A BANJO SONGOh, dere 's lots o' keer an' troubleIn dis world to swaller down;An' ol' Sorrer 's purty livelyIn her way o' gittin' roun'.Yet dere's times when I furgit em,—Aches an' pains an' troubles all,—An' it's when I tek at ebenin'My ol' banjo f'om de wall.'Bout de time dat night is fallin'An' my daily wu'k is done,An' above de shady hilltopsI kin see de settin' sun;When de quiet, restful shaddersIs beginnin' jes' to fall,—Den I take de little banjoF'om its place upon de wall.Den my fam'ly gadders roun' meIn de fadin' o' de light,Ez I strike de strings to try 'emEf dey all is tuned er-right.An' it seems we 're so nigh heabenWe kin hyeah de angels singWhen de music o' dat banjoSets my cabin all er-ring.An' my wife an' all de othahs,—Male an' female, small an' big,—Even up to gray-haired granny,Seem jes' boun' to do a jig;'Twell I change de style o' music,Change de movement an' de time,An' de ringin' little banjoPlays an ol' hea't-feelin' hime.An' somehow my th'oat gits choky,An' a lump keeps tryin' to riseLak it wan'ed to ketch de waterDat was flowin' to my eyes;An' I feel dat I could sorterKnock de socks clean off o' sinEz I hyeah my po' ol' grannyWif huh tremblin' voice jine in.Den we all th'ow in our voicesFu' to he'p de chune out too,Lak a big camp-meetin' choiryTryin' to sing a mou'nah th'oo.An' our th'oahts let out de music,Sweet an' solemn, loud an' free,'Twell de raftahs o' my cabinEcho wif de melody.Oh, de music o' de banjo,Quick an' deb'lish, solemn, slow,Is de greates' joy an' solaceDat a weary slave kin know!So jes' let me hyeah it ringin',Dough de chune be po' an' rough,It's a pleasure; an' de pleasuresO' dis life is few enough.Now, de blessed little angelsUp in heaben, we are told,Don't do nothin' all dere lifetime'Ceptin' play on ha'ps o' gold.Now I think heaben 'd be mo' homelikeEf we 'd hyeah some music fallF'om a real ol'-fashioned banjo,Like dat one upon de wall.
Oh, dere 's lots o' keer an' troubleIn dis world to swaller down;An' ol' Sorrer 's purty livelyIn her way o' gittin' roun'.Yet dere's times when I furgit em,—Aches an' pains an' troubles all,—An' it's when I tek at ebenin'My ol' banjo f'om de wall.
Oh, dere 's lots o' keer an' trouble
In dis world to swaller down;
An' ol' Sorrer 's purty lively
In her way o' gittin' roun'.
Yet dere's times when I furgit em,—
Aches an' pains an' troubles all,—
An' it's when I tek at ebenin'
My ol' banjo f'om de wall.
'Bout de time dat night is fallin'An' my daily wu'k is done,An' above de shady hilltopsI kin see de settin' sun;When de quiet, restful shaddersIs beginnin' jes' to fall,—Den I take de little banjoF'om its place upon de wall.
'Bout de time dat night is fallin'
An' my daily wu'k is done,
An' above de shady hilltops
I kin see de settin' sun;
When de quiet, restful shadders
Is beginnin' jes' to fall,—
Den I take de little banjo
F'om its place upon de wall.
Den my fam'ly gadders roun' meIn de fadin' o' de light,Ez I strike de strings to try 'emEf dey all is tuned er-right.An' it seems we 're so nigh heabenWe kin hyeah de angels singWhen de music o' dat banjoSets my cabin all er-ring.
Den my fam'ly gadders roun' me
In de fadin' o' de light,
Ez I strike de strings to try 'em
Ef dey all is tuned er-right.
An' it seems we 're so nigh heaben
We kin hyeah de angels sing
When de music o' dat banjo
Sets my cabin all er-ring.
An' my wife an' all de othahs,—Male an' female, small an' big,—Even up to gray-haired granny,Seem jes' boun' to do a jig;'Twell I change de style o' music,Change de movement an' de time,An' de ringin' little banjoPlays an ol' hea't-feelin' hime.
An' my wife an' all de othahs,—
Male an' female, small an' big,—
Even up to gray-haired granny,
Seem jes' boun' to do a jig;
'Twell I change de style o' music,
Change de movement an' de time,
An' de ringin' little banjo
Plays an ol' hea't-feelin' hime.
An' somehow my th'oat gits choky,An' a lump keeps tryin' to riseLak it wan'ed to ketch de waterDat was flowin' to my eyes;An' I feel dat I could sorterKnock de socks clean off o' sinEz I hyeah my po' ol' grannyWif huh tremblin' voice jine in.
An' somehow my th'oat gits choky,
An' a lump keeps tryin' to rise
Lak it wan'ed to ketch de water
Dat was flowin' to my eyes;
An' I feel dat I could sorter
Knock de socks clean off o' sin
Ez I hyeah my po' ol' granny
Wif huh tremblin' voice jine in.
Den we all th'ow in our voicesFu' to he'p de chune out too,Lak a big camp-meetin' choiryTryin' to sing a mou'nah th'oo.An' our th'oahts let out de music,Sweet an' solemn, loud an' free,'Twell de raftahs o' my cabinEcho wif de melody.
Den we all th'ow in our voices
Fu' to he'p de chune out too,
Lak a big camp-meetin' choiry
Tryin' to sing a mou'nah th'oo.
An' our th'oahts let out de music,
Sweet an' solemn, loud an' free,
'Twell de raftahs o' my cabin
Echo wif de melody.
Oh, de music o' de banjo,Quick an' deb'lish, solemn, slow,Is de greates' joy an' solaceDat a weary slave kin know!So jes' let me hyeah it ringin',Dough de chune be po' an' rough,It's a pleasure; an' de pleasuresO' dis life is few enough.
Oh, de music o' de banjo,
Quick an' deb'lish, solemn, slow,
Is de greates' joy an' solace
Dat a weary slave kin know!
So jes' let me hyeah it ringin',
Dough de chune be po' an' rough,
It's a pleasure; an' de pleasures
O' dis life is few enough.
Now, de blessed little angelsUp in heaben, we are told,Don't do nothin' all dere lifetime'Ceptin' play on ha'ps o' gold.Now I think heaben 'd be mo' homelikeEf we 'd hyeah some music fallF'om a real ol'-fashioned banjo,Like dat one upon de wall.
Now, de blessed little angels
Up in heaben, we are told,
Don't do nothin' all dere lifetime
'Ceptin' play on ha'ps o' gold.
Now I think heaben 'd be mo' homelike
Ef we 'd hyeah some music fall
F'om a real ol'-fashioned banjo,
Like dat one upon de wall.
LONGINGIf you could sit with me beside the sea to-day,And whisper with me sweetest dreamings o'er and o'er;I think I should not find the clouds so dim and gray,And not so loud the waves complaining at the shore.If you could sit with me upon the shore to-day,And hold my hand in yours as in the days of old,I think I should not mind the chill baptismal spray,Nor find my hand and heart and all the world so cold.If you could walk with me upon the strand to-day,And tell me that my longing love had won your own,I think all my sad thoughts would then be put away,And I could give back laughter for the Ocean's moan!
If you could sit with me beside the sea to-day,And whisper with me sweetest dreamings o'er and o'er;I think I should not find the clouds so dim and gray,And not so loud the waves complaining at the shore.
If you could sit with me beside the sea to-day,
And whisper with me sweetest dreamings o'er and o'er;
I think I should not find the clouds so dim and gray,
And not so loud the waves complaining at the shore.
If you could sit with me upon the shore to-day,And hold my hand in yours as in the days of old,I think I should not mind the chill baptismal spray,Nor find my hand and heart and all the world so cold.
If you could sit with me upon the shore to-day,
And hold my hand in yours as in the days of old,
I think I should not mind the chill baptismal spray,
Nor find my hand and heart and all the world so cold.
If you could walk with me upon the strand to-day,And tell me that my longing love had won your own,I think all my sad thoughts would then be put away,And I could give back laughter for the Ocean's moan!
If you could walk with me upon the strand to-day,
And tell me that my longing love had won your own,
I think all my sad thoughts would then be put away,
And I could give back laughter for the Ocean's moan!
THE PATHThere are no beaten paths to Glory's height,There are no rules to compass greatness known;Each for himself must cleave a path alone,And press his own way forward in the fight.Smooth is the way to ease and calm delight,And soft the road Sloth chooseth for her own;But he who craves the flower of life full-blown,Must struggle up in all his armor dight!What though the burden bear him sorely downAnd crush to dust the mountain of his pride,Oh, then, with strong heart let him still abide;For rugged is the roadway to renown,Nor may he hope to gain the envied crown,Till he hath thrust the looming rocks aside.
There are no beaten paths to Glory's height,There are no rules to compass greatness known;Each for himself must cleave a path alone,And press his own way forward in the fight.Smooth is the way to ease and calm delight,And soft the road Sloth chooseth for her own;But he who craves the flower of life full-blown,Must struggle up in all his armor dight!What though the burden bear him sorely downAnd crush to dust the mountain of his pride,Oh, then, with strong heart let him still abide;For rugged is the roadway to renown,Nor may he hope to gain the envied crown,Till he hath thrust the looming rocks aside.
There are no beaten paths to Glory's height,
There are no rules to compass greatness known;
Each for himself must cleave a path alone,
And press his own way forward in the fight.
Smooth is the way to ease and calm delight,
And soft the road Sloth chooseth for her own;
But he who craves the flower of life full-blown,
Must struggle up in all his armor dight!
What though the burden bear him sorely down
And crush to dust the mountain of his pride,
Oh, then, with strong heart let him still abide;
For rugged is the roadway to renown,
Nor may he hope to gain the envied crown,
Till he hath thrust the looming rocks aside.
