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diff --git a/75479-0.txt b/75479-0.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..3257cf0 --- /dev/null +++ b/75479-0.txt @@ -0,0 +1,1432 @@ + +*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 75479 *** + + + + + + WILLOW’S FORGE AND OTHER POEMS + + + + + _BY THE SAME AUTHOR_ + + +THE TRAMPING METHODIST + + ‘We cannot too highly recommend this book. It is a remarkable first + attempt. It is quite without crudeness. The atmosphere of this novel + is sweet--it smells of summer and shines of the stars.’--_Daily + Chronicle._ + + +STARBRACE + + ‘It is difficult not to be unduly enthusiastic over Miss Kaye-Smith’s + book.... This fine, tragic, poetic book is a welcome sign that the + spirits of Borrow and Stevenson are still in our midst.’--_Standard._ + + +SPELL LAND + + ‘If I were to state exactly the position which I believe this author + will take among the great masters of English fiction, you might accuse + me of exaggeration.’--_Punch._ + + Published by G. BELL & SONS LIMITED + York House, Portugal Street, London + + +ISLE OF THORNS + + ‘We have found ourselves over and over again simply lost in + admiration.... No one should miss this book.’--_Pall Mall Gazette._ + + Published by CONSTABLE & CO. LTD. + 10 Orange Street, London, W.C. + + + + + WILLOW’S FORGE + AND OTHER POEMS + + BY + SHEILA KAYE-SMITH + + + LONDON + ERSKINE MACDONALD + 1914 + + + + + CONTENTS + + +BALLADS-- + PAGE +WILLOW’S FORGE 7 + +THE BALLAD OF A MOTOR BUS 10 + +THE SONG OF JACOB BOEHME 14 + +THE COUNSEL OF GILGAMESH 18 + +THE BALLAD OF THE QUICK AND DEAD 20 + +THE BALLAD OF DIVINE COMPASSION 23 + + +THE LAST GOSPEL-- + +1. DEDICATION 27 + +2. LOVE CAST OUT 28 + +3. HOLY INNOCENTS 30 + +4. TO MY BODY--A THANKSGIVING 32 + +5. FUNERAL MARCH OF A FALLEN HERO 34 + +6. ‘I AM ALPHA AND OMEGA’ 36 + + +CANT SONGS-- + +THE SCAMPSMAN’S NIGHT 38 + +A DEUCED MORAL LAY 39 + +CAST FOR LAG 40 + +TO A COMRADE SPED 41 + + +MISCELLANEOUS-- + +BRIDE’S SONG 43 + +IMMORTALITY 44 + +THE OPTIMIST 47 + +RESURRECTION 49 + +A PRAYER 51 + + + + +Willow’s Forge + + + I’ve crossed the fields from Lattenden + And haunted Honey Mill, + My feet and all my clothes are torn. + Yet on I stumble still-- + I must not stay to speak to you + Or falter with my pain, + But hasten on to Willow’s Forge, + At the bottom of the lane. + + Folk call me mad--perhaps ’tis true-- + My life is full of fears, + At whiles I bite my arms, and then + I wash the blood with tears. + I scream, I talk to owls and crows, + Hear voices from the sky, + I see the spooks that ride o’ nights-- + Men shudder when I’m nigh. + + My love was hanged for stealing sheep, + ’Twas that which sent me mad-- + He was a liar and a thief, + But O I loved my lad! + I’ve wandered wildly ever since, + And last night, ’neath the Wain, + I saw my love at Willow’s Forge, + At the bottom of the lane. + + His face was wan, his burning eye + Was like a coal from hell + (He’s with the damned souls, all folk say, + But O I love him well!) + His hands were misty as the moon + That bathed his awful brow, + His lips and breast were smeared with blood, + His cheeks were white as snow. + + ‘O tell me, love, where have you been + This weary sleepless while? + I’ve screamed and wept to kiss your lips, + I’ve hungered for your smile. + Have you been down among the damned, + Where, like the sheep in fold, + The dead men lie, and bleat and cry + And shiver in the cold? + + ‘Have you been up to where the clouds + Are sailing in the blue, + And have they thrown you down, and said + ’Twas no fit place for you? + Or have you roamed all Sussex through + In weariness and pain, + To meet me here at Willow’s Forge, + At the bottom of the lane?’ + + He nothing said at all, but stared + With glazed and dreadful eye, + His red lips shook, as if he strove + To part them with a cry. + He could not speak, and O I thought + He’d shiver from my sight, + And leave me lone at Willow’s Forge, + In the terror of the night. + + ‘O kiss me lad, before you go!’ + I cried, and raised my head. + He stooped his scarlet lips to me, + The living kissed the dead. + But O his mouth was all on fire, + And burned my cheek and hair, + I screamed aloud, and he had gone, + And left me waiting there. + + I told my mother what had passed, + She shuddered at my tale-- + ‘You’ve seen the moonlight through the trees + That shiver in the gale; + And as for your burnt cheek, my girl, + Which makes you sob with pain, + You’ve kissed the fire at Willow’s Forge, + At the bottom of the lane.’ + + But though she speak, and though I hear, + I will not aught believe + But that at last I’ve met and kissed + The lad for whom I grieve. + And if I haunt the meeting spot, + I’ll see him there again-- + That’s why I haste to Willow’s Forge, + At the bottom of the lane. + + + + +The Ballad of a Motor ’Bus + + + You get in at Ludgate Circus, + Where in regiments they stand, + All throbbing underneath the bridge, + And pointing to the Strand-- + All pageantry with colours, + All poetry with words, + Wait those blazoned motor-’buses + In their fiercely panting herds. + + There are ’buses for the East, + There are ’buses for the West, + For North and South and Central + And where heaven pleases best-- + For the Elephant and Castle, + Gospel Oak and Parson’s Green, + Some for Chelsea, some for Putney, + Some for Barnes, and some for Sheen. + + There are some that cross the river, + And they see the steamers crawl + With dirty belching smoke-stacks + To the Pool or London Wall-- + They rumble down the dingy streets + Where dingy houses grow + Like quickly sprouting toadstools + In an evil yellow row. + + And some go plunging northward + Up the hills to Kensal Rise, + And some are bound for Hampstead + And the smokeless windy skies, + And some go east to Hackney, + And the long Commercial Road, + Past the buying and the selling, + To poverty’s abode. + + But the ’bus I take goes westward-- + It leaves Charing Cross behind, + Then it bounds up Piccadilly, + Through the smokey dusty wind-- + The first lamps have been lighted, + And across St James’s Park + The early lights of Westminster + Are splashing on the dark. + + The dusk is falling gently, + And from the streets below + The London glare climbs upward + To make the sad skies glow-- + Through the mingled dusk and dazzle + We hum swiftly on our way, + While the wind brings to our faces + The first damps of the day. + + It is Summer, it is evening, + Early stars are in the sky, + Shining dim above the smoke-wreaths, + While the western bonfires die-- + And the wind sings of the river + That beyond the city flows, + Of the pleasant westward reaches + That no cargo-tramper knows. + + So we spin through holy Brompton, + We leave Kensington behind, + We thunder down to Fulham, + Past churches tall and blind-- + Till we come at last to Putney, + And the starlit river gleams + Through darkness up to Richmond, + A thoroughfare of dreams. + + And it’s there that you are waiting, + O my faithful love, for me! + Through the dark your eyes are straining + My chariot to see-- + For the working-day is over, + All its dust and hurry past, + And we go to the river, + With my hand in yours at last. + + While the motor-’bus rolls onward-- + And we stop to watch it tear + All burning through the twilight, + Mysterious and fair. + It was our love’s bright chariot, + The torch of our desires, + Kindling the London darkness + With youth’s eternal fires. + + O youth!--O youth in London! + Shall they ever be forgot, + Those young and eager footsteps + On pavements hard and hot? + The dust is in the breezes, + Stinks of petrol stain the air, + But youth has come to London, + And has found a garden there. + + + + +The Song of Jacob Boehme + + + The wild fowl hath not seen it, + No vulture flown so high, + The lion’s whelp hath not trodden, + Nor the fierce lion passed by, + The crags and the abysses + Of that most lonely way, + Which windeth in the mountains, + And leadeth to the May. + + The chymist labours nightly, + No travail will he shirk, + If he can hope to finish + The Philosophic Work. + Mercury, salt, and sulphur, + In Athanor are they, + But through their transmutation + He cannot find the May. + + And I am but a cobbler, + At work from morn till night, + A poor and silly groundling + Who scarce can read or write; + With cares of trade and household + I struggle all the day, + But I have trod the mountains, + And I have found the May. + + --The May of glancing sunshine, + The May of glowing flowers, + Of singing birds, and breezes, + And swift leaf-scented showers. + No more I fear the Turba, + For I have seen God play + Among the dews and lilies + Of the Eternal May. + + O I have found the spring-time + Of green sun-spotted shade! + O I have found the garden + Where roses never fade! + O I have learned the secrets + And signs of all the sky, + And wrought the Magnum Opus + Of holy Alchemy! + + The salt Impress of Saturn + Is mine, and Luna’s Form, + And Mercury’s sharp Flagrat, + And Mars’ most ruddy storm, + Mine is the young child Venus, + Mine Jupiter’s pure might, + I haunt the sacred Houses, + I read the dooms of night. + + The magical Triangles + Have shown me what they hold + Of light and corporiety, + Of bitterness and gold, + I saw God in the garden, + I saw Him on the Tree, + Dying to bring back Adam + Into the Liberty. + + Men laugh, and call me crazy, + The pastor saith I’ve sought + To overturn the doctrines + That Martin Luther taught. + My books he burnt, with curses, + And I have heard him tell + Good Christians to avoid me + As they would flee from hell. + + The astrologers all mock me, + The learned chymists cry, + ‘What hath this child to tell us + About our Alchemy?’ + I have felt drought and hunger, + Met lions in the way, + Been wounded in friends’ houses, + But I have found the May. + + --The May of glancing sunshine, + The May of glowing flowers, + Of singing-birds, and breezes, + And swift leaf-scented showers. + No more I fear the Turba, + For I have seen God play + Among the dews and lilies + Of the Eternal May. + + O hearken then, thou Magus, + And let thy love be sure, + Give worship to the Artist, + And keep his pattern pure, + O labour in the lubet! + And I shall humbly pray + That thou become a Champion, + And find at last the May. + + The magical Triangles + Shall both at last be one, + Adam return to Paradise, + The Mighty Work be done; + Then the meek holy servants + Shall see their God at play-- + O haste the time, great Master, + When all men find the May! + + + + +The Counsel of Gilgamesh + + ‘Gilgamesh, why dost thou wander around? + Life, which thou seekest, thou canst not find.’ + + _Epic of Gilgamesh._ + + + Why wander round, Gilgamesh? + The sun that set to-night + Shall climb the sky to-morrow, + And bake the world with light. + Throughout undying ages + The sun shall set and rise + As it hath set and risen + From dim eternities. + + Why wander round, Gilgamesh? + Why vainly wander round? + What canst thou find, O seeker, + Which hath not long been found? + What canst thou know, O scholar, + Which hath not long been known? + What canst thou have, O spoiler, + Which dead men did not own? + + The camel of the desert, + The wild ape of the wood, + Tread the white bones of heroes + Who in thy place once stood; + Like thee, they felt the sunshine, + Like thee, they loved the day, + Like thee, they sought and suffered-- + And thou shalt be as they. + + And other men, Gilgamesh, + Shall seek what thou dost seek, + And to their youth and ardour + Thy rotting bones will speak. + They will not heed thy counsel, + They too will wander round, + And waste their years in seeking + That which hath long been found. + + Why wander round, Gilgamesh? + Why vainly wander round? + What canst thou find, O seeker, + Which hath not long been found? + What canst thou know, O scholar, + Which dead men did not know? + + And this was asked in Nineveh + Thousands of years ago. + + + + +The Ballad of the Quick and Dead + + + And every night I sit alone, + And every night I see + A little cotton-aproned ghost + Who takes no heed of me. + + She sets the milk, she sets the bread, + One scarce would know that she was dead-- + But long ago death gave her greeting, + In the great bed whence one can see + The sunset in the cherry tree, + And hear the fold-bound wethers bleating. + + In a far country lives the man + Who loved this little maid, + He knows not, cares not, that each night + His supper here is laid. + + She lays it as in twilights gone, + When, all the farmstead labour done, + His passion in her arms would take + Its daylong waited recompense-- + And her lost peace and innocence + She gave ungrudging for his sake. + + She lived for love, she died for love, + Though love was agony, + And here, where joy was sold for love, + She loves eternally. + + He does not care--he wanders far, + Where light and wine and pleasure are; + He strives and battles to forget + The little cottage dove he caught, + Who gave so much and asked for naught, + And haunts the crumbling farmhouse yet. + + O Lord, how happy I should be, + If one my heart holds dear + Would come and spread the board for me, + As she who rambles here! + + I should not wander far away, + Or struggle to forget the day + I loved, but to her straight would speed, + And pledge the cup and break the bread + With one who has been ten years dead-- + Ah, that were heaven indeed! + + It may not be--no dreams of me + Disturb her quiet sleep; + She little knows that dreams of her + Wake me each night to weep. + + I never mocked her confidence, + Or robbed her of her innocence, + But with both hands I gave her all + I had to give--she did not see + My love, she never thinks of me, + She comes not when I call. + + So every night I sit alone, + And every night I see + A little cotton-aproned ghost + Who takes no heed of me. + + This is the tragedy of love, + By all men be it read, + ’Tis thus the dead dream of the quick, + The quick dream of the dead. + + This is the mockery of love, + By all men be it read, + ’Tis thus the dead forget the quick, + The quick forget the dead. + + + + +The