedom from vexation, etc.,
But I shall have fought for something.  For instance,
Suppose that I go west and fight the Indians,
Who think that they are winning, and making roads
For white men which they dug before, and stealing horses
From them, and killing other red men, until
They tired of it, and went to war with the whites.
Suppose further that I spread terror among
These Indian tribes, and then retreat, leaving them
Hunger and misery, ruin of their crops,
Desertification, and finally
Destruction by fire.  Suppose further still
That I keep coming back, and make settlement
Amongst these same Indians, peace extending still,
Cannibalism forbidden, and each chief
Ordaining abstinence from fleshly pleasures
Until he comes into his own fresh strength again.
Suppose any number of things could befall,
Yet I think it safer rather to expect
The worst, and hope for the best.  Now this war
Is costing us money, days, labor, and treasure,
And we must have our $10,000,000 out of the account.
Suppose further that Congress extends the rules
Of competition further, and passes laws
To help the manufacturers, and raise the price
Of corn, flour, sugar, beef, molasses, &c.;
And that this happens, or even begins,
Till farmers starve.  Then this $10,000,000 will turn
To chattels worthless, and those who hold farms
Will have to sell them, and themselves be slaves.
Suppose further that New England is taken,
And Rhode-Island concedes, and Pennsylvania
Consents to farthings only.  All goes well
Before long, till calamity strikes home--
A foreign enemy calls, and demands
Our farms, mills, factories, and lands at high prices.
Congress meets anon, an exchange made, and we
Get nothing in return but beaver pelts and beads.
'Twould be as well to buy our liberty
As to purchase a slave.  This truth we learn
From Cato's example: he bought his liberty,
Not gold, but good behavior.  He was once
In chains, yet lived a life of pleasure; and,
When he returned to society, he
Was often found to be the most social man
After himself.  He used to tell us how
He paid his debts, and kept alive in mind
What wealth is, and how to accumulate it.
We must be thrifty and frugal, or soon
The buckler of our virtue will be worn down.
Wealth, like hunger, increases at every meal.
If we want linen, paint, plows, or silks,
We must provide them, or perish without them.
See the poor!  They want the blessings of earth,
But are debarred from practicing what they know.
Why, Thomas, you're in a sad predicament.
Your fields lie fallow, and your forests bare.
No carts bring in supplies from without.
Food, too, seems to be in demand; yet here
Too bad discourses abound, and lead to doubt.
I've been told that you've got a large estate.
True, but my father had but small store.
He sold what goods he had when he died
To pay his debts, and thus saved his backbone.
His son has since succeeded him in the farm,
But neither savings nor income now occupy
The estate, which lies neglected and exposed
Beneath the forest, and its manifold hazards.
You'd better give up farming, and seek your doom
With more pacific features.  You're wasting time,
And helping to send your fellow-worshippers
Into slavery.  Here's a supply of pines.

Here pine trees grow luxuriantly.
This tree stands twenty feet high.
It spreads its mighty arms, and throws
Its broad leaves on every breeze.
How beautiful they look!  Yet so great
Their size and bulk, that few are able
To reach them, or to bend with ease
One limb to support them.  Thus they rise
Without hands to embrace the sky,
Or legs to grasp the lofty boughs,
Or arms to clasp them close.  With arms
Wide apart, they cover all the space
Three separate clouds compose.  When the wind
Blows strongly, they descend slowly,
Like falling stars, and leave behind
The spacious region clear and green.

There are two paths leading upward, both alike
In direction, and both leading to one spot.
Take the larger one, and keep your eye
High on the steep mountain's pointed crest.
You'll see a narrow way cut through the rocks
By some deep gash.  Follow this path, and keep
Your sight low down upon the crags, lest
You miss the path and fall several thousand feet
Below.  If you can do this, you need not
Worry so much about your body.  But if
You find yourself scattered over a wide area,
Drop gently, and let the pieces drop together."

Then she spoke no more, and Tom took her hand
In his, and led her back to where they stood
Upon the brink.  As they descended still
They saw the lake spread farther and farther out,
And then recede, leaving them alone
Within their lonely wilderness.  Soon they were
Surrounded by a black and open plain,
Unbroken save by broken fences, and
by the tramp of horses and the swish of tents.
A little bank of grass separated them,
And on it Maeonians threw a mantle thick
To keep off the chillness of the night air.
They sat side by side beneath the hawthorn trees
That stood against the setting sun.  Their hosts
Were already resting there, awaiting night,
Nor did night come until the day began
To fade, though the stars shone fixed and bright.
Tom was wrapped in sleep, while Elaine
Watched the silver globes that rolled around
The dome of heaven, and answered any call
Of winds that came along their passage.  She lay
On her soft flannel sheets, her head lank and sick,
Her face drawn and pale, and lips drawn tight,
While Tom's heavy eyes drank the blue darkness
With vacant staring.  The next moment he stirred,
And then the sheet fell backward, rippled between
His fingers, and they were alone again.