THE LAWYERS' WAYSI 've been list'nin' to them lawyersIn the court house up the street,An' I 've come to the conclusionThat I'm most completely beat.Fust one feller riz to argy,An' he boldly waded inAs he dressed the tremblin' pris'nerIn a coat o' deep-dyed sin.Why, he painted him all overIn a hue o' blackest crime,An' he smeared his reputationWith the thickest kind o' grime,Tell I found myself a-wond'rin',In a misty way and dim,How the Lord had come to fashionSich an awful man as him.Then the other lawyer started,An' with brimmin', tearful eyes,Said his client was a martyrThat was brought to sacrifice.An' he give to that same pris'nerEvery blessed human grace,Tell I saw the light o' virtueFairly shinin' from his face.Then I own 'at I was puzzledHow sich things could rightly be;An' this aggervatin' questionSeems to keep a-puzzlin' me.So, will some one please inform me,An' this mystery unroll—How an angel an' a devilCan persess the self-same soul?
I 've been list'nin' to them lawyersIn the court house up the street,An' I 've come to the conclusionThat I'm most completely beat.Fust one feller riz to argy,An' he boldly waded inAs he dressed the tremblin' pris'nerIn a coat o' deep-dyed sin.
I 've been list'nin' to them lawyers
In the court house up the street,
An' I 've come to the conclusion
That I'm most completely beat.
Fust one feller riz to argy,
An' he boldly waded in
As he dressed the tremblin' pris'ner
In a coat o' deep-dyed sin.
Why, he painted him all overIn a hue o' blackest crime,An' he smeared his reputationWith the thickest kind o' grime,Tell I found myself a-wond'rin',In a misty way and dim,How the Lord had come to fashionSich an awful man as him.
Why, he painted him all over
In a hue o' blackest crime,
An' he smeared his reputation
With the thickest kind o' grime,
Tell I found myself a-wond'rin',
In a misty way and dim,
How the Lord had come to fashion
Sich an awful man as him.
Then the other lawyer started,An' with brimmin', tearful eyes,Said his client was a martyrThat was brought to sacrifice.An' he give to that same pris'nerEvery blessed human grace,Tell I saw the light o' virtueFairly shinin' from his face.
Then the other lawyer started,
An' with brimmin', tearful eyes,
Said his client was a martyr
That was brought to sacrifice.
An' he give to that same pris'ner
Every blessed human grace,
Tell I saw the light o' virtue
Fairly shinin' from his face.
Then I own 'at I was puzzledHow sich things could rightly be;An' this aggervatin' questionSeems to keep a-puzzlin' me.So, will some one please inform me,An' this mystery unroll—How an angel an' a devilCan persess the self-same soul?
Then I own 'at I was puzzled
How sich things could rightly be;
An' this aggervatin' question
Seems to keep a-puzzlin' me.
So, will some one please inform me,
An' this mystery unroll—
How an angel an' a devil
Can persess the self-same soul?
ODE FOR MEMORIAL DAYDone are the toils and the wearisome marches,Done is the summons of bugle and drum.Softly and sweetly the sky over-arches,Shelt'ring a land where Rebellion is dumb.Dark were the days of the country's derangement,Sad were the hours when the conflict was on,But through the gloom of fraternal estrangementGod sent his light, and we welcome the dawn.O'er the expanse of our mighty dominions,Sweeping away to the uttermost parts,Peace, the wide-flying, on untiring pinions,Bringeth her message of joy to our hearts.Ah, but this joy which our minds cannot measure,What did it cost for our fathers to gain!Bought at the price of the heart's dearest treasure,Born out of travail and sorrow and pain;Born in the battle where fleet Death was flying,Slaying with sabre-stroke bloody and fell;Born where the heroes and martyrs were dying,Torn by the fury of bullet and shell.Ah, but the day is past: silent the rattle,And the confusion that followed the fight.Peace to the heroes who died in the battle,Martyrs to truth and the crowning of Right!Out of the blood of a conflict fraternal,Out of the dust and the dimness of death,Burst into blossoms of glory eternalFlowers that sweeten the world with their breath.Flowers of charity, peace, and devotionBloom in the hearts that are empty of strife;Love that is boundless and broad as the oceanLeaps into beauty and fulness of life.So, with the singing of paeans and chorals,And with the flag flashing high in the sun,Place on the graves of our heroes the laurelsWhich their unfaltering valor has won!
Done are the toils and the wearisome marches,Done is the summons of bugle and drum.Softly and sweetly the sky over-arches,Shelt'ring a land where Rebellion is dumb.Dark were the days of the country's derangement,Sad were the hours when the conflict was on,But through the gloom of fraternal estrangementGod sent his light, and we welcome the dawn.O'er the expanse of our mighty dominions,Sweeping away to the uttermost parts,Peace, the wide-flying, on untiring pinions,Bringeth her message of joy to our hearts.
Done are the toils and the wearisome marches,
Done is the summons of bugle and drum.
Softly and sweetly the sky over-arches,
Shelt'ring a land where Rebellion is dumb.
Dark were the days of the country's derangement,
Sad were the hours when the conflict was on,
But through the gloom of fraternal estrangement
God sent his light, and we welcome the dawn.
O'er the expanse of our mighty dominions,
Sweeping away to the uttermost parts,
Peace, the wide-flying, on untiring pinions,
Bringeth her message of joy to our hearts.
Ah, but this joy which our minds cannot measure,What did it cost for our fathers to gain!Bought at the price of the heart's dearest treasure,Born out of travail and sorrow and pain;Born in the battle where fleet Death was flying,Slaying with sabre-stroke bloody and fell;Born where the heroes and martyrs were dying,Torn by the fury of bullet and shell.Ah, but the day is past: silent the rattle,And the confusion that followed the fight.Peace to the heroes who died in the battle,Martyrs to truth and the crowning of Right!
Ah, but this joy which our minds cannot measure,
What did it cost for our fathers to gain!
Bought at the price of the heart's dearest treasure,
Born out of travail and sorrow and pain;
Born in the battle where fleet Death was flying,
Slaying with sabre-stroke bloody and fell;
Born where the heroes and martyrs were dying,
Torn by the fury of bullet and shell.
Ah, but the day is past: silent the rattle,
And the confusion that followed the fight.
Peace to the heroes who died in the battle,
Martyrs to truth and the crowning of Right!
Out of the blood of a conflict fraternal,Out of the dust and the dimness of death,Burst into blossoms of glory eternalFlowers that sweeten the world with their breath.Flowers of charity, peace, and devotionBloom in the hearts that are empty of strife;Love that is boundless and broad as the oceanLeaps into beauty and fulness of life.So, with the singing of paeans and chorals,And with the flag flashing high in the sun,Place on the graves of our heroes the laurelsWhich their unfaltering valor has won!
Out of the blood of a conflict fraternal,
Out of the dust and the dimness of death,
Burst into blossoms of glory eternal
Flowers that sweeten the world with their breath.
Flowers of charity, peace, and devotion
Bloom in the hearts that are empty of strife;
Love that is boundless and broad as the ocean
Leaps into beauty and fulness of life.
So, with the singing of paeans and chorals,
And with the flag flashing high in the sun,
Place on the graves of our heroes the laurels
Which their unfaltering valor has won!
PREMONITIONDear heart, good-night!Nay, list awhile that sweet voice singingWhen the world is all so bright,And the sound of song sets the heart a-ringing,Oh, love, it is not right—Not then to say, "Good-night."Dear heart, good-night!The late winds in the lake weeds shiver,And the spray flies cold and white.And the voice that sings gives a telltale quiver—"Ah, yes, the world is bright,But, dearest heart, good-night!"Dear heart, good-night!And do not longer seek to hold me!For my soul is in affrightAs the fearful glooms in their pall enfold me.See him who sang how whiteAnd still; so, dear, good-night.Dear heart, good-night!Thy hand I 'll press no more forever,And mine eyes shall lose the light;For the great white wraith by the winding riverShall check my steps with might.So, dear, good-night, good-night!
Dear heart, good-night!Nay, list awhile that sweet voice singingWhen the world is all so bright,And the sound of song sets the heart a-ringing,Oh, love, it is not right—Not then to say, "Good-night."
Dear heart, good-night!
Nay, list awhile that sweet voice singing
When the world is all so bright,
And the sound of song sets the heart a-ringing,
Oh, love, it is not right—
Not then to say, "Good-night."
Dear heart, good-night!The late winds in the lake weeds shiver,And the spray flies cold and white.And the voice that sings gives a telltale quiver—"Ah, yes, the world is bright,But, dearest heart, good-night!"
Dear heart, good-night!
The late winds in the lake weeds shiver,
And the spray flies cold and white.
And the voice that sings gives a telltale quiver—
"Ah, yes, the world is bright,
But, dearest heart, good-night!"
Dear heart, good-night!And do not longer seek to hold me!For my soul is in affrightAs the fearful glooms in their pall enfold me.See him who sang how whiteAnd still; so, dear, good-night.
Dear heart, good-night!
And do not longer seek to hold me!
For my soul is in affright
As the fearful glooms in their pall enfold me.
See him who sang how white
And still; so, dear, good-night.
Dear heart, good-night!Thy hand I 'll press no more forever,And mine eyes shall lose the light;For the great white wraith by the winding riverShall check my steps with might.So, dear, good-night, good-night!
Dear heart, good-night!
Thy hand I 'll press no more forever,
And mine eyes shall lose the light;
For the great white wraith by the winding river
Shall check my steps with might.
So, dear, good-night, good-night!