Ballad of Divine Compassion + + + The halls of heaven were full of joy, + The quivering air was blue + With incense, and with candles gay + The mansions of eternal day + Were gleaming through and through. + + The Saints in Glory danced and sang + In robes of glittering white-- + Till heaven with their music rang, + The Saints in Glory danced and sang, + And filled themselves with light. + + Through groves of trees and lawns of flowers + They trod the mystic maze + Of many a sacred rigadoon, + Danced to a fiddling angel’s tune, + With endless roundelays. + + One only walked apart and sighed, + In all that blissful horde, + Shrank from the revel, and alone + Poured from an aching heart his moan, + And He was Christ the Lord. + + He leaned across the fiery gate + Which stands above the stars, + And from the fields where angels dwell + Shuts the red cemeteries of hell + With seven burning bars. + + He leaned above the direful deep + Where tortured spirits lie, + He saw their helpless agonies, + He saw their wild and weeping eyes + Turned up towards the sky. + + And all the sorrows of His heart + Were grinding in His breast, + He longed to comfort those poor sheep, + To give them drink, and let them sleep + On the green hills of rest. + + Nought were to Him the heavenly fields, + The flocks His blood had bought, + He thought alone of His lost sheep, + Of those who toss, and starve, and weep, + Whom He had vainly sought. + + And as the Saviour watched them there + In all their sweat and fear, + His love and longing rose so high, + That from His tender, pitying eye + There fell a holy Tear. + + The tear rolled down, until it dropped + Into the blackest hell, + And straight there were strange things to see + Within that pit of misery + Where the pure token fell. + + The Tear became a mighty sea, + Which raged, and roared, and rolled, + And filled each black and gaping gorge, + And quenched each red and belching forge, + And wrecked each towering hold. + + And all the lost and sinning souls + Were borne upon its waves-- + By that one Tear the Saviour wept + The doomed of ages all were swept + Out of their living graves. + + And, carried on the heaving tide, + The lost souls rose to heaven, + Tumbling and drowning, hand in hand, + They reached the coolness of that land + Where all things are forgiven. + + Women, and men, and children too, + All blasted, scorched, and red, + Were washed up to the Saviour’s feet, + By that one Tear of pity sweet + His loving eye had shed. + + The Saints in Glory danced and sang, + They sang and danced so high + They saw not that their Lord was gone, + Or that His white and fiery throne + Stood empty in the sky. + + They saw Him not as He stooped down + To lift each cowering slave, + They saw Him not, so great their bliss, + On each scarred forehead lay His kiss, + As sign that He forgave. + + He could not take those guilty ones + To where the guiltless throng + Pealed forth their own salvation’s praise, + And through the everlasting days + Shouted their triumph song. + + He led them to the wilderness, + Where stood the Holy Cross, + And from the timber of that Tree + He built a house of welcome, free + To those lame sons of loss. + + The Saints in Glory feasted on + The honey-dews of heaven, + So all those sinners had for food + Was their Lord’s body and His blood, + To their great hunger given. + + The Saints in Glory danced and sang, + Nor missed Him from their sport, + And so He made His dwelling-place + With the poor pensioners of grace + His pardoning love had bought. + + And never to the halls of bliss + He lifts a longing eye, + The poor souls never hear Him groan, + Or sigh because His great white throne + Stands empty in the sky. + + He leads them through the wilderness, + He makes their faces wet + With water from a desert steam, + The black past as an evil dream + He helps them to forget. + + He is the comforter of those + Whom stormy seas have tossed, + He dries the eyes of those that weep, + He is the shepherd of lame sheep, + The Saviour of the Lost. + + + + +THE LAST GOSPEL + + +1. Dedication + + When Mass is said, + The music dead, + And the last lights upon the Altar-throne + Drop slowly one by one into the dark, + To the east + Turns the Priest, + And bows his knee before the sacred Ark + And whispers the Last Gospel through--alone. + + So do I + When dreams die, + And love’s last wretched candle-lights are seen + Darkening upon the Altar of your heart, + Face the east, + And like the Priest + Say my Last Gospel through ere I depart, + And before leaving bow to What Has Been. + + + + +2. Love Cast Out + + + A victim crowned am I, + Crowned, piercèd, and adored, + In my eyes a flame of fire, + In my heart a