« EelmineJätka »
Never the golden city, where radiant
people meet, QUINQUIREME of Nineveh from distant
But the dolorous town where mourners Ophir
are going about the street. Rowing home to haven in sunny Pal
We travel the dusty road, till the light
of the day is dim, Sandalwood, cedarwood, and sweet, white
And sunset shows us spires away on the wine.
world's rim. Stately Spanish galleon coming from the
We travel from dawn to dusk, till the day Isthmus,
is past and by, Dipping through the Tropics by the palm- Seeking the holy city beyond the rim of
Friends and loves we have none, nor Topazes, and cinnamon, and gold moidores.
wealth nor blessed abode,
But the hope, the burning hope, and the Dirty British coaster with a salt-caked road, the open road.
I must go down to the seas again, to the Firewood, ironware, and cheap tin trays. lonely sea and the sky,
And all I ask is a tall ship and a star to THE SEEKERS
steer her by,
And the wheel's kick and the wind's song, FRIENDS and loves we have none,
and the white sail's shaking, wealth nor blessed abode,
And a grey mist on the sea's face, and the But the hope, the burning hope, and the
grey dawn breaking. road, the open road. Not for us are content, and quiet and I must go down to the seas again, for the peace of mind,
call of the running tide For we go seeking cities that we shall Is a wild call and a clear call that may never find.
not be denied ;
And all I ask is a windy day with the white There is no solace on earth for us - for
clouds flying, such as we
And the flung spray and the blown spume, Who search for the hidden beauty that and the sea-gull's crying.
eyes may never see. Only the road and the dawn, the sun,
I must go down to the seas again, to the the wind, and the rain,
vagrant gypsy life, And the watch-fire under the stars, and
To the gull's way and the whale's way, sleep, and the road again.
where the wind's like a whetted
knife, We seek the city of God, and the haunt And all I ask is a merry yarn from a laughwhere beauty dwells,
ing fellow-rover, And we find the noisy mart and the sound And a quiet sleep and a sweet dream when of burial bells.
the long trick's over.
There is cool green grass there, where men LAUGH AND BE MERRY
may lie at rest, LAUGH and be merry, remember, better
And the thrushes are in song there, fluting the world with a song,
from the nest. Better the world with a blow in the teeth of a wrong
“Will you not come home, brother? You
have been long away. Laugh, for the time is brief, a thread the length of a span.
It's April, and blossom time, and white is Laugh, and be proud to belong to the old proud pageant of man.
And bright is the sun, brother, and warm is
the rain, Laugh and be merry: remember, in olden Will you not come home, brother, home time,
to us again? God made Heaven and Earth for the joy He took in a rhyme,
“The young corn is green, brother, where
" Made them and filled them full with the
run; strong red wine of His mirth, It's blue sky, and white clouds, and warm The splendid joy of the stars: the joy
rain and sun. of the earth.
It's song to a man's soul, brother, fire to
a man's brain, So we must laugh and drink from the deep To hear the wild bees and see the merry blue cup of the sky,
spring again. Join the jubilant song of the great stars sweeping by,
“Larks are singing in the west, brother, Laugh, and battle, and work, and drink above the green wheat, of the wine outpoured
So will you not come home, brother, and In the dear green earth, the sign of the rest your tired feet? joy of the Lord.
I've a balm for bruised hearts, brother,
sleep for aching eyes," Laugh and be merry together, like broth- Says the warm wind, the west wind, full ers akin,
of birds' cries. Guesting awhile in the rooms of a beautiful inn,
It's the white road westwards is the road Glad till the dancing stops, and the lilt of
I must tread the music ends.
To the green grass, the cool grass, and rest Laugh till the game is played; and be you for heart and head, merry, my friends.
To the violets and the brown brooks and
the thrushes' song THE WEST WIND
In the fine land, the west land, the land
where I belong It's a warm wind, the west wind, full of birds' cries;
GEORGE MEREDITH I never hear the west wind but tears are in my eyes.
THE SPIRIT OF SHAKESPEARE For it comes from the west lands, the old brown hills,
The greatest knew thee, Mother Earth; And April's in the west wind, and daffodils.
He knew thy sons. He probed from hell It's a fine land, the west land, for hearts as tired as mine,
Of human passions, but of love deflowered Apple orchards blossom there, and the His wisdom was not, for he knew thee air's like wine.
Thence came the honeyed corner at his
lips, The conquering smile wherein his spirit
sails Calm as the God who the white sea-wave
whips, Yet full of speech and intershifting tales, Close mirrors of us: thence had he the
laugh We feel is thine: broad as ten thousand
beeves At pasture! thence thy songs, that win
now chaff From grain, bid sick Philosophy's last
leaves Whirl, if they have no response — they
enforced To fatten Earth when from her soul di
If you see well, you're king of what
you see :
Eyesight is having,
old town My lord can't lock the water; nor the lark, Unless he kills him, can my lord keep
Up, is the song-note!
THE OLD CHARTIST
I'm not ashamed: Not beaten's still my
boast: WHATE'ER I be, old England is my dam! Again I'll rouse the people up to strike. So there's my answer to the judges, But home's where different politics jar clear.
most. I'm nothing of a fox, nor of a lamb;
Respectability the women like.