RETROSPECTIONWhen you and I were young, the daysWere filled with scent of pink and rose,And full of joy from dawn till close,From morning's mist till evening's haze.And when the robin sung his songThe verdant woodland ways along,We whistled louder than he sung.And school was joy, and work was sportFor which the hours were all too short,When you and I were young, my boy,When you and I were young.When you and I were young, the woodsBrimmed bravely o'er with every joyTo charm the happy-hearted boy.The quail turned out her timid broods;The prickly copse, a hostess fine,Held high black cups of harmless wine;And low the laden grape-vine swungWith beads of night-kissed amethystWhere buzzing lovers held their tryst,When you and I were young, my boy,When you and I were young.When you and I were young, the coolAnd fresh wind fanned our fevered browsWhen tumbling o'er the scented mows,Or stripping by the dimpling pool,Sedge-fringed about its shimmering face,Save where we 'd worn an ent'ring place.How with our shouts the calm banks rung!How flashed the spray as we plunged in,—Pure gems that never caused a sin!When you and I were young, my boy,When you and I were young.When you and I were young, we heardAll sounds of Nature with delight,—The whirr of wing in sudden flight,The chirping of the baby-bird.The columbine's red bells were rung;The locust's vested chorus sung;While every wind his zithern strungTo high and holy-sounding keys,And played sonatas in the trees—When you and I were young, my boy,When you and I were young.When you and I were young, we knewTo shout and laugh, to work and play,And night was partner to the dayIn all our joys. So swift time flewOn silent wings that, ere we wist,The fleeting years had fled unmissed;And from our hearts this cry was wrung—To fill with fond regret and tearsThe days of our remaining years—"When you and I were young, my boy,When you and I were young."
When you and I were young, the daysWere filled with scent of pink and rose,And full of joy from dawn till close,From morning's mist till evening's haze.And when the robin sung his songThe verdant woodland ways along,We whistled louder than he sung.And school was joy, and work was sportFor which the hours were all too short,When you and I were young, my boy,When you and I were young.
When you and I were young, the days
Were filled with scent of pink and rose,
And full of joy from dawn till close,
From morning's mist till evening's haze.
And when the robin sung his song
The verdant woodland ways along,
We whistled louder than he sung.
And school was joy, and work was sport
For which the hours were all too short,
When you and I were young, my boy,
When you and I were young.
When you and I were young, the woodsBrimmed bravely o'er with every joyTo charm the happy-hearted boy.The quail turned out her timid broods;The prickly copse, a hostess fine,Held high black cups of harmless wine;And low the laden grape-vine swungWith beads of night-kissed amethystWhere buzzing lovers held their tryst,When you and I were young, my boy,When you and I were young.
When you and I were young, the woods
Brimmed bravely o'er with every joy
To charm the happy-hearted boy.
The quail turned out her timid broods;
The prickly copse, a hostess fine,
Held high black cups of harmless wine;
And low the laden grape-vine swung
With beads of night-kissed amethyst
Where buzzing lovers held their tryst,
When you and I were young, my boy,
When you and I were young.
When you and I were young, the coolAnd fresh wind fanned our fevered browsWhen tumbling o'er the scented mows,Or stripping by the dimpling pool,Sedge-fringed about its shimmering face,Save where we 'd worn an ent'ring place.How with our shouts the calm banks rung!How flashed the spray as we plunged in,—Pure gems that never caused a sin!When you and I were young, my boy,When you and I were young.
When you and I were young, the cool
And fresh wind fanned our fevered brows
When tumbling o'er the scented mows,
Or stripping by the dimpling pool,
Sedge-fringed about its shimmering face,
Save where we 'd worn an ent'ring place.
How with our shouts the calm banks rung!
How flashed the spray as we plunged in,—
Pure gems that never caused a sin!
When you and I were young, my boy,
When you and I were young.
When you and I were young, we heardAll sounds of Nature with delight,—The whirr of wing in sudden flight,The chirping of the baby-bird.The columbine's red bells were rung;The locust's vested chorus sung;While every wind his zithern strungTo high and holy-sounding keys,And played sonatas in the trees—When you and I were young, my boy,When you and I were young.
When you and I were young, we heard
All sounds of Nature with delight,—
The whirr of wing in sudden flight,
The chirping of the baby-bird.
The columbine's red bells were rung;
The locust's vested chorus sung;
While every wind his zithern strung
To high and holy-sounding keys,
And played sonatas in the trees—
When you and I were young, my boy,
When you and I were young.
When you and I were young, we knewTo shout and laugh, to work and play,And night was partner to the dayIn all our joys. So swift time flewOn silent wings that, ere we wist,The fleeting years had fled unmissed;And from our hearts this cry was wrung—To fill with fond regret and tearsThe days of our remaining years—"When you and I were young, my boy,When you and I were young."
When you and I were young, we knew
To shout and laugh, to work and play,
And night was partner to the day
In all our joys. So swift time flew
On silent wings that, ere we wist,
The fleeting years had fled unmissed;
And from our hearts this cry was wrung—
To fill with fond regret and tears
The days of our remaining years—
"When you and I were young, my boy,
When you and I were young."
UNEXPRESSEDDeep in my heart that aches with the repression,And strives with plenitude of bitter pain,There lives a thought that clamors for expression,And spends its undelivered force in vain.What boots it that some other may have thought it?The right of thoughts' expression is divine;The price of pain I pay for it has bought it,I care not who lays claim to it—'t is mine!And yet not mine until it be delivered;The manner of its birth shall prove the test.Alas, alas, my rock of pride is shivered—I beat my brow—the thought still unexpressed.
Deep in my heart that aches with the repression,And strives with plenitude of bitter pain,There lives a thought that clamors for expression,And spends its undelivered force in vain.
Deep in my heart that aches with the repression,
And strives with plenitude of bitter pain,
There lives a thought that clamors for expression,
And spends its undelivered force in vain.
What boots it that some other may have thought it?The right of thoughts' expression is divine;The price of pain I pay for it has bought it,I care not who lays claim to it—'t is mine!
What boots it that some other may have thought it?
The right of thoughts' expression is divine;
The price of pain I pay for it has bought it,
I care not who lays claim to it—'t is mine!
And yet not mine until it be delivered;The manner of its birth shall prove the test.Alas, alas, my rock of pride is shivered—I beat my brow—the thought still unexpressed.
And yet not mine until it be delivered;
The manner of its birth shall prove the test.
Alas, alas, my rock of pride is shivered—
I beat my brow—the thought still unexpressed.
SONG OF SUMMERDis is gospel weathah sho'—Hills is sawt o' hazy.Meddahs level ez a flo'Callin' to de lazy.Sky all white wif streaks o' blue,Sunshine softly gleamin',D'ain't no wuk hit's right to do,Nothin' 's right but dreamin'.Dreamin' by de rivah sideWif de watahs glist'nin',Feelin' good an' satisfiedEz you lay a-list'nin'To the little nakid boysSplashin' in de watah,Hollerin' fu' to spress deir joysJes' lak youngsters ought to.Squir'l a-tippin' on his toes,So 's to hide an' view you;Whole flocks o' camp-meetin' crowsShoutin' hallelujah.Peckahwood erpon de treeTappin' lak a hammah;Jaybird chattin' wif a bee,Tryin' to teach him grammah.Breeze is blowin' wif perfume,Jes' enough to tease you;Hollyhocks is all in bloom,Smellin' fu' to please you.Go 'way, folks, an' let me 'lone,Times is gettin' dearah—Summah's settin' on de th'one,An' I 'm a-layin' neah huh!
Dis is gospel weathah sho'—Hills is sawt o' hazy.Meddahs level ez a flo'Callin' to de lazy.Sky all white wif streaks o' blue,Sunshine softly gleamin',D'ain't no wuk hit's right to do,Nothin' 's right but dreamin'.
Dis is gospel weathah sho'—
Hills is sawt o' hazy.
Meddahs level ez a flo'
Callin' to de lazy.
Sky all white wif streaks o' blue,
Sunshine softly gleamin',
D'ain't no wuk hit's right to do,
Nothin' 's right but dreamin'.
Dreamin' by de rivah sideWif de watahs glist'nin',Feelin' good an' satisfiedEz you lay a-list'nin'To the little nakid boysSplashin' in de watah,Hollerin' fu' to spress deir joysJes' lak youngsters ought to.
Dreamin' by de rivah side
Wif de watahs glist'nin',
Feelin' good an' satisfied
Ez you lay a-list'nin'
To the little nakid boys
Splashin' in de watah,
Hollerin' fu' to spress deir joys
Jes' lak youngsters ought to.
Squir'l a-tippin' on his toes,So 's to hide an' view you;Whole flocks o' camp-meetin' crowsShoutin' hallelujah.Peckahwood erpon de treeTappin' lak a hammah;Jaybird chattin' wif a bee,Tryin' to teach him grammah.
Squir'l a-tippin' on his toes,
So 's to hide an' view you;
Whole flocks o' camp-meetin' crows
Shoutin' hallelujah.
Peckahwood erpon de tree
Tappin' lak a hammah;
Jaybird chattin' wif a bee,
Tryin' to teach him grammah.
Breeze is blowin' wif perfume,Jes' enough to tease you;Hollyhocks is all in bloom,Smellin' fu' to please you.Go 'way, folks, an' let me 'lone,Times is gettin' dearah—Summah's settin' on de th'one,An' I 'm a-layin' neah huh!
Breeze is blowin' wif perfume,
Jes' enough to tease you;
Hollyhocks is all in bloom,
Smellin' fu' to please you.
Go 'way, folks, an' let me 'lone,
Times is gettin' dearah—
Summah's settin' on de th'one,
An' I 'm a-layin' neah huh!