sword. + + Christ is my brother dear, + Sister to Christ am I, + For He has felt the thirsty wound + That I must perish by. + + He came a king uncrowned, + Unrobed, the Son of Loss, + And so they pierced His body through, + And hung Him on the cross. + + And my love wore no robe, + And my love wore no crown, + My love a pilgrim was, and trod + The roads in pilgrim’s brown. + + And since my love went thus, + A stranger and a dove, + You built a cruel wooden cross, + And crucified my love. + + And now you bend the knee + --As now we Christ adore-- + And set your bleeding sacrifice + At God’s right hand above the skies, + To worship evermore. + + The third day, from the dead + The Saviour rose again, + He put on robes of royalty, + And sat Him down to reign. + + But my love shall not rise, + My love shall rest and sleep, + My love is tired, why should it wake, + That your eyes may not weep? + + For Christ the Saviour has + A gentler heart than mine, + He lets you crown what you did kill, + Of His torn body eat your fill, + And make His blood your wine. + + You shall not use me so-- + Go far, the world is wide; + Why should you wake from its poor rest + The heart you crucified? + + Beneath the tender ground + My love shall sleep for aye, + No last trump for my love shall sound + No resurrection day. + + A victim crowned am I, + Crowned, piercéd, and adored, + In my eyes a flame of fire, + In my heart a sword. + + + + +3. Holy Innocents + + + To-day I keep a feast, with red and white-- + The red blood and the snow-white innocence + Of little souls who had their recompense + Before they learned the horrors of the fight. + + I see them running in their gardens gay, + They snatch the colours of the rainbow’s flame, + And throw the stars about in childish game, + And pull the clouds to pieces for their play. + + But these are not the throng the king did slay, + The babes for whom dark Rachael’s head is bowed-- + ’Tis not for them her wailing rings so loud; + Other and holier Innocents are they. + + These are the little ones who never wrought + Love’s royalest wonder in a mother’s eyes, + Who never brought a tender warm surprise + With groping lips to breasts till then unsought. + + These are the fruit of hundredfold desires, + Ten thousand dreams begot this laughing band, + They fill the cities of a promised land-- + Long promised, but not given--lost in fires. + + These are the children I had hoped to show + The secret of this life, and all its love-- + But they are playing with my dreams above, + While I plunge on through my dead hopes below. + + Saved--Oh perhaps from much that I must brave-- + I worship you, sweet saints!--oh pray for me! + The little children that shall never be-- + The little children I shall never have. + + + + +4. To My Body--A Thanksgiving + + + Though thou hast set me many a snare, + And cost me many a groan, + And causéd feet to slip that were + Far dearer than my own-- + Though thou hast been both sword and gin + To others and to me, + Yet I recall what thou didst win + Once for my soul, and I give thanks to thee. + + For once, when all my heavens fell, + And each hour that went by + Brought nearer to the pit of hell + The Dayspring which is I-- + When all unheard the highest cried, + When lost were course and goal, + When hope had fled and faith had died-- + Thou, even thou, didst then redeem my soul. + + Thou broughtest me unto the snow, + And thou didst force through me + The pumping blood, that I might know + How fierce my flesh could be; + My flesh--till then half love, half dread-- + Became an armoured tower, + To which my wounded spirit fled, + And found a refuge in its bitter hour. + + Thou didst deny the healing sleep + Unless I strove all day + With thews and muscles, fierce to keep + The wolves of thought at bay; + And thou didst crown thyself with strength, + And lift thyself on high, + And free salvation win at length + For the poor soul that thought it was to die. + + Redemption thou didst work for me, + And forth into the light + Crept my healed spirit, saved by thee + From all the hells of night-- + And this I never shall forget, + And so I can forgive + Thy treacheries, and thank thee yet, + For ’tis through thee I have found grace to live. + + And more, for I know that some day + A greater wonder thou + Shalt work for me, when thou shalt slay + What thou hast quickened now. + As once thy life did make me whole, + So once thy death shall reap + Both for thyself and for my soul + The last redemption of a long, long sleep. + + + + +5. Funeral March of a Fallen Hero + + + Sound the trumpet, beat the drum, + Lay the purple on his breast, + Let my shuddering memories come + To salute him in his rest, + To bow down to his disgrace, + While I cover up his face. + + Once he led my soul to war, + And the thunder of his cry + Went before me, fierce and far, + Calling me to triumph or die; + To his sword I owe my place, + But I cover up his face. + + Scornfully he mocked my fears, + ‘Raise the banner!