"So," said Tom, "we have to stay here for ever,
For never anything changes except the skies.
Nothing can we conceive or believe, however
Strong may be our longing, however strong our prayers,
Until the end.  We're going to have to say good-bye
To everything we know, including our loves,
Because the world has changed its mind, and now we know
That we were only waiting till the proper time
To reveal ourselves to men as gods, and men
Had made them ready worshippers.  That's why we feel
Strange doubts and tremble, thinking of the things
That might have happened if we'd kept our secret.
Our lives were not meant to pass in such haste.
'Tis strange indeed that nothing happens, and at times
We seem almost afraid to show our faces,
As if we feared some misfortune might ensue.
We must change our plans.  I'm sure we shall not take
The chance offered by these new-coined names.
We will not write again, nor publish a word.
We'll cease from meddling in other people's affairs.
We'll withdraw ourselves far inland, there to dwell
In some remote and quiet valley, away
From the noisy town, and the vulgar throng.
There we shall live like hermits, and remain
Ruled by our senses alone, and none shall know
What we are, or whence we come, but Heaven knows how."

Next week the three were near a brook, which they
Knew well, for many had drunk there before;
And when they reached the narrow water-side
Two hunters met them, eager to get drink
At their vessels.  They answered not, but went
Along their lines of patrol, silently.
These asked: "Why does the King allow this?"
Said Tom: "He fears an uprising among
The tribe, and hence his silence is a fear.
If you were really from God, you would bring us news
How they have punished him."  One of the men
Was David Barrow, who had been sent away
Just then, because his voice grew rough and thin.
But soon as he knew Tom Sawyer was he,
Barrow cried: "My Lord, I can't stand this prison
Here within the walls of Moab Prison,
Without hope of release.  My heart fails me!"
Sawyer replied: "Go home!  Go home and pray
God to pardon what the king has done.
I'll wait here, and see if Barrow makes reply,
Or if he too goes to jail."  He waited
Till Barrow came into the courtyard, crying:
"Am I to go to jail?  What's the matter?
Have I got a fever?  Have my lungs got bad?
Or is my voice getting weak?  Oh, my God,
Where is Waldo?  Where is our young friend Dave?"
Then Tom turned round and looked into his face
With tears filling up his eyes.  His voice shook
Beneath him as he murmured: "It's all wrong
With Meeker Sawyer--it's all wrong with me,
And oh! it's always hard to part from poor old Mate!
But let me live another year, and then
Let's meet once more, and if we don't get home
By morning light, I'll begin to think
Some one has stolen us away to Cabul.
Oh, God!  It's always so, and yet no one says
A word about it.  Why should we lie still
When every body else is out of doors?
I wish I could see those blackguards at work
Breaking up our houses, burning them to the ground.
No!  Let's go back where we belong, and fight!
Now, let me put on my uniform.  I'll march
Like a brave man through the streets of London,
Calling upon the country to rise in arms.
England for the Union!  England, be wise!
She cannot cheat once, she cannot lie twice,
And she cannot send us to death in the war.
Is she a country that can bleed for her?
Yes, we've had enough of it.  If we die,
We'll die heroes for the cause of the Union.
The day is growing fast where we shall have power
To make their tyranny obey our call,
And Cabul's sons will strike down every foe
Who seeks to divide us.  We do not flinch from danger,
But we do all we can to keep alive hope.
May God help us to do it successfully!"
Tom moved quickly, and took up his sword again.

Meanwhile across the desert, unseen, a spy
Had watched them quietly, knowing that they
Were growing weary of life in the camp.
They stole along the line, and soon they reached
A large caravan, whose load was laid
Upon two mules.  The rest of the convoy
Lay behind them, and they climbed upon them
And rode upon the camels.  All the way
Through sand, through dunes, and over rocks, they fared.
Soon they left the track, and crossed the sands
Of the broad lake, and gained a higher ridge.
Before them now, without sound of human feet,
Wandered the tribes of the Si-te-quowees,
Gathering around the lake's blue rim,
Looking down into it.  A band of these
Came riding across the wastes, upon fours,
Lumbering, with heavy loads, toward the camp.
One of the scouts dismounted and brought them food.
"This is the last troop," said Hiawatha,
As loud he called and shouted in surprise.
Then down they sat, in the long grass, beneath
The overhead trees, waiting the coming guest.
In front came the red deer, moving slower
Than their swift runners, and bearing slain
On little backs, known only to themselves.
Crosswise and oft they followed, throwing stone
After stone, seeking to attract the eye
Of Hiawatha, who, like a wandering fox,
Maedick walking by the side of the chieftain,
Leaned on his bow.  With his tongue he sounded
To warn him of their presence, or to warn
His friends aright against the fatal blows.
So wandered Nahma, leav-strong and weary,
Till the gray mist closed between the forest
And the lakeshore.  Then the melancholy
Wrapped itself around him, and he sank
O'erwhelmed with crushing hopelessness of mind.
From a huge pine he tore the boughs off,
Very scarecrow, for his wigwam.  Stretched
Along the margin of the water,
Filling all the air with his lamentation,
He layed them in an empty space,
And stamped them into powder.  They were
Strong and tough, and suited well his purpose.