SPRING SONGA blue-bell springs upon the ledge,A lark sits singing in the hedge;Sweet perfumes scent the balmy air,And life is brimming everywhere.What lark and breeze and bluebird sing,Is Spring, Spring, Spring!No more the air is sharp and cold;The planter wends across the wold,And, glad, beneath the shining skyWe wander forth, my love and I.And ever in our hearts doth ringThis song of Spring, Spring!For life is life and love is love,'Twixt maid and man or dove and dove.Life may be short, life may be long,But love will come, and to its songShall this refrain for ever clingOf Spring, Spring, Spring!
A blue-bell springs upon the ledge,A lark sits singing in the hedge;Sweet perfumes scent the balmy air,And life is brimming everywhere.What lark and breeze and bluebird sing,Is Spring, Spring, Spring!
A blue-bell springs upon the ledge,
A lark sits singing in the hedge;
Sweet perfumes scent the balmy air,
And life is brimming everywhere.
What lark and breeze and bluebird sing,
Is Spring, Spring, Spring!
No more the air is sharp and cold;The planter wends across the wold,And, glad, beneath the shining skyWe wander forth, my love and I.And ever in our hearts doth ringThis song of Spring, Spring!
No more the air is sharp and cold;
The planter wends across the wold,
And, glad, beneath the shining sky
We wander forth, my love and I.
And ever in our hearts doth ring
This song of Spring, Spring!
For life is life and love is love,'Twixt maid and man or dove and dove.Life may be short, life may be long,But love will come, and to its songShall this refrain for ever clingOf Spring, Spring, Spring!
For life is life and love is love,
'Twixt maid and man or dove and dove.
Life may be short, life may be long,
But love will come, and to its song
Shall this refrain for ever cling
Of Spring, Spring, Spring!
TO LOUISEOh, the poets may sing of their Lady Irenes,And may rave in their rhymes about wonderful queens;But I throw my poetical wings to the breeze,And soar in a song to my Lady Louise.A sweet little maid, who is dearer, I ween,Than any fair duchess, or even a queen.When speaking of her I can't plod in my prose,For she 's the wee lassie who gave me a rose.Since poets, from seeing a lady's lip curled,Have written fair verse that has sweetened the world;Why, then, should not I give the space of an hourTo making a song in return for a flower?I have found in my life—it has not been so long—There are too few of flowers—too little of song.So out of that blossom, this lay of mine grows,For the dear little lady who gave me the rose.I thank God for innocence, dearer than Art,That lights on a by-way which leads to the heart,And led by an impulse no less than divine,Walks into the temple and sits at the shrine.I would rather pluck daisies that grow in the wild,Or take one simple rose from the hand of a child,Then to breathe the rich fragrance of flowers that bideIn the gardens of luxury, passion, and pride.I know not, my wee one, how came you to knowWhich way to my heart was the right way to go;Unless in your purity, soul-clean and clear,God whispers his messages into your ear.You have now had my song, let me end with a prayerThat your life may be always sweet, happy, and fair;That your joys may be many, and absent your woes,O dear little lady who gave me the rose!
Oh, the poets may sing of their Lady Irenes,And may rave in their rhymes about wonderful queens;But I throw my poetical wings to the breeze,And soar in a song to my Lady Louise.A sweet little maid, who is dearer, I ween,Than any fair duchess, or even a queen.When speaking of her I can't plod in my prose,For she 's the wee lassie who gave me a rose.
Oh, the poets may sing of their Lady Irenes,
And may rave in their rhymes about wonderful queens;
But I throw my poetical wings to the breeze,
And soar in a song to my Lady Louise.
A sweet little maid, who is dearer, I ween,
Than any fair duchess, or even a queen.
When speaking of her I can't plod in my prose,
For she 's the wee lassie who gave me a rose.
Since poets, from seeing a lady's lip curled,Have written fair verse that has sweetened the world;Why, then, should not I give the space of an hourTo making a song in return for a flower?I have found in my life—it has not been so long—There are too few of flowers—too little of song.So out of that blossom, this lay of mine grows,For the dear little lady who gave me the rose.
Since poets, from seeing a lady's lip curled,
Have written fair verse that has sweetened the world;
Why, then, should not I give the space of an hour
To making a song in return for a flower?
I have found in my life—it has not been so long—
There are too few of flowers—too little of song.
So out of that blossom, this lay of mine grows,
For the dear little lady who gave me the rose.
I thank God for innocence, dearer than Art,That lights on a by-way which leads to the heart,And led by an impulse no less than divine,Walks into the temple and sits at the shrine.I would rather pluck daisies that grow in the wild,Or take one simple rose from the hand of a child,Then to breathe the rich fragrance of flowers that bideIn the gardens of luxury, passion, and pride.
I thank God for innocence, dearer than Art,
That lights on a by-way which leads to the heart,
And led by an impulse no less than divine,
Walks into the temple and sits at the shrine.
I would rather pluck daisies that grow in the wild,
Or take one simple rose from the hand of a child,
Then to breathe the rich fragrance of flowers that bide
In the gardens of luxury, passion, and pride.
I know not, my wee one, how came you to knowWhich way to my heart was the right way to go;Unless in your purity, soul-clean and clear,God whispers his messages into your ear.You have now had my song, let me end with a prayerThat your life may be always sweet, happy, and fair;That your joys may be many, and absent your woes,O dear little lady who gave me the rose!
I know not, my wee one, how came you to know
Which way to my heart was the right way to go;
Unless in your purity, soul-clean and clear,
God whispers his messages into your ear.
You have now had my song, let me end with a prayer
That your life may be always sweet, happy, and fair;
That your joys may be many, and absent your woes,
O dear little lady who gave me the rose!
THE RIVALS'T was three an' thirty year ago,When I was ruther young, you know,I had my last an' only fightAbout a gal one summer night.'T was me an' Zekel Johnson; Zeke'N' me 'd be'n spattin' 'bout a week,Each of us tryin' his best to showThat he was Liza Jones's beau.We could n't neither prove the thing,Fur she was fur too sharp to flingOne over fur the other oneAn' by so doin' stop the funThat we chaps did n't have the senseTo see she got at our expense,But that's the way a feller does,Fur boys is fools an' allus was.An' when they's females in the gameI reckon men's about the same.Well, Zeke an' me went on that wayAn' fussed an' quarrelled day by day;While Liza, mindin' not the fuss,Jest kep' a-goin' with both of us,Tell we pore chaps, that's Zeke an' me,Was jest plum mad with jealousy.Well, fur a time we kep' our places,An' only showed by frownin' facesAn' looks 'at well our meanin' bodedHow full o' fight we both was loaded.At last it come, the thing broke out,An' this is how it come about.One night ('t was fair, you'll all agree)I got Eliza's company,An' leavin' Zekel in the lurch,Went trottin' off with her to church.An' jest as we had took our seat(Eliza lookin' fair an' sweet),Why, I jest could n't help but grinWhen Zekel come a-bouncin' inAs furious as the law allows.He 'd jest be'n up to Liza's house,To find her gone, then come to churchTo have this end put to his search.I guess I laffed that meetin' through,An' not a mortal word I knewOf what the preacher preached er readEr what the choir sung er said.Fur every time I 'd turn my headI could n't skeercely help but see'At Zekel had his eye on me.An' he 'ud sort o' turn an' twistAn' grind his teeth an' shake his fist.I laughed, fur la! the hull church seen us,An' knowed that suthin' was between us.Well, meetin' out, we started hum,I sorter feelin' what would come.We 'd jest got out, when up stepped Zeke,An' said, "Scuse me, I 'd like to speakTo you a minute." "Cert," said I—A-nudgin' Liza on the slyAn' laughin' in my sleeve with glee,I asked her, please, to pardon me.We walked away a step er two,Jest to git out o' Liza's view,An' then Zeke said, "I want to knowEf you think you 're Eliza's beau,An' 'at I 'm goin' to let her goHum with sich a chap as you?"An' I said bold, "You bet I do."Then Zekel, sneerin', said 'at heDid n't want to hender me.But then he 'lowed the gal was hisAn' 'at he guessed he knowed his biz,An' was n't feared o' all my kinWith all my friends an' chums throwed in.Some other things he mentioned thereThat no born man could no ways bearEr think o' ca'mly tryin' to stan'Ef Zeke had be'n the bigges' manIn town, an' not the leanest runt'At time an' labor ever stunt.An' so I let my fist go "bim,"I thought I 'd mos' nigh finished him.But Zekel did n't take it so.He jest ducked down an' dodged my blowAn' then come back at me so hard,I guess I must 'a' hurt the yard,Er spilet the grass plot where I fell,An' sakes alive it hurt me; well,It would n't be'n so bad, you see,But he jest kep' a-hittin' me.An' I hit back an' kicked an' pawed,But 't seemed 't was mostly air I clawed,While Zekel used his science wellA-makin' every motion tell.He punched an' hit, why, goodness lands,Seemed like he had a dozen hands.Well, afterwhile they stopped the fuss,An' some one kindly parted us.All beat an' cuffed an' clawed an' scratched,An' needin' both our faces patched,Each started hum a different way;An' what o' Liza, do you say,Why, Liza—little humbug—dern her,Why, she 'd gone home with Hiram Turner.