--up and fight! + Follow me through blood and tears!’ + From the darkness into light, + After him, I strove apace, + Now I cover up his face. + + In his eyes I dare not gaze, + Lest I should see mirrored there + All the white and hungry blaze + Of my own eyes’ hot despair, + All my shame for his disgrace-- + So I cover up his face. + + In my heart he lies in state, + Purple sorrow is his pall, + Trumps of doom and drums of fate + Sound the dead-march of his fall-- + On his livid brows a crown + Of withered bays and laurels brown. + + At his head tall candles burn, + They are hopes that slowly die, + At his feet the brazen urn + Where my love’s best ashes lie, + At his side the broken sword + Of his own most solemn word. + + Fallen hero, I would bring + Dreams to deck thine obsequies, + Lay them as an offering + On thy heart, where sorrow lies, + But ’twould spoil thy stately bed, + For, like thee, my dreams are dead. + + Sound the trumpet, beat the drum, + Lay the purple on his breast, + Bow before his shame, and come + To perform each last behest, + Give him royal resting-place-- + But, O cover up his face! + + + + +6. ‘I Am Alpha and Omega....’ + + + And dost Thou bless the end? O Lord of Life + And the Beginning, Lord of the New Birth, + Lord of the dancing April days of earth! + When the sour chills of Autumn winds are rife, + And Summer faints and withers in the strife + Of tempests and the strangling grips of dearth, + Dost Thou still bless the End? + + O Lord of the world’s morning!--Thou canst bless, + Birth-pangs and travail--Thou hast hallowed all-- + But canst Thou bless the turning to the wall + Of dying eyes? the panting slow distress + Of those who fear the clutch of Nothingness? + When into death’s cold deeps Thy servants fall, + Dost Thou still bless the End? + + And canst Thou bless the hour when love is dead? + Thou seek’st the harmonies of new-strung lyres, + Thou art the guardian of new-kindled fires, + But when the last of love’s poor life is fled, + His ashes to the four winds scatterèd, + And my charred soul crept bleeding from the pyres, + Dost Thou still bless the End? + + Yea, Thou dost bless the End--For Thou hast sworn + That Thou, Eternal, art the First and Last, + Lord of the Future, Thine too is the past, + Thine is the night, O high priest of the dawn! + Alpha and Omega! both love new-born + And love long dead are in Thy hands kept fast, + Yea, Thou dost bless the End. + + Thine are the shadows of the dropping night, + Thine are the wastes of lonely moonless seas, + The wilted leaves of tossing Autumn trees, + Thine the faint cries, the slowly drowning sight + Of those who in the gulfs of darkness fight-- + And dead love sleeps upon Thy mighty knees + Ever world without end. + + + + +CANT SONGS + + + + +The Scampsman’s Night + + + Mists on the marsh are gathering thick, + The shuddering woods are dim, + My barker’s muzzle looks grim, + Of boozing and delling and such I’m sick. + + Saddle my mare--my Marjorie-- + For Oliver’s glim is bright, + And this is a snaffling night-- + Ho, my girl, for the nuttiest spree! + + We’ll make his Lordship tip us the bit, + We’ll knuckle his mort’s fawnie, + And a kiss, for we’re gay dogs, we, + And love to fool with a comely chit. + + At morning’s dawn we will ride to our ken, + And tipple, and count our swag, + And of our flash spices brag, + And rest the bodies of mares and men. + + + + +A Deuced Moral Lay + + + Oh lads that are quier on the rum-padding lay, + That saddle your prancers at waning of day, + That ride to the tavern at dawning, + Take warning, + For a dell with a scampsman the dickens ’ull play. + + In gaol a full dozen of rum-pads are lying, + And for Dolly and Molly and Polly are sighing, + But those very same troublesome fair + Sent ’em there, + And they’ll all curse their morts when it comes to the dying. + + Let the gemman who wants to bing wide of the crap + Beware of his dell, for she’s certain to rap-- + There I’ve tipped you a deuced moral lay, + So good day, + I’m off to lie soft in my Barbara’s lap. + + + + +Cast for Lag + + + On the Pamunkey’s pine-fringed shore-- + Lord! how drear is the torrent’s roar! + Sits the gentleman rum-pad, slave, + Watching the leap of the restless wave, + And sighing for his Jenny. + + Cast for lag was this scampsman bold, + Flung in a slaver’s stinking hold, + Kicked and flogged like a vagrant cur-- + That was hard on a gentleman, Sir, + Who sighed for pretty Jenny. + + Bought