Then he called aloud for any Spirits
Still left within the world that might aid him,
And received each condoling answer;
"Hark ye! hark you! whither are you gone?
Where, O my brothers, did your ways change?
Do you still rove this wilderness?
Are your faces all forsaken?
Have you suffered any greater decline
Than in song I hear of you here?
Did you wander o'er some distant sea,
Or have you dwellers in the sky
Forked your tails into iron forms
For the burden of great labour,
That you might eat longer than your fellows,
Having less food to eat?"

With his tongue he spake, and nothing said,
Till thus the reply came unto him:
"Hush!  I beheld no land, nor wave, nor earth,
Nor sky, nor anything but sunbeams,
While I was passing through the heavens.
My face was hidden by clouds, and thus
I answered thee in confidence.
Not as I will, but up to now,
I have been hungry, and now am full."

Said Hiawatha to him, "Modestly therefore,
Let me taste thee, so there will be testimony
That thou art indeed the Spirit, who spoke
By word of mouth, from thousand graves, to me
In prison, while I dwelt in darkness,
Hideous and horrible and dark.
Therefore with thine oath, witness thou!"

Then into the wigwam Set handed
The fragments of his garments, shaggy pelts
Of grizzled stag, and said, "Here are foods
Which hold their savors, as thou hast told;
Eat, and be satisfied till I come."
And they agreed, and he began to feast
Low hanging his head, long and fully
Revised his feast among the silent others.
Eager they sat and talked, one beside the other,
Fasting one half, eating the other.
Set fed upon the berries of the holly;
Began to gather the leaves from the hollies;
Spreads his own under every tall tree;
Strewed the moss in wreaths above the lodge;
Made his fire burning hot amongst the firs;
Took the dried meat from the treen, brined and salted,
Deepening the brown messes he held before him;
Beat back the flies away, that round him buzzed,
Scattered the gnats, and let the steam go out.

But when Set had finished his meal, which seemed long,
Seeing how it dragged along, especially for one,
He made a speech to himself, saying, "It is time
That I get home, and warm myself again
Among my people, seeing how they sit and wait
Like foolish statues, all abashed and angry,
Chattering like small children, all in tears,
Because the Great Bear has not shown himself."
So saying, he rose, and stretched himself upon
The big rock, hard by the door of the wigwam.
Then, squattedting, set about to warm himself
Within, and became much more at ease and at leisure
Using his hands to move about, to make those things
Climb and pop, and wriggle from underneath him;
Laying his mighty belly down on the ground,
Whittling sticks with his fingers, until he got
A large fire going, and was soon warmed and comforted.

Soon, too, he forgot all his sorrow and his anguish,
And grew bold and talkative, telling tales about himself
To those who staid near him, those whom he had wronged
Sending them wild looks, reproachful grins,
All in short bad voices.  He would tell them how
They had betrayed him, all the treachery
And lie of those whom they had served
As servants, not masters.  And all would laugh,
Especially those whose love he had broken.

When evening settled into night-time,
And stars had dropped from heaven, only then
Would Hiawatha, old and quiet,
Coming from fishing, start up from his sleeping
Ritely, and go through the lodge to seek
Food for Liberta, his little child,
Liberty's name that was lost in the forgetfulness
Of her father, or should she know him?

If the black bear had not rushed up to meet him
Homeward, and chased the wolf and fox away,
And chased the hare and bobcat away also,
Nought else was done, for the old man must rise early
Each day, before the sunbeam left the trees,
And stand before the doorway bearing a basket
Filled with grasshoppers, or fruit, or nuts, or seeds,
Or some such food.  But if the black bear,
Screaming aloud, could force the wolves and foxes
Back into the forest, and chase them far away,
And chase the hare and bobcat away also,
And the sunbeam left the trees, the old man's heart
Throbbed with joy, and he waited expectant of the moment
When he might take his meals of beef and roots.

Now, once, when Liberta, young and innocent,
First saw her father coming, running to meet him,
Followers and lovers in a circle, around him,
She stood motionless, with both eyes cast down,
And her lips were tightly sealed, although her look was tender.
And her look was tender, and no wonder;
For the first time in her life she had known sadness,
Having lived most of her life in reckless delight.

From the wigwam Hiawatha heard the crying
Of Liberta, and ran toward her, and seized her
Around the waist, and drew her to his bosom,
And he cried: "My girl, I have suffered great pain
In seeking all sorts of poisonous plants to kill
The fierce tigers and the lions in the forest,
And to propitiate them, I have killed the deer,
The hog, the wild hog, the kudzu, the wallaby,
The chaffinch, the mottled pigeon, the robin,
The serval, the camel, the lizard, the snake,
The Ningyo, and many other animals,
All ignorant, untaught, savage, heathen creatures;
Why did you suffer me to bring these monsters here?
What punishment will be meted to me?"