'T was three an' thirty year ago,When I was ruther young, you know,I had my last an' only fightAbout a gal one summer night.'T was me an' Zekel Johnson; Zeke'N' me 'd be'n spattin' 'bout a week,Each of us tryin' his best to showThat he was Liza Jones's beau.We could n't neither prove the thing,Fur she was fur too sharp to flingOne over fur the other oneAn' by so doin' stop the funThat we chaps did n't have the senseTo see she got at our expense,But that's the way a feller does,Fur boys is fools an' allus was.An' when they's females in the gameI reckon men's about the same.Well, Zeke an' me went on that wayAn' fussed an' quarrelled day by day;While Liza, mindin' not the fuss,Jest kep' a-goin' with both of us,Tell we pore chaps, that's Zeke an' me,Was jest plum mad with jealousy.Well, fur a time we kep' our places,An' only showed by frownin' facesAn' looks 'at well our meanin' bodedHow full o' fight we both was loaded.At last it come, the thing broke out,An' this is how it come about.One night ('t was fair, you'll all agree)I got Eliza's company,An' leavin' Zekel in the lurch,Went trottin' off with her to church.An' jest as we had took our seat(Eliza lookin' fair an' sweet),Why, I jest could n't help but grinWhen Zekel come a-bouncin' inAs furious as the law allows.He 'd jest be'n up to Liza's house,To find her gone, then come to churchTo have this end put to his search.I guess I laffed that meetin' through,An' not a mortal word I knewOf what the preacher preached er readEr what the choir sung er said.Fur every time I 'd turn my headI could n't skeercely help but see'At Zekel had his eye on me.An' he 'ud sort o' turn an' twistAn' grind his teeth an' shake his fist.I laughed, fur la! the hull church seen us,An' knowed that suthin' was between us.Well, meetin' out, we started hum,I sorter feelin' what would come.We 'd jest got out, when up stepped Zeke,An' said, "Scuse me, I 'd like to speakTo you a minute." "Cert," said I—A-nudgin' Liza on the slyAn' laughin' in my sleeve with glee,I asked her, please, to pardon me.We walked away a step er two,Jest to git out o' Liza's view,An' then Zeke said, "I want to knowEf you think you 're Eliza's beau,An' 'at I 'm goin' to let her goHum with sich a chap as you?"An' I said bold, "You bet I do."Then Zekel, sneerin', said 'at heDid n't want to hender me.But then he 'lowed the gal was hisAn' 'at he guessed he knowed his biz,An' was n't feared o' all my kinWith all my friends an' chums throwed in.Some other things he mentioned thereThat no born man could no ways bearEr think o' ca'mly tryin' to stan'Ef Zeke had be'n the bigges' manIn town, an' not the leanest runt'At time an' labor ever stunt.An' so I let my fist go "bim,"I thought I 'd mos' nigh finished him.But Zekel did n't take it so.He jest ducked down an' dodged my blowAn' then come back at me so hard,I guess I must 'a' hurt the yard,Er spilet the grass plot where I fell,An' sakes alive it hurt me; well,It would n't be'n so bad, you see,But he jest kep' a-hittin' me.An' I hit back an' kicked an' pawed,But 't seemed 't was mostly air I clawed,While Zekel used his science wellA-makin' every motion tell.He punched an' hit, why, goodness lands,Seemed like he had a dozen hands.Well, afterwhile they stopped the fuss,An' some one kindly parted us.All beat an' cuffed an' clawed an' scratched,An' needin' both our faces patched,Each started hum a different way;An' what o' Liza, do you say,Why, Liza—little humbug—dern her,Why, she 'd gone home with Hiram Turner.
'T was three an' thirty year ago,
When I was ruther young, you know,
I had my last an' only fight
About a gal one summer night.
'T was me an' Zekel Johnson; Zeke
'N' me 'd be'n spattin' 'bout a week,
Each of us tryin' his best to show
That he was Liza Jones's beau.
We could n't neither prove the thing,
Fur she was fur too sharp to fling
One over fur the other one
An' by so doin' stop the fun
That we chaps did n't have the sense
To see she got at our expense,
But that's the way a feller does,
Fur boys is fools an' allus was.
An' when they's females in the game
I reckon men's about the same.
Well, Zeke an' me went on that way
An' fussed an' quarrelled day by day;
While Liza, mindin' not the fuss,
Jest kep' a-goin' with both of us,
Tell we pore chaps, that's Zeke an' me,
Was jest plum mad with jealousy.
Well, fur a time we kep' our places,
An' only showed by frownin' faces
An' looks 'at well our meanin' boded
How full o' fight we both was loaded.
At last it come, the thing broke out,
An' this is how it come about.
One night ('t was fair, you'll all agree)
I got Eliza's company,
An' leavin' Zekel in the lurch,
Went trottin' off with her to church.
An' jest as we had took our seat
(Eliza lookin' fair an' sweet),
Why, I jest could n't help but grin
When Zekel come a-bouncin' in
As furious as the law allows.
He 'd jest be'n up to Liza's house,
To find her gone, then come to church
To have this end put to his search.
I guess I laffed that meetin' through,
An' not a mortal word I knew
Of what the preacher preached er read
Er what the choir sung er said.
Fur every time I 'd turn my head
I could n't skeercely help but see
'At Zekel had his eye on me.
An' he 'ud sort o' turn an' twist
An' grind his teeth an' shake his fist.
I laughed, fur la! the hull church seen us,
An' knowed that suthin' was between us.
Well, meetin' out, we started hum,
I sorter feelin' what would come.
We 'd jest got out, when up stepped Zeke,
An' said, "Scuse me, I 'd like to speak
To you a minute." "Cert," said I—
A-nudgin' Liza on the sly
An' laughin' in my sleeve with glee,
I asked her, please, to pardon me.
We walked away a step er two,
Jest to git out o' Liza's view,
An' then Zeke said, "I want to know
Ef you think you 're Eliza's beau,
An' 'at I 'm goin' to let her go
Hum with sich a chap as you?"
An' I said bold, "You bet I do."
Then Zekel, sneerin', said 'at he
Did n't want to hender me.
But then he 'lowed the gal was his
An' 'at he guessed he knowed his biz,
An' was n't feared o' all my kin
With all my friends an' chums throwed in.
Some other things he mentioned there
That no born man could no ways bear
Er think o' ca'mly tryin' to stan'
Ef Zeke had be'n the bigges' man
In town, an' not the leanest runt
'At time an' labor ever stunt.
An' so I let my fist go "bim,"
I thought I 'd mos' nigh finished him.
But Zekel did n't take it so.
He jest ducked down an' dodged my blow
An' then come back at me so hard,
I guess I must 'a' hurt the yard,
Er spilet the grass plot where I fell,
An' sakes alive it hurt me; well,
It would n't be'n so bad, you see,
But he jest kep' a-hittin' me.
An' I hit back an' kicked an' pawed,
But 't seemed 't was mostly air I clawed,
While Zekel used his science well
A-makin' every motion tell.
He punched an' hit, why, goodness lands,
Seemed like he had a dozen hands.
Well, afterwhile they stopped the fuss,
An' some one kindly parted us.
All beat an' cuffed an' clawed an' scratched,
An' needin' both our faces patched,
Each started hum a different way;
An' what o' Liza, do you say,
Why, Liza—little humbug—dern her,
Why, she 'd gone home with Hiram Turner.
THE LOVER AND THE MOONA lover whom duty called over the wave,With himself communed: "Will my love be trueIf left to herself? Had I better not sueSome friend to watch over her, good and grave?But my friend might fail in my need," he said,"And I return to find love dead.Since friendships fade like the flow'rs of June,I will leave her in charge of the stable moon."Then he said to the moon: "O dear old moon,Who for years and years from thy thrown aboveHast nurtured and guarded young lovers and love,My heart has but come to its waiting June,And the promise time of the budding vine;Oh, guard thee well this love of mine."And he harked him then while all was still,And the pale moon answered and said, "I will."And he sailed in his ship o'er many seas,And he wandered wide o'er strange far strands:In isles of the south and in Orient lands,Where pestilence lurks in the breath of the breeze.But his star was high, so he braved the main,And sailed him blithely home again;And with joy he bended his footsteps soonTo learn of his love from the matron moon.She sat as of yore, in her olden place,Serene as death, in her silver chair.A white rose gleamed in her whiter hair,And the tint of a blush was on her face.At sight of the youth she sadly bowedAnd hid her face 'neath a gracious cloud.She faltered faint on the night's dim marge,But "How," spoke the youth, "have you kept your charge?"The moon was sad at a trust ill-kept;The blush went out in her blanching cheek,And her voice was timid and low and weak,As she made her plea and sighed and wept."Oh, another prayed and another plead,And I could n't resist," she answering said;"But love still grows in the hearts of men:Go forth, dear youth, and love again."But he turned him away from her proffered grace."Thou art false, O moon, as the hearts of men,I will not, will not love again."And he turned sheer 'round with a soul-sick faceTo the sea, and cried: "Sea, curse the moon,Who makes her vows and forgets so soon."And the awful sea with anger stirred,And his breast heaved hard as he lay and heard.And ever the moon wept down in rain,And ever her sighs rose high in wind;But the earth and sea were deaf and blind,And she wept and sighed her griefs in vain.And ever at night, when the storm is fierce,The cries of a wraith through the thunder pierce;And the waves strain their awful hands on highTo tear the false moon from the sky.
A lover whom duty called over the wave,With himself communed: "Will my love be trueIf left to herself? Had I better not sueSome friend to watch over her, good and grave?But my friend might fail in my need," he said,"And I return to find love dead.Since friendships fade like the flow'rs of June,I will leave her in charge of the stable moon."
A lover whom duty called over the wave,
With himself communed: "Will my love be true
If left to herself? Had I better not sue
Some friend to watch over her, good and grave?
But my friend might fail in my need," he said,
"And I return to find love dead.
Since friendships fade like the flow'rs of June,
I will leave her in charge of the stable moon."
Then he said to the moon: "O dear old moon,Who for years and years from thy thrown aboveHast nurtured and guarded young lovers and love,My heart has but come to its waiting June,And the promise time of the budding vine;Oh, guard thee well this love of mine."And he harked him then while all was still,And the pale moon answered and said, "I will."
Then he said to the moon: "O dear old moon,
Who for years and years from thy thrown above
Hast nurtured and guarded young lovers and love,
My heart has but come to its waiting June,
And the promise time of the budding vine;
Oh, guard thee well this love of mine."