by a planter and driven away + Many a mile on a sweltering day, + Lashed to a negro, foul and black, + Each time I stumbled the whip on my back, + Lord! how I sighed for Jenny. + + Set to work in the sugar canes, + Hunger, thirst, and the sun’s hot pains, + Bed at night with a filthy crew, + Tumble and toss and sweat and stew, + And wretched dreams of Jenny. + + Thus the miserable days go by, + Grinding toil ’neath a torrid sky, + Pain and hate, thirst and hunger wild, + Tears at night like a beaten child-- + Pray for me, pretty Jenny! + + + + +To a Comrade Sped + + + Oh you fool, you! Who’d have thought it! + Dangling like a dog on string. + That poor spice, you’ve dearly bought it-- + Lad, how does it feel to swing? + + Did you kick when the hemp choked you, + And your heels danced in the air, + And the sweat of dying soaked you, + Struggling on the three-legged mare? + + Swear you did! Your grin, my Billy, + Is not what it ought to be, + Thus to show your teeth is silly, + And not over good to see. + + Dolly wouldn’t kiss that cheek, Sir, + With the veins swelled out so black, + Pretty Bab would squirm and shriek, Sir, + At the scars upon your back-- + + Which you had in gaol, my beauty, + Ere you gambolled on the crap, + Lud! the Sheriff did his duty, + Ordered you both rope and strap. + + For you held the roads a-trembling, + Billy with the face so black; + Ah, I hear you--‘No dissembling! + Tip the steven--don’t be slack!’ + + Blowens screamed, and gemmen cursed you, + But you caved ’em with your pop, + Now, alas! the hemp has burst you, + Ere you reaped your nutty crop. + + Oh you fool, you! Who’d have thought it! + Bowled out, trussed up, stark, and dead. + Ruffler crack, Egad! you’ve caught it, + Caught it fairly on the head. + + + + +MISCELLANEOUS + + + + +Bride’s Song + + + It was not always thus I loved, + Once, long ago, another love was mine, + A love that through the constellations moved + On fiery way divine-- + It was not always thus I loved. + But can a bird for ever fly? + Too rare, too lofty, is the sky, + The poor bird folds his tired wings, + And in the tree-top sings, + And tries + To forget the skies. + + It was not always thus I dreamed, + Once, long ago, I walked in Paradise, + And through the coolness of the garden gleamed + An angel’s beckoning eyes-- + It was not always thus I dreamed. + But can the sun be ever bright? + He faints before the sword of night, + And back into the house we hie, + And with a candle try, + When day’s done, + To forget the sun. + + I went into the sunset, and I heard + Among the trees the faint note of a bird. + + + + +Immortality + + + One star upon the desert of the sky, + One song upon the silences of night, + Upon the tossing of the stream, one light, + One moment in a blank eternity. + + For, O my love, eternity is drear, + And soon we both shall weary of it so, + That we shall turn and hide ourselves for fear + In that sweet hour God gave us long ago. + + We cannot wander from it very far, + For down the long wild ways, it calls us home, + Red through the evening like a fallen star, + A dim undying hearth for loves that roam. + + I feel were I to meet you I might not + Even know you in the street, nor you know me-- + You might look back and whisper, ‘Who is she?’ + And I might sigh at something half forgot. + + But in our Moment I can kiss your face, + Smiling and strong--unchanged by all the years; + And I can hold you there a little space, + And you hold me--unchanged by all my tears. + + And I can whisper to you of that night + When our dark boat made moon-swept waters hiss. + Your face was wet with spray, spray-wet your kiss, + Your eyes were stars that I had set alight. + + Dim planets hung above the trembling trees, + The suck of water shook the misty air, + The darkness showed you magic in my hair, + The darkness showed you rest upon my knees. + + We saw two wandering stars fall through the sky-- + ’Twas you and I, lost in the chilly haze, + Apart, adrift, forsaken, but ablaze + With one short hour’s eternal ecstacy. + + And into our poor love of rags and tears + The fire of life and deathless love rushed down, + Rushed the great love of this world’s million years, + Gave us the kingdom, set on us the crown-- + + Gave us all love of lovers since the morn + Of love in the dim daybreak of the earth, + Gave us all harmonies since music’s birth, + Gave us all colours since the first red dawn-- + + Gave us the Springtime with its changing tunes, + Gave us the mysteries of many Junes, + Gave us the stars, gave us the trackless sea, + Gave us each other to eternity. + + Love may be gone, as you are gone, my dear, + But our almighty moment cannot die-- + It shall stand fast when the last