"Not a single pound of fatality shall I suffer
For this," said she, "for your bringing these animals here;
I assisted in their birth, and nourished them,
And sent them to the tribes beyond the seas,
Where, in full countless thousands, they prey on men
Without distinction." With her breast against his chest
She whispered "Ay!" as speaking words no one heard.

With her face close to his, she felt his warmth
Blend with her breath, and leapened with her sighs;
Until at last her passion overcame her,
And she wept openly in his arms, and told
The whole sad story of the beasts so cruel,
How that goodly boy had come to visit them,
On their return journey, from the Great Spirit's country,
As a messenger of peace, and as a friend.

But even while she was embracing him to weep,
And reviving memories of his childhood thrilled him,
Speaking kindly words, he perceived something wanting;
For they approached a tree of thickest branches
Which growing o'er their heads made a shade above them;
He looked and saw that it was divided
By a space quite narrow, and separated
Quite downward from the root; so he asked her
"Is there nowhere else somewhere below us,
Where is another bush entirely,
Another shadow, where the soft breeze can rest?"

Then she pointed upward, saying "There! see
Where the white cloud comes over the sky!"
And he knew at once where she was wishing
To hide the new-made shadows, and thus replied:
"Let us go thither, old one, since that is over us;
Look! there is a flying squirrel sitting
Upon a leaf of the soberest tree of protection,
Waiting for our word to speak, which 'tis my fate to give it at the right time."

So they went thither, and Hiawatha closed his eyes,
And raised his head, and spake, and said: "O Liberti,
See now my promise, that thou wilt keep forever!
It is no longer just a dream, to lead me elsewhere
Far away from those who are most dear to me,
And without cessation call me by my proper names.
I would but have thee hear me and obey me still,
Though thou art only a small timid bird upon the wing."

Straightway Good Luck joined him in wedlock, and became
Like unto the virgin Mary and like to God.
Long years they dwelt together happily,
And evermore Hiawatha kept his word.
They owned a home, a cottage of stone construction,
Built near the lakes, containing a room for living
And other rooms for use according to the needs of trade.

And Good Luck and the other Guardians sat
At supper at Hiawatha's board every night;
And never had there been unhappy stirring
Till that handmaid, Minnehaha, exclaimed,
Opening the door of intertubesion,
"The Dudleys' house has caught fire!"

Never before in his life had Hiawatha
Beheld such chaos, empty and desolate,
As he sudden saw it after, when he stepped
Loose o'er the wavering flames, and saw how glum
And bleak the faces around him fell;
Saw how the lodges sunk into the swamp,
And how the sticks and logs lay smouldering in the twilight,
Only the sunshine quenched the dead embers of the lodge.

And he went thence not returning. Long ago
He departed, telling nought to his parents, but with purpose
Such as few attain who are content with day-labour,
Thinking only of their children when absent from the settlement,
Decked with the garlands given in memory of the wedding;
Only with them he socialized his little hours,
Paid them regular visits, and played at games,
Making them merry always, dancing, singing, playing instruments,
Making them glad and happy all the time with his presence.

When, far across the lake, o'er the distance
Wears afar the star of evening fading,
And the long, low clouds in winding sweeps pass
Over the water, veiled in darkness,
One more gleams upon the longing heart
Of Watotnah, the lonely maiden,
Then all her sisters rise at dawning
To work among the harvest lands,
While she sits in silence, watching the waters,
Fretting about the meaning of her destiny,
Deeper knowledge waiting in her soul.

Once again the sun was rising o'er the waters,
Again with its warm light filled the wigwam,
And again Old Man Mooney came,
Bringing food and flowers, for this man had done
Great service to his people.
"You shall be the wife of Omar," said the elder men,
Giving this fair young man of his people.

Eager and busy looking,
Wandering thoughts in your hearts infuse,
That you may find the perfect mate
For whom you have careening sped.
Go to the farms of the neighbors wandering,
Search well the fields of Arcadia,
All Arcadia groves contain the treasures,
Yet many stones drop from the green hills
That fit a woman for a hero.

Go where I may, wherever I may,
Love and farewell follow close behind;
Always your footsteps grow fainter,
Ever your loves decay and perish.
If you seek for Love beyond the grave,
You will ne'er obtain the love you sought.

Do not waste yourself in vain desires,
Live, struggle, love, suffer, die--
Death alone fulfills the great ideal.
What you think of me does not matter;
But if you seek for Love beyond the grave,
You will ne'er obtain the love you sought.

In the days of my youth it ever was my lot
On the big ocean to wander forth alone,
There to sail and to roam, until the strife
Of the waves gave me rest on his bosom.
Beneath him I leaned, and he beneath me
Rose in strength, and the mighty deep sank down
Under us both like a blanket, and we were safe
We were safe indeed, for the sea was then
A deep and a peaceful sea, and we were free
From the petty disputes of land folks.