And he harked him then while all was still,
And the pale moon answered and said, "I will."
And he sailed in his ship o'er many seas,And he wandered wide o'er strange far strands:In isles of the south and in Orient lands,Where pestilence lurks in the breath of the breeze.But his star was high, so he braved the main,And sailed him blithely home again;And with joy he bended his footsteps soonTo learn of his love from the matron moon.
And he sailed in his ship o'er many seas,
And he wandered wide o'er strange far strands:
In isles of the south and in Orient lands,
Where pestilence lurks in the breath of the breeze.
But his star was high, so he braved the main,
And sailed him blithely home again;
And with joy he bended his footsteps soon
To learn of his love from the matron moon.
She sat as of yore, in her olden place,Serene as death, in her silver chair.A white rose gleamed in her whiter hair,And the tint of a blush was on her face.At sight of the youth she sadly bowedAnd hid her face 'neath a gracious cloud.She faltered faint on the night's dim marge,But "How," spoke the youth, "have you kept your charge?"
She sat as of yore, in her olden place,
Serene as death, in her silver chair.
A white rose gleamed in her whiter hair,
And the tint of a blush was on her face.
At sight of the youth she sadly bowed
And hid her face 'neath a gracious cloud.
She faltered faint on the night's dim marge,
But "How," spoke the youth, "have you kept your charge?"
The moon was sad at a trust ill-kept;The blush went out in her blanching cheek,And her voice was timid and low and weak,As she made her plea and sighed and wept."Oh, another prayed and another plead,And I could n't resist," she answering said;"But love still grows in the hearts of men:Go forth, dear youth, and love again."
The moon was sad at a trust ill-kept;
The blush went out in her blanching cheek,
And her voice was timid and low and weak,
As she made her plea and sighed and wept.
"Oh, another prayed and another plead,
And I could n't resist," she answering said;
"But love still grows in the hearts of men:
Go forth, dear youth, and love again."
But he turned him away from her proffered grace."Thou art false, O moon, as the hearts of men,I will not, will not love again."And he turned sheer 'round with a soul-sick faceTo the sea, and cried: "Sea, curse the moon,Who makes her vows and forgets so soon."And the awful sea with anger stirred,And his breast heaved hard as he lay and heard.
But he turned him away from her proffered grace.
"Thou art false, O moon, as the hearts of men,
I will not, will not love again."
And he turned sheer 'round with a soul-sick face
To the sea, and cried: "Sea, curse the moon,
Who makes her vows and forgets so soon."
And the awful sea with anger stirred,
And his breast heaved hard as he lay and heard.
And ever the moon wept down in rain,And ever her sighs rose high in wind;But the earth and sea were deaf and blind,And she wept and sighed her griefs in vain.And ever at night, when the storm is fierce,The cries of a wraith through the thunder pierce;And the waves strain their awful hands on highTo tear the false moon from the sky.
And ever the moon wept down in rain,
And ever her sighs rose high in wind;
But the earth and sea were deaf and blind,
And she wept and sighed her griefs in vain.
And ever at night, when the storm is fierce,
The cries of a wraith through the thunder pierce;
And the waves strain their awful hands on high
To tear the false moon from the sky.
CONSCIENCE AND REMORSE"Good-bye," I said to my conscience—"Good-bye for aye and aye,"And I put her hands off harshly,And turned my face away;And conscience smitten sorelyReturned not from that day.But a time came when my spiritGrew weary of its pace;And I cried: "Come back, my conscience;I long to see thy face."But conscience cried: "I cannot;Remorse sits in my place."
"Good-bye," I said to my conscience—"Good-bye for aye and aye,"And I put her hands off harshly,And turned my face away;And conscience smitten sorelyReturned not from that day.
"Good-bye," I said to my conscience—
"Good-bye for aye and aye,"
And I put her hands off harshly,
And turned my face away;
And conscience smitten sorely
Returned not from that day.
But a time came when my spiritGrew weary of its pace;And I cried: "Come back, my conscience;I long to see thy face."But conscience cried: "I cannot;Remorse sits in my place."
But a time came when my spirit
Grew weary of its pace;
And I cried: "Come back, my conscience;
I long to see thy face."
But conscience cried: "I cannot;
Remorse sits in my place."
IONEIAh, yes, 't is sweet still to remember,Though 'twere less painful to forget;For while my heart glows like an ember,Mine eyes with sorrow's drops are wet,And, oh, my heart is aching yet.It is a law of mortal painThat old wounds, long accounted well,Beneath the memory's potent spell,Will wake to life and bleed again.So 't is with me; it might be betterIf I should turn no look behind,—If I could curb my heart, and fetterFrom reminiscent gaze my mind,Or let my soul go blind—go blind!But would I do it if I could?Nay! ease at such a price were spurned;For, since my love was once returned,All that I suffer seemeth good.I know, I know it is the fashion,When love has left some heart distressed,To weight the air with wordful passion;But I am glad that in my breastI ever held so dear a guest.Love does not come at every nod,Or every voice that calleth "hasten;"He seeketh out some heart to chasten,And whips it, wailing, up to God!Love is no random road wayfarerWho where he may must sip his glass.Love is the King, the Purple-Wearer,Whose guard recks not of tree or grassTo blaze the way that he may pass.What if my heart be in the blastThat heralds his triumphant way;Shall I repine, shall I not say:"Rejoice, my heart, the King has passed!"In life, each heart holds some sad story—The saddest ones are never told.I, too, have dreamed of fame and glory,And viewed the future bright with gold;But that is as a tale long told.Mine eyes have lost their youthful flash,My cunning hand has lost its art;I am not old, but in my heartThe ember lies beneath the ash.I loved! Why not? My heart was youthful,My mind was filled with healthy thought.He doubts not whose own self is truthful,Doubt by dishonesty is taught;So loved I boldly, fearing naught.I did not walk this lowly earth;Mine was a newer, higher sphere,Where youth was long and life was dear,And all save love was little worth.Her likeness! Would that I might limn it,As Love did, with enduring art;Nor dust of days nor death may dim it,Where it lies graven on my heart,Of this sad fabric of my life a part.I would that I might paint her nowAs I beheld her in that day,Ere her first bloom had passed away,And left the lines upon her brow.A face serene that, beaming brightly,Disarmed the hot sun's glances bold.A foot that kissed the ground so lightly,He frowned in wrath and deemed her cold,But loved her still though he was old.A form where every maiden graceBloomed to perfection's richest flower,—The statued pose of conscious power,Like lithe-limbed Dian's of the chase.Beneath a brow too fair for frowning,Like moon-lit deeps that glass the skiesTill all the hosts above seem drowning,Looked forth her steadfast hazel eyes,With gaze serene and purely wise.And over all, her tresses rare,Which, when, with his desire grown weak,The Night bent down to kiss her cheek,Entrapped and held him captive there.This was Ione; a spirit finerNe'er burned to ash its house of clay;A soul instinct with fire divinerNe'er fled athwart the face of day,And tempted Time with earthly stay.Her loveliness was not aloneOf face and form and tresses' hue:For aye a pure, high soul shone throughHer every act: this was Ione.
Ah, yes, 't is sweet still to remember,Though 'twere less painful to forget;For while my heart glows like an ember,Mine eyes with sorrow's drops are wet,And, oh, my heart is aching yet.It is a law of mortal painThat old wounds, long accounted well,Beneath the memory's potent spell,Will wake to life and bleed again.
Ah, yes, 't is sweet still to remember,
Though 'twere less painful to forget;
For while my heart glows like an ember,
Mine eyes with sorrow's drops are wet,
And, oh, my heart is aching yet.
It is a law of mortal pain
That old wounds, long accounted well,
Beneath the memory's potent spell,
Will wake to life and bleed again.
So 't is with me; it might be betterIf I should turn no look behind,—If I could curb my heart, and fetterFrom reminiscent gaze my mind,Or let my soul go blind—go blind!But would I do it if I could?Nay! ease at such a price were spurned;For, since my love was once returned,All that I suffer seemeth good.
So 't is with me; it might be better
If I should turn no look behind,—
If I could curb my heart, and fetter
From reminiscent gaze my mind,
Or let my soul go blind—go blind!
But would I do it if I could?
Nay! ease at such a price were spurned;
For, since my love was once returned,
All that I suffer seemeth good.
I know, I know it is the fashion,When love has left some heart distressed,To weight the air with wordful passion;But I am glad that in my breastI ever held so dear a guest.Love does not come at every nod,Or every voice that calleth "hasten;"He seeketh out some heart to chasten,And whips it, wailing, up to God!
I know, I know it is the fashion,
When love has left some heart distressed,
To weight the air with wordful passion;
But I am glad that in my breast
I ever held so dear a guest.
Love does not come at every nod,
Or every voice that calleth "hasten;"
He seeketh out some heart to chasten,
And whips it, wailing, up to God!
Love is no random road wayfarerWho where he may must sip his glass.Love is the King, the Purple-Wearer,Whose guard recks not of tree or grassTo blaze the way that he may pass.What if my heart be in the blastThat heralds his triumphant way;Shall I repine, shall I not say:"Rejoice, my heart, the King has passed!"
Love is no random road wayfarer
Who where he may must sip his glass.
Love is the King, the Purple-Wearer,
Whose guard recks not of tree or grass
To blaze the way that he may pass.
What if my heart be in the blast
That heralds his triumphant way;
Shall I repine, shall I not say:
"Rejoice, my heart, the King has passed!"
In life, each heart holds some sad story—The saddest ones are never told.I, too, have dreamed of fame and glory,And viewed the future bright with gold;But that is as a tale long told.Mine eyes have lost their youthful flash,My cunning hand has lost its art;I am not old, but in my heartThe ember lies beneath the ash.