This form, or that form,
The Government may be hungry pike, That's why you see me by the wayside
But don't you mount a Chartist plathere,
form! Returning home from transportation.
And my estate is suffering for the Cause. think.
No, what is yon brown water-rat about, I'm fresh as dew, and chirpy as the
Who washes his old poll with busy paws? birds :
What does he mean by 't? And just for joy to see old England wink
It's like defying all our natural laws, Thro' leaves again, I could harangue
For him to hope that he'll get clean the herds :
by't. Isn't it something To speak out like a man when you've
VII got words,
His seat is on a mud-bank, and his trade And prove you're not a stupid dumb Is dirt :- he's quite contemptible; and thing?
The fellow's all as anxious as a maid
To show a decent dress, and dry the wet. They shipp'd me off for it; I'm here again.
Now it's his whisker, Old England is my dam, whate'er I be! And now his nose, and ear: he seems Says I, I'll tramp it home, and see the
to get grain :
Each moment at the motion brisker!
To see him squat like little chaps at school, But if I go and say to my old hen:
I could let fly a laugh with all my might. I'll mend the gentry's boots, and keep He peers, hangs both his fore-paws : - discreet, bless that fool,
Until they grow too violent, — why, then,
, He's bobbing at his frill now! - what A warmer welcome I might chance to a sight!
meet : Licking the dish up,
Warmer and better. As if he thought to pass from black to And if she fancies her old cock is beat, white,
And drops upon her knees - so let her! Like parson into lawny bishop.
She suffered for me: women, you'll IX
observe, The elms and yellow reed-flags in the sun, Don't suffer for a Cause, but for a man. Look on quite grave: - the sunlight When I was in the dock she show'd her flecks his side
nerve: And links of bindweed-flowers round I saw beneath her shawl my old tea-can.
Trembling . . she brought it And shine up doubled with him in the To screw me for my work: she loath'd tide.
my plan I'm nearly splitting,
And therefore doubly kind I thought it. But nature seems like seconding his pride,
XIV And thinks that his behaviour's fitting.
I've never lost the taste of that same tea:
That liquor on my logic floats like oil, х
When I state facts, and fellows disagree. That isle o' mud looks baking dry with
For human creatures all are in a coil; gold.
All may want pardon. His needle-muzzle still works out and
I see a day when every pot will boil
Harmonious in one great Tea-garden! in. It really is a wonder to behold,
XV And makes me feel the bristles of my We wait the setting of the Dandy's day, chin.
Before that time! - He's furbishing Judged by appearance,
his dress, I fancy of the two I'm nearer Sin, He will be ready for it! — and I say, And might as well commence a clear- That yon old dandy rat amid the ance.
Thanks to hard labour !
If cleanliness is next to godliness,
The old fellow's heaven's neighbour ! And that's what my fine daughter said:she meant
XVI Pray, hold your tongue, and wear a You teach me a fine lesson, my old boy! Sunday face.
I've looked on my superiors far too long, Her husband, the young linendraper, And small has been my profit as my joy. spent
You've done the right while I've deMuch argument thereon: I'm their
nounced the wrong.
Prosper me later!
Like you I will despise the sniggering I feel superior to a chap whose place
throng, Commands him to be neat and supple. And please myself and my Creator.
I never found so true a democrat.
When her mother tends her before the
laughing mirror, Tying up her laces, looping up her hair, Often she thinks, were this wild thing
wedded, More love should I have, and much
less care. When her mother tends her before the
lighted mirror, Loosening her laces, combing down her
curls, Often she thinks, were this wild thing
wedded, I should miss but one for many boys
LOVE IN THE VALLEY
UNDER yonder beech-tree single on the
green-sward, Couched with her arms behind her Heartless she is as the shadow in the golden head,
meadows Knees and tresses folded to slip and ripple Flying to the hills on a blue and breezy
idly, Lies my young love sleeping in the No, she is athirst and drinking up her shade.
wonder: Had I the heart to slide an arm beneath Earth to her is young as the slip of the her,
new moon. Press her parting lips as her waist I Deals she an unkindness, 'tis but her rapid gather slow,
measure, Waking in amazement she could not but
Even as in a dance; and her smile can embrace me:
heal no less : Then would she hold me and never let Like the swinging May-cloud that pelts me go?
the flowers with hailstones Off a sunny border, she was made to
bruise and bless.
Lovely are the curves of the white owl Shy as the squirrel and wayward as the sweeping swallow,
Wavy in the dusk lit by one large star. Swift as the swallow along the river's Lone on the fir-branch, his rattle-note light
unvaried, Circleting the surface to meet his mirrored Brooding o'er the gloom, spins the winglets,
brown evejar. Fleeter she seems in her stay than in Darker grows the valley, more and more her flight.
forgetting : Shy as the squirrel that leaps among the So were it with me if forgetting could pine-tops,
be willed. Wayward as the swallow overhead Tell the grassy hollow that holds the . at set of sun,
bubbling well-spring, She whom I love is hard to catch and Tell it to forget the source that keeps conquer,
it filled. Hard, but O the glory of the winning
were she won!