Now there runs a sound along the valley
Of the voices I heard in my childhood,
And the tall trees of my childhood stand here
With arms folded over them, and the air
Is fresh and cool, and the sweet looks on peoples
Returning tell me that all is right.

Oh! I know a mighty land, a lovely land,
Beyond the vast expanse of the sea;
It lies between two mighty oceans, it lies
Between two boundless mountain chains, it lies
Where the rivers flow and the forests grow,
It lies in the valleys and it lies in the heights,
It lies in the darksome places and the shining
And glittering ones too, it lies in the comings and goings
Of ships, it lies in the clamorous commotion
Before and behind them, it lies in the rout and
array of armies, it lies in the cry of men
Who strive against all odds and see no end
To the conflicts, it lies somewhere in the midst
Of all these changes, it lies in the hearts
Of men, it lies in the dreams and the visions
Of poets, it lies in the depth of contemplations
By holy men, in the depths of sacred art,
In the hearts of wise folk, in the hidden things
Of seers, in the deeds of heroes, it lies
In the doings of nations, in the ways of the stars,
In the movements of cities, in the calm of mountains,
In the tumult of villages, in the life and
death struggles of nations, in the peace of hamlets,
In the quiet of native plains, in the hunting of
beasts, in the conquests of natives, in the wars
of civilized races, in the victories and
defeats of sovereigns, in the triumphs and
embodiments of rulers, in the upraising of
slaves, in the downfall and fall of empires,
In the growth of new states, in the old states
changing their names and forms, in the confusions
and breaks up of empires, in the changes
of whole continents, in the unnumbered
conflicts and labors of mankind,
In the upheavals of world-politics,
In the revolutions and uprisings of
the modern times, in the anarchy
of governments, in the uprisings of
people throughout the earth, in the bloodshed
and havoc of civil war, in the plunder
and desolation of whole countries,
In the slave raids and slaveries of Africa,
In the slave patrols and rapine of the Americas,
In the slave voyages and the devastation
of islands, in the cruelties and barbarities
of whips and chains in the Pacific coast, in the
plunders of inland China, in the blood-red
roses of Siam, in the plundered tombs
of mummies in Mesopotamia, in the desecrations
and desecration of whole shrines, in the desecrated
graves of kings, in Assyria, in Egypt, in Greece,
in Rome, in Macedon, in Armenia, in India,
In the desecrating of holy places, in the desecration
of Jewish temples, in the desecration of Christian altars,
In the desecration of mosques, in the desecration
of Catholic cemeteries, in the desecration of
Muslim tombs and mosques, in the desecration of
Shi'ite mosques, in the desecration of mosques belonging
to other religions, in the desecration of mosques by
whomever whim or passion moves them at the time,
In the desecration of mosques, in the desecration of
prayer-houses belonging to unbelief, in the desecration
of churches and of the Holy Knees of Allah, in the desecration
of monasteries, in the desecration of maidens' tombs,
in the desecration of idols, in the desecration of saints',
souls, and in the desecration of ancestors' graves,
In the desecration of mosques by whoever, in the
desecration of madrasas, in the desecration of tombs
belonging to prophets, apostles, and pious leaders,
In the desecration of tombs belonging to the pious
and prophetically guided, in the desecration of
apostleship and hierarchy, in the desecration of
shrines and sanctuaries belonging to piety,
In the desecration of tombs belonging to pious
and prophetically guided, in the desecration of
shrine and altar belonging to faith,
In the desecration of temples belonging to faith,
in the desecration of shrines and sanctuaries,
In the desecration of monasteries, in the desecration
and ruin of martyrdoms, in the desecration and
destruction of saints' tombs,
In the desecration of tombs and sanctuaries
belonging to prophets, apostles, and pious
leaders, In the desecration and ruin of shrines
and sanctuaries belonging to faith,
In the desecration and waste of holy places
belonging to prophets, apostles, and pious
leaders,
Desecrate graves belonging to prophets, apostles,
pious leaders,
Dismember tombs belonging to prophets, apostles,
pitiful believers,
Disfigure and deface graves belonging to prophets,
apostles, and saints,
With your blasphemies make filthy skulls of heads of prophets,
apostates, and righteous saints.

The Prophet Muhammed said: "I am about to die;
And if I were to tell you the prayer that I
will recite when I shall be dead, would you listen?
When there is a need, apply this reason, 'He who
applied will surely remember.'"

"Fear Allah," he cried, with his head uncovered,
And then he stretched forth his hands to his sides,
And said, "Alone against a thousand foes."
Then he raised his voice above a throng of people,
And said, "Allah! Bless our land of Isfahan!"
And they echoed, "Allah! Bless our land of Isfahan!"