In life, each heart holds some sad story—
The saddest ones are never told.
I, too, have dreamed of fame and glory,
And viewed the future bright with gold;
But that is as a tale long told.
Mine eyes have lost their youthful flash,
My cunning hand has lost its art;
I am not old, but in my heart
The ember lies beneath the ash.
I loved! Why not? My heart was youthful,My mind was filled with healthy thought.He doubts not whose own self is truthful,Doubt by dishonesty is taught;So loved I boldly, fearing naught.I did not walk this lowly earth;Mine was a newer, higher sphere,Where youth was long and life was dear,And all save love was little worth.
I loved! Why not? My heart was youthful,
My mind was filled with healthy thought.
He doubts not whose own self is truthful,
Doubt by dishonesty is taught;
So loved I boldly, fearing naught.
I did not walk this lowly earth;
Mine was a newer, higher sphere,
Where youth was long and life was dear,
And all save love was little worth.
Her likeness! Would that I might limn it,As Love did, with enduring art;Nor dust of days nor death may dim it,Where it lies graven on my heart,Of this sad fabric of my life a part.I would that I might paint her nowAs I beheld her in that day,Ere her first bloom had passed away,And left the lines upon her brow.
Her likeness! Would that I might limn it,
As Love did, with enduring art;
Nor dust of days nor death may dim it,
Where it lies graven on my heart,
Of this sad fabric of my life a part.
I would that I might paint her now
As I beheld her in that day,
Ere her first bloom had passed away,
And left the lines upon her brow.
A face serene that, beaming brightly,Disarmed the hot sun's glances bold.A foot that kissed the ground so lightly,He frowned in wrath and deemed her cold,But loved her still though he was old.A form where every maiden graceBloomed to perfection's richest flower,—The statued pose of conscious power,Like lithe-limbed Dian's of the chase.
A face serene that, beaming brightly,
Disarmed the hot sun's glances bold.
A foot that kissed the ground so lightly,
He frowned in wrath and deemed her cold,
But loved her still though he was old.
A form where every maiden grace
Bloomed to perfection's richest flower,—
The statued pose of conscious power,
Like lithe-limbed Dian's of the chase.
Beneath a brow too fair for frowning,Like moon-lit deeps that glass the skiesTill all the hosts above seem drowning,Looked forth her steadfast hazel eyes,With gaze serene and purely wise.And over all, her tresses rare,Which, when, with his desire grown weak,The Night bent down to kiss her cheek,Entrapped and held him captive there.
Beneath a brow too fair for frowning,
Like moon-lit deeps that glass the skies
Till all the hosts above seem drowning,
Looked forth her steadfast hazel eyes,
With gaze serene and purely wise.
And over all, her tresses rare,
Which, when, with his desire grown weak,
The Night bent down to kiss her cheek,
Entrapped and held him captive there.
This was Ione; a spirit finerNe'er burned to ash its house of clay;A soul instinct with fire divinerNe'er fled athwart the face of day,And tempted Time with earthly stay.Her loveliness was not aloneOf face and form and tresses' hue:For aye a pure, high soul shone throughHer every act: this was Ione.
This was Ione; a spirit finer
Ne'er burned to ash its house of clay;
A soul instinct with fire diviner
Ne'er fled athwart the face of day,
And tempted Time with earthly stay.
Her loveliness was not alone
Of face and form and tresses' hue:
For aye a pure, high soul shone through
Her every act: this was Ione.
II'T was in the radiant summer weather,When God looked, smiling, from the sky;And we went wand'ring much togetherBy wood and lane, Ione and I,Attracted by the subtle tieOf common thoughts and common tastes,Of eyes whose vision saw the same,And freely granted beauty's claimWhere others found but worthless wastes.We paused to hear the far bells ringingAcross the distance, sweet and clear.We listened to the wild bird's singingThe song he meant for his mate's ear,And deemed our chance to do so dear.We loved to watch the warrior Sun,With flaming shield and flaunting crest,Go striding down the gory West,When Day's long fight was fought and won.And life became a different story;Where'er I looked, I saw new light.Earth's self assumed a greater glory,Mine eyes were cleared to fuller sight.Then first I saw the need and mightOf that fair band, the singing throng,Who, gifted with the skill divine,Take up the threads of life, spun fine,And weave them into soulful song.They sung for me, whose passion pressingMy soul, found vent in song nor line.They bore the burden of expressingAll that I felt, with art's design,And every word of theirs was mine.I read them to Ione, ofttimes,By hill and shore, beneath fair skies,And she looked deeply in mine eyes,And knew my love spoke through their rhymes.Her life was like the stream that floweth,And mine was like the waiting sea;Her love was like the flower that bloweth,And mine was like the searching bee—I found her sweetness all for me.God plied him in the mint of time,And coined for us a golden day,And rolled it ringing down life's wayWith love's sweet music in its chime.And God unclasped the Book of Ages,And laid it open to our sight;Upon the dimness of its pages,So long consigned to rayless night,He shed the glory of his light.We read them well, we read them long,And ever thrilling did we seeThat love ruled all humanity,—The master passion, pure and strong.
'T was in the radiant summer weather,When God looked, smiling, from the sky;And we went wand'ring much togetherBy wood and lane, Ione and I,Attracted by the subtle tieOf common thoughts and common tastes,Of eyes whose vision saw the same,And freely granted beauty's claimWhere others found but worthless wastes.
'T was in the radiant summer weather,
When God looked, smiling, from the sky;
And we went wand'ring much together
By wood and lane, Ione and I,
Attracted by the subtle tie
Of common thoughts and common tastes,
Of eyes whose vision saw the same,
And freely granted beauty's claim
Where others found but worthless wastes.
We paused to hear the far bells ringingAcross the distance, sweet and clear.We listened to the wild bird's singingThe song he meant for his mate's ear,And deemed our chance to do so dear.We loved to watch the warrior Sun,With flaming shield and flaunting crest,Go striding down the gory West,When Day's long fight was fought and won.
We paused to hear the far bells ringing
Across the distance, sweet and clear.
We listened to the wild bird's singing
The song he meant for his mate's ear,
And deemed our chance to do so dear.
We loved to watch the warrior Sun,
With flaming shield and flaunting crest,
Go striding down the gory West,
When Day's long fight was fought and won.
And life became a different story;Where'er I looked, I saw new light.Earth's self assumed a greater glory,Mine eyes were cleared to fuller sight.Then first I saw the need and mightOf that fair band, the singing throng,Who, gifted with the skill divine,Take up the threads of life, spun fine,And weave them into soulful song.
And life became a different story;
Where'er I looked, I saw new light.
Earth's self assumed a greater glory,
Mine eyes were cleared to fuller sight.
Then first I saw the need and might
Of that fair band, the singing throng,
Who, gifted with the skill divine,
Take up the threads of life, spun fine,
And weave them into soulful song.
They sung for me, whose passion pressingMy soul, found vent in song nor line.They bore the burden of expressingAll that I felt, with art's design,And every word of theirs was mine.I read them to Ione, ofttimes,By hill and shore, beneath fair skies,And she looked deeply in mine eyes,And knew my love spoke through their rhymes.
They sung for me, whose passion pressing
My soul, found vent in song nor line.
They bore the burden of expressing
All that I felt, with art's design,
And every word of theirs was mine.
I read them to Ione, ofttimes,
By hill and shore, beneath fair skies,
And she looked deeply in mine eyes,
And knew my love spoke through their rhymes.
Her life was like the stream that floweth,And mine was like the waiting sea;Her love was like the flower that bloweth,And mine was like the searching bee—I found her sweetness all for me.God plied him in the mint of time,And coined for us a golden day,And rolled it ringing down life's wayWith love's sweet music in its chime.
Her life was like the stream that floweth,
And mine was like the waiting sea;
Her love was like the flower that bloweth,
And mine was like the searching bee—
I found her sweetness all for me.
God plied him in the mint of time,
And coined for us a golden day,
And rolled it ringing down life's way
With love's sweet music in its chime.
And God unclasped the Book of Ages,And laid it open to our sight;Upon the dimness of its pages,So long consigned to rayless night,He shed the glory of his light.We read them well, we read them long,And ever thrilling did we seeThat love ruled all humanity,—The master passion, pure and strong.
And God unclasped the Book of Ages,
And laid it open to our sight;
Upon the dimness of its pages,
So long consigned to rayless night,
He shed the glory of his light.
We read them well, we read them long,
And ever thrilling did we see
That love ruled all humanity,—
The master passion, pure and strong.
IIITo-day my skies are bare and ashen,And bend on me without a beam.Since love is held the master-passion,Its loss must be the pain supreme—And grinning Fate has wrecked my dream.But pardon, dear departed Guest,I will not rant, I will not rail;For good the grain must feel the flail;There are whom love has never blessed.I had and have a younger brother,One whom I loved and love to-dayAs never fond and doting motherAdored the babe who found its wayFrom heavenly scenes into her day.Oh, he was full of youth's new wine,—A man on life's ascending slope,Flushed with ambition, full of hope;And every wish of his was mine.A kingly youth; the way before himWas thronged with victories to be won;So joyous, too, the heavens o'er himWere bright with an unchanging sun,—His days with rhyme were overrun.Toil had not taught him Nature's prose,Tears had not dimmed his brilliant eyes,And sorrow had not made him wise;His life was in the budding rose.I know not how I came to waken,Some instinct pricked my soul to sight;My heart by some vague thrill was shaken,—A thrill so true and yet so slight,I hardly deemed I read aright.As when a sleeper, ign'rant why,Not knowing what mysterious handHas called him out of slumberland,Starts up to find some danger nigh.Love is a guest that comes, unbidden,But, having come, asserts his right;He will not be repressed nor hidden.And so my brother's dawning plightBecame uncovered to my sight.Some sound-mote in his passing toneCaught in the meshes of my ear;Some little glance, a shade too dear,Betrayed the love he bore Ione.What could I do? He was my brother,And young, and full of hope and trust;I could not, dared not try to smotherHis flame, and turn his heart to dust.I knew how oft life gives a crustTo starving men who cry for bread;But he was young, so few his days,He had not learned the great world's ways,Nor Disappointment's volumes read.However fair and rich the booty,I could not make his loss my gain.For love is dear, but dearer duty,And here my way was clear and plain.I saw how I could save him pain.And so, with all my day grown dim,That this loved brother's sun might shine,I joined his suit, gave over mine,And sought Ione, to plead for him.I found her in an eastern bower,Where all day long the am'rous sunLay by to woo a timid flower.This day his course was well-nigh run,But still with lingering art he spunGold fancies on the shadowed wall.The vines waved soft and green above,And there where one might tell his love,I told my griefs—I told her all!I told her all, and as she hearkened,A tear-drop fell upon her dress.With grief her flushing brow was darkened;One sob that she could not repressBetrayed the depths of her distress.Upon her grief my sorrow fed,And I was bowed with unlived years,My heart swelled with a sea of tears,The tears my manhood could not shed.The world is Rome, and Fate is Nero,Disporting in the hour of doom.God made us men; times make the hero—But in that awful space of gloomI gave no thought but sorrow's room.All—all was dim within that bower,What time the sun divorced the day;And all the shadows, glooming gray,Proclaimed the sadness of the hour.She could not speak—no word was needed;Her look, half strength and half despair,Told me I had not vainly pleaded,That she would not ignore my prayer.And so she turned and left me there,And as she went, so passed my bliss;She loved me, I could not mistake—But for her own and my love's sake,Her womanhood could rise to this!My wounded heart fled swift to cover,And life at times seemed very drear.My brother proved an ardent lover—What had so young a man to fear?He wed Ione within the year.No shadow clouds her tranquil brow,Men speak her husband's name with pride,While she sits honored at his side—She is—she must be happy now!I doubt the course I took no longer,Since those I love seem satisfied.The bond between them will grow strongerAs they go forward side by side;Then will my pains be jusfied.Their joy is mine, and that is best—I am not totally bereft;For I have still the mem'ry left—Love stopped with me—a Royal Guest!
To-day my skies are bare and ashen,And bend on me without a beam.Since love is held the master-passion,Its loss must be the pain supreme—And grinning Fate has wrecked my dream.But pardon, dear departed Guest,I will not rant, I will not rail;For good the grain must feel the flail;There are whom love has never blessed.
To-day my skies are bare and ashen,
And bend on me without a beam.
Since love is held the master-passion,
Its loss must be the pain supreme—
And grinning Fate has wrecked my dream.
But pardon, dear departed Guest,
I will not rant, I will not rail;
For good the grain must feel the flail;
There are whom love has never blessed.
I had and have a younger brother,One whom I loved and love to-dayAs never fond and doting motherAdored the babe who found its wayFrom heavenly scenes into her day.Oh, he was full of youth's new wine,—A man on life's ascending slope,Flushed with ambition, full of hope;And every wish of his was mine.
I had and have a younger brother,
One whom I loved and love to-day
As never fond and doting mother
Adored the babe who found its way
From heavenly scenes into her day.
Oh, he was full of youth's new wine,—
A man on life's ascending slope,
Flushed with ambition, full of hope;
And every wish of his was mine.
A kingly youth; the way before himWas thronged with victories to be won;So joyous, too, the heavens o'er himWere bright with an unchanging sun,—His days with rhyme were overrun.Toil had not taught him Nature's prose,Tears had not dimmed his brilliant eyes,And sorrow had not made him wise;His life was in the budding rose.
A kingly youth; the way before him
Was thronged with victories to be won;
So joyous, too, the heavens o'er him
Were bright with an unchanging sun,—
His days with rhyme were overrun.
Toil had not taught him Nature's prose,
Tears had not dimmed his brilliant eyes,
And sorrow had not made him wise;
His life was in the budding rose.
I know not how I came to waken,Some instinct pricked my soul to sight;My heart by some vague thrill was shaken,—A thrill so true and yet so slight,I hardly deemed I read aright.As when a sleeper, ign'rant why,Not knowing what mysterious handHas called him out of slumberland,Starts up to find some danger nigh.
I know not how I came to waken,
Some instinct pricked my soul to sight;
My heart by some vague thrill was shaken,—
A thrill so true and yet so slight,
I hardly deemed I read aright.
As when a sleeper, ign'rant why,
Not knowing what mysterious hand
Has called him out of slumberland,
Starts up to find some danger nigh.
Love is a guest that comes, unbidden,But, having come, asserts his right;He will not be repressed nor hidden.And so my brother's dawning plightBecame uncovered to my sight.Some sound-mote in his passing toneCaught in the meshes of my ear;Some little glance, a shade too dear,Betrayed the love he bore Ione.
Love is a guest that comes, unbidden,
But, having come, asserts his right;
He will not be repressed nor hidden.
And so my brother's dawning plight
Became uncovered to my sight.
Some sound-mote in his passing tone
Caught in the meshes of my ear;
Some little glance, a shade too dear,
Betrayed the love he bore Ione.
What could I do? He was my brother,And young, and full of hope and trust;I could not, dared not try to smotherHis flame, and turn his heart to dust.I knew how oft life gives a crustTo starving men who cry for bread;But he was young, so few his days,He had not learned the great world's ways,Nor Disappointment's volumes read.
What could I do? He was my brother,
And young, and full of hope and trust;
I could not, dared not try to smother
His flame, and turn his heart to dust.
I knew how oft life gives a crust
To starving men who cry for bread;
But he was young, so few his days,
He had not learned the great world's ways,
Nor Disappointment's volumes read.
However fair and rich the booty,I could not make his loss my gain.For love is dear, but dearer duty,And here my way was clear and plain.I saw how I could save him pain.And so, with all my day grown dim,That this loved brother's sun might shine,I joined his suit, gave over mine,And sought Ione, to plead for him.
However fair and rich the booty,
I could not make his loss my gain.
For love is dear, but dearer duty,
And here my way was clear and plain.
I saw how I could save him pain.
And so, with all my day grown dim,
That this loved brother's sun might shine,
I joined his suit, gave over mine,
And sought Ione, to plead for him.
I found her in an eastern bower,Where all day long the am'rous sunLay by to woo a timid flower.This day his course was well-nigh run,But still with lingering art he spunGold fancies on the shadowed wall.The vines waved soft and green above,And there where one might tell his love,I told my griefs—I told her all!
I found her in an eastern bower,
Where all day long the am'rous sun
Lay by to woo a timid flower.
This day his course was well-nigh run,
But still with lingering art he spun
Gold fancies on the shadowed wall.
The vines waved soft and green above,
And there where one might tell his love,
I told my griefs—I told her all!
I told her all, and as she hearkened,A tear-drop fell upon her dress.With grief her flushing brow was darkened;One sob that she could not repressBetrayed the depths of her distress.Upon her grief my sorrow fed,And I was bowed with unlived years,My heart swelled with a sea of tears,The tears my manhood could not shed.
I told her all, and as she hearkened,
A tear-drop fell upon her dress.
With grief her flushing brow was darkened;
One sob that she could not repress
Betrayed the depths of her distress.
Upon her grief my sorrow fed,
And I was bowed with unlived years,
My heart swelled with a sea of tears,
The tears my manhood could not shed.
The world is Rome, and Fate is Nero,Disporting in the hour of doom.God made us men; times make the hero—But in that awful space of gloomI gave no thought but sorrow's room.All—all was dim within that bower,What time the sun divorced the day;And all the shadows, glooming gray,Proclaimed the sadness of the hour.
The world is Rome, and Fate is Nero,
Disporting in the hour of doom.
God made us men; times make the hero—
But in that awful space of gloom
I gave no thought but sorrow's room.
All—all was dim within that bower,
What time the sun divorced the day;
And all the shadows, glooming gray,
Proclaimed the sadness of the hour.
She could not speak—no word was needed;Her look, half strength and half despair,Told me I had not vainly pleaded,That she would not ignore my prayer.And so she turned and left me there,And as she went, so passed my bliss;She loved me, I could not mistake—But for her own and my love's sake,Her womanhood could rise to this!
She could not speak—no word was needed;
Her look, half strength and half despair,
Told me I had not vainly pleaded,
That she would not ignore my prayer.
And so she turned and left me there,
And as she went, so passed my bliss;
She loved me, I could not mistake—
But for her own and my love's sake,
Her womanhood could rise to this!
My wounded heart fled swift to cover,And life at times seemed very drear.My brother proved an ardent lover—What had so young a man to fear?He wed Ione within the year.No shadow clouds her tranquil brow,Men speak her husband's name with pride,While she sits honored at his side—She is—she must be happy now!
My wounded heart fled swift to cover,
And life at times seemed very drear.
My brother proved an ardent lover—
What had so young a man to fear?
He wed Ione within the year.
No shadow clouds her tranquil brow,
Men speak her husband's name with pride,
While she sits honored at his side—
She is—she must be happy now!
I doubt the course I took no longer,Since those I love seem satisfied.The bond between them will grow strongerAs they go forward side by side;Then will my pains be jusfied.Their joy is mine, and that is best—I am not totally bereft;For I have still the mem'ry left—Love stopped with me—a Royal Guest!
I doubt the course I took no longer,
Since those I love seem satisfied.
The bond between them will grow stronger
As they go forward side by side;
Then will my pains be jusfied.
Their joy is mine, and that is best—
I am not totally bereft;
For I have still the mem'ry left—
Love stopped with me—a Royal Guest!