They danced around him, chanting his requiem song,
And beating their breasts with joy. And all day long
Their swords and spears were in readiness, and each
had some for personal defense. The women too
Were armed, for vengeance and worship of the Dead Man.
But when the sun set, and the light was turned off,
All the warriors lay down in their armor, and slept.
And when the sun came up, and it once more looked on
the faces of those men still living, one face only
was seen not to smile, not one hair's breadth from the face
of the warrior sleeping, that was left smiling after
death, that was left erect and conscious beneath his
armor, that was left looking upon the face of his friend,
his captain, the brave and noble Mahmud. Then the soul
of Mahmud woke up from his sleep, and he said to his brother,
"What spirit has moved inside us since we parted
at night?" And Murshid replied, "It is the fear and wonder
that follow after parting from our brethren in the dark,
That leave behind an unspeakable longing and sorrow to see
them again."

Then both brothers went out into the darkness. When evening
came, the two young men found themselves alone in the house,
For night had fallen upon the city, and all the lights
were lit elsewhere. They sat down together and shared
their meal of dates and butterless milk. But when the food
was finished, and the cup of wine had been filled, Mahmud
went back into the darkness. He knew that the hour
for the prayer was near, and he said, "Take me now to my
house, and pray over me, my comrade." So he took
himself from the light of the fire, and led him through the
darkness till he reached his door. There he knelt down
beside his wife, and called her to come and pray over him.
She listened intently to hear him, but she could not go
to his side that was lying alone in the darkness. She lifted
up her eyes slowly, and in silence saw the rows of tombs
waiting to receive the strangers whom they must bury.
There was no other human being in the whole street of tombs,
only large rocks piled on high, and on these rocks there were
men sitting at the table among the rich earth, eating
honey and cakes, while under them young girls were dancing,
and little boys held up flowers to the spirits of the departed.
On one rock a man was singing to the memory of a girl
who had died recently; another was saying something to the memory
of a boy who used to live in that street, but whose heart is
still here because of the love of a woman. A third was
singing the name of a child who lived in the house where Mahmud
was born. Another was singing the names of the children of one of the
wives of the prophet, and another was saying the words of the sage Ali,
whom God guided in the desert so that he became a saint.
Before him on that stone was written the darkest letter of
the alphabet, and underneath it letters in English and Hebrew.

So Mahmud wrote the word for mercy on the stone, and he wrote
the word for peace on the stone, and he wrote the word for pardon
on the stone. He folded the stone carefully, wrapped it well in
blankets, and carried it away in the darkness of the desert.
And the two friends passed the night in the darkness, and each
took a torch and illuminated the writing on the stone. Then
morning dawned, and the two old men rose from their beds, and
before them the writing was as luminous as the moon.

In the morning the two companions stood by the new-made
stonework, and they read the message written on the stone. It
recited the story of Israel's deliverance from slavery, and
it told how Abraham gave up everything for his offspring. Then it
ended, and the two friends opened their own lips to speak:
"I have read the message engraved on the stone. I am forgiven."
Then they bowed their heads deeply, and went their way to
the dwelling of the caliph.

When the Caliph heard this great news he sent two messengers
with messages to the cave where Mahmud was hidden. In
return the servant brought many gifts from the caliph's palace
in Damascus. One gift the Caliph Abu'l Fatihah (may Allah bless him)
brought as a sign of gratitude to Mahmud. This was a piece of
gold with four corners, and Abu'l Fatihah said that this was the token
which Moses received from the angel Jealousy in the hottest
hotel in Cairo when he bade him take it from his fingers. The
second messenger returned with a set of carpets, silk rugs,
a silver lamp, a set of spits, a gold chain with amber beads,
an embroidery cloth, a comb, a pair of earrings, and a bracelet
woven in India. These were the presents which the caliph
Bashir bin Yusuf brought to Mahmud. Then the envoy from
Kashmir, Bibi Dardinar, came to the cave. Her husband, Bashir,
had gone to Damascus, and she waited for his return. She
knew that his heart was very heavy, and she brought him
comfort food, and she talked to him about his wife.

The sun was now rising over the mountains, and the
messengers from Baghdad arrived just as the first rays of
sunlight touched the white marble floor of the cave.
They threw their arms around Mahmud and said, "We are
glad you are safe and happy that you are alive. We have
been waiting for you since you left Baghdad. We know that your
father has suffered much, and we hope that Allah will help
your father forgive you."

Then Mahmud spoke: "My brothers, let us now discuss our
plans for the day after tomorrow. Let us plan our life
without our master. Let us leave behind all work and worry,
and prepare ourselves physically and mentally for the journey.
Let us be strong and brave, and free from all anxiety.
If we can do this, we shall find our master no longer
at our head office in the city."

Said one: "O my brother, how can you talk like this? You
are an Arab, and to the people of our tribe speaking falsely
such things as these are a disgrace. We have lost our dearest
friend, and if you go on talking like this our tribe may turn
away from you." But Mahmud replied: "You should consider
what is better, staying here or going back. If I stay here
then at least the servants and the scullions will not serve me,
but will wait outside near the gate, and if any Jew comes
within the compound then I shall have cause to feel
sorrow."

That night Abu Talib took the body of Hamza to the mountain
that overlooked the garden, and threw his cloak over it. Then
he dug a grave under the same tree, and covered it with earth
so that only its trunk was visible. When the slave girl saw
how deep the grave was she cried aloud, and then her eyes filled with tears
for she knew that her master was dead. So when the next day
proved uncooperative she threw a stone at it and closed her mouth
with its hollow edge. Then she sat beside Abu Talib and wept
all night until the daylight broke.

Abu Talib buried his master beneath the thorn-tree, and
spread a bed of grass above him. Then he made a place
big enough for himself, and laid his wife at his feet.
She put her hand in his, but she could not draw it through
her tears, so she had to keep repeating: "Woe is me!  Woe
is me!" till her nails grew long and she died. Then
she sat down near Abu Talib and wept all night until the
morning.

That evening the stewardess, Sulayman, who was in love
with the daughter of Bishr As-Sobeam, called upon all the
womenfolk. They gathered there, weeping, and she began to tell
her tale. She said:--

"Once upon a time my lord Baakal went away somewhere for seven
days and nights. And during that time he did not come home, nor
did anyone see him, nor could his followers look for him anywhere
about the country. After seven days he came home; but when he
came he was sicker than ever before. His face was pale and thinner
than before, and his breath ran in fits through his chest and
shoulders. He had a pain in his spine and a heaviness in
his legs. No one could understand what was making him so ill,
and they thought that some misfortune might happen to him.
After a week he felt better, and again he travelled, but on
the eve of his return he was lying in a valley by the water
falls, and he looked up and asked the Lord God to give him
strength to continue his journey, and he prayed for more strength
to travel till he reached a place where there was water, and
there fell a little brook into the stream. There he quenched
his thirst and stood up, and followed the bank along by the
waterfall. About noon he walked on quietly amongst the people
who were standing round looking at the water falling into the
stream, and he drank a cupful of water from the water
fall, and then he ate a morsel of bread which a woman
provided for him. A while afterwards a man among the people
took offence at what he had done, and cursed him out among
them, and the others advised him to throw him from a high
stone wall which stood by the river bank, and he was afraid
to do so, for he knew very well that the man had been wrong.
But at last he set off without further punishment, and at first
went on slowly, but at length he reached the hill top where
Baaka and Salaam abounded with their cattle grazing. Here
at last he rested, and his men divided themselves and
scattered themselves throughout the villages, taking care
not to alarm the tribespeople. Thence he sent messengers
after them to ask permission to enter the city.

Then the men of Dhu'l-Hijja told them the name of the
place whence he came, and how he had built a house and
slept in it, and they listened to what he said. 'I am Mar Qalam
the son of Hakim,,' said he, 'an old enemy of your race, and
now old age has made me shrewd and wise. I lodged in your
town once, and now I want to take revenge.' This was why he
asked permission to enter the city.

Then the Prophet peace be upon him said to him, 'Go back
to your people and say to them that I have come to bring
terror and death upon them, and to make them wroth against
myself. Let them let us alone, for we are here to help
them. Behold, I am no longer angry with you, and I have
brought safety and honor for myself and for our tribe by
bringing thee to life. Go, therefore, and tell the folk that
Qaramah son of Hakim, the enemy of thy race, hath
been beguiled and won by magic, and that now he is
sitting in the palace of the Queen Semiramis in great
beauty and riches, eating and drinking, and enjoying
peace of her and her children. Tell them that he is
honored by her and her children, and that they should
offer incense and myrrh unto him, and that they must
make for him many prayers and good-morrow to Allah the
Lord of Heaven, for that he hath been beguiled. And tell
the lady, too, that she may seek her whom she wishes to
bring comfort and joy unto, and tell her that I am
her own stranger, and tell her that I am the one who seduced
her into sin, and that now I go to the city of Gomorra to
seek her, and bring her hither and wed her. But if she
will not consent or allow me to marry her, then I shall
then go abroad, and find another damsel who will agree
to be my wife.'

Thereat straightway the elders of the nation rose up and
spoke together, saying, 'This one seduced our queen,
and he is indeed our mistress. We will deal with him as
we think best, either to kill him and carry his body
away, or else to cast him into the waters under the earth,
so that he may sink down and perish in the waters.'

And Azrael answered and said to them, 'Behold,
son of Hodeirah, king of the Hodeidahs, behold
how this man hath dealt treacherously! Hath he not seen
me oft in former days when I smote him with my
sword, and bare him away from the city? So again I
will slay him; but his heart is hard against me
because he loves his mistress dearly. Verily he would
larry even into the city to seek her, though I
had hied me far hence. Nay, I will never go near her, nor
she will not come near me, save in the depth of night,
when I call her with my voice, and she answers not
till morning hath dawned. Then I will go forth and
call her with my tongue, and she will answer me. How
wilt thou deal with me, O prince, if I dare raise
the hand to strike thee? Art thou not my father's foe?
Yet I will deal kindly with thee, for I love thee
much more than my fathers loved whom they slew!'

So spake Azrael, and his words pleased the prince. He
loosed the belt from his side, and showed him his
glorious strength, and his mighty arm. Then he raised his
spear aloft and struck his right shoulder, and his
palms were pierced. There fell a ringing pain
through all his limbs, and he fell headlong through the
air, and there rolled he face downward to the ground. His
arms dropped to his sides, and his strong hands lay
unfeeling on the earth, while his eyes looked upward
in vain, and his breath came gaspingly. Then the
hateful thing began to melt in Azrael's heart, and
he remembered the words of his father and mother, and
with tears he lifted up his eyes and looked upon the
cries of the poor outcast. There he saw a youth, and
behold, he was clad like one of the sons of kings,
but lo, he was naked as a beggar, and his hair
fell over his breast and his rags hung round his
shanks. On seeing him, Azrael frowned, and his brow
was shorn of its sharpness, and he said, "O wretched
thing, how hast thou come to see me!" And the young
man answered, "Son of Hodeirah, long years ago it
was I who killed a blasphemer outside the
city, and gave his blood to the winds. Now I am come
out of the land of Egypt to gaze on my friends, who
live in this country, and to weep for the shame I
guessed I had brought on them."

"Bring," he cried, "that which my father gave me out of
respect for him. Thou shalt eat the bread and
drink the cup whereon he blessed me." And Azrael did so,
and Azrael laid his cheek on the lip of the hoary
Hodeirah. The old man took the gift graciously, and
brought it with reverence to Azrael, and all the people
lay prostrate as the blessing descended from the lips of
Azrael upon Azrael. Then the princes of the Jews
saw that the cup was holy, and they believed the word
which the prince of the prophets had spoken. They buried the
body of the blasphemer by the way side, and beneath
their feet the bones trembled, and the dark earth hid
them from the sight of men, until the Lord, their guardian,
visited the sepulchre. The angels of God carried the dead
infidel, whose soul had been transformed at eating the
bread and drinking the wine of life, before the gates of
his prison, and the ransomed community wept and shouted
lamentation, and the heavens rang out with the tumult.
Then the righteous Judge Advocate stood before the throne of
God and said:--

As he spoke these words the sun declined, and a heavy cloud
rolled across the sky, and darkness shrouded the hills and
valleys. But the east wind revived the fallen light, and
a thick pale mist covered the landscape and the valleys. A
thick mist of pearly white, yet visible as water, and
moving slowly. The stars shone brightly, and the moon
looked radiant in heaven, and the great air-of-breathing
air-filled-for-a-length-of-time rose above the trees and
bosomed them with soft waves, and the dews of the morning
dipped their small eyelashes into the stream, and the
snow-flakes fell upon it. The snow-flake of the morning touched
the top of the thawing pile of ice, and broke into thousands
of pieces, falling in masses about the fields and woods,
covering everything with their drifts again.

A few gray birds flew up into the blue air, then they dispersed
quickly under the sheltering roof of the gray clouds, and the
sky grew black again. Azrael walked along the shore of the Mediterranean
looking toward the coasts of Africa, and he gazed at the burning
orange of the sunset and the flaming red of the cypress trees.
He sat down beside a little pond, and he drank from an urn
containing honey, and he rubbed the dust from his knees and
knees together till the sweat dripped from his skin, and he washed
both his hands and his clothes and his hair and rubbed them
well with olive oil. Then he bathed himself and shaved off both
heads of his beard, and he dried his body with his own hair and
towels. When he had completely dried himself, he put on his
cloak and helmet. He dressed himself in the skins of a wild
wolf and a bear, and he drew the armor over his body. He
put on the weapons of the angel of death, and he grasped the
sword of the spirit of dread, and he thrust the sword into
his mouth, and he gripped the shield of the warrior, and he grasped
the mighty battle-axe of Murgleis, and he smote the Prince of
the Angels on the jaw under the ear. The blade of the axe
cut through the flesh and fractured the bone, and the seed
of the ground shook when the splinter of the skull came
flying out of the socket. Murgleis lost the power of speech
through the ruin of his mind, and the Prince of the
Angels called aloud unto Azrael, saying, "Hide me
from the face of the day! Let me at least escape undefended
while my enemies know nothing of me; hide me like the
blind mouse that goes through the village or hides itself in a
hole and listens for help. Do not let your heart be afraid
much either for me or for yourself; I will do whatever I have
always done, and you must forgive me if I ever have offended
you."

The sun sank down behind the mountains, and Azrael went
about among the blind. He chose some whom he liked and made
himself their keeper, and he fed them on the crumbs that the
angels left. He made