crumbling sphere + Shall crash out of the ruin of the sky. + + When the last constellations faint and fall, + When the last planets burst in fiery foam, + When all the winds have sunk asleep, when all + The worn way-weary comets have come home-- + + When past and present and the future flee, + My moment lives! and I shall hold you there. + It lives to be my immortality, + An immortality which you shall share. + + One star upon the desert of the sky, + One song upon the silences of night, + Upon the tossing of the stream, one light, + One moment in a blank eternity. + + + + +The Optimist + + + The earth is green, the earth is wide, + And when its widest bound is past, + There are the stars on every side, + For soaring souls to win at last-- + There is no bound for those that fly, + Floorless and roofless is the sky, + Hope knows no hindrance but clipped wings, + So, throughout all life’s little while, + My heart is happy, and I smile, + In spite of many things, + In spite of pain, + In spite of fears, + In spite of want, + In spite of tears + --In spite of you. + + Mine is the future, and the past, + The growing and the dying gleam, + Mine is ambition till the last, + And there are dreams for me to dream. + Mine is the sagging Winter day, + Mine too the softness of the May, + The lusty strength of bread and wine, + The valiant dawn, the pondering night, + The flowering change from dark to light, + All holy things are mine, + In spite of pain, + In spite of fears, + In spite of want, + In spite of tears + --In spite of you. + + Adventure weaves the shining dress + Experience at last shall wear, + Grief, rapture, triumph, bitterness + Combine to trace the pattern there. + All sorrow that my soul assails + Helps to embroider golden veils + To deck me in the glorious day + When I shall reign in endless rest, + So strength and laughter fill my breast, + And on my heartstrings play, + In spite of pain, + In spite of fears, + In spite of want, + In spite of tears + --In spite of you. + + + + +Resurrection + + + By the grave I watch and weep, + Watch and weep in anxious pain, + Watch my Love’s exhausted sleep, + Weep lest he should wake again-- + With heart and mind and soul I dread + The resurrection of the dead. + + Is it a hard law of Thine + That no third day’s dawn shall break + Without bringing life divine + To the dead? O for the sake + Of all Thy thorns and lilies won, + Let my weary one sleep on! + + Rough was life for my poor love, + Fierce the whirlwind, wild the wave, + It was mercy from above + That he found this quiet grave, + And there laid him down to rest, + In the earth’s consoling breast. + + He is desperate for sleep. + He would never choose to wake, + And I watch by him and weep, + Trembling lest the light should break + In the merciful dark skies, + And torment his heavy eyes. + + Though I know that Christ the Lord + On the third day rose again, + And I fear it is His word + That the crucified should reign, + Yet to Him I humbly pray + That my love shall sleep for aye. + + For he never was a king, + Never sat upon a throne, + He was just a trodden thing, + Stumbling in the dark alone. + Let him rest--Eternal bliss?-- + He is far too tired for this. + + Life is for the gods and great, + Resurrection for the strong, + Joy for those of high estate, + Slaves would rather slumber long. + Let no angel from above + Wake the sleeping slave--my love. + + By the grave I watch and weep, + Watch and weep in anxious pain, + Watch my love’s exhausted sleep, + Weep lest he should wake again-- + With heart and mind and soul I dread + The resurrection of the dead. + + + + +A Prayer + + + Lord, let me die on my feet--upright and boldly facing + My last sad great adventure and experience’s crown, + Let my eyes be all undimmed as they look into the darkness, + Let me hail death as a conqueror before he strikes me down. + + Let me die with my head up, sword drawn, my shield flung from me, + Stout to the end, yet proud to win my discharge at last, + With worshipping clear gaze let me run to meet the future, + And with forgiving laughter make my farewells to the past. + + Let me not die in my bed, in weariness and weakness, + While outside, undesired, unheard, all valiant nature calls, + Save me from tumbled sheets, drawn blinds, and muffled footsteps, + From staring eyes to pity me when the last anguish falls. + + Lord let me die in my boots, I care not where death meets me, + But let me die upright and armed, with free unclouded mind, + Let me relish in their fullness the last moments life shall give me, + Then plunge on without vain regrets for vain things left behind. + + Let me meet death on the waters, in the din of the waves’ roaring, + In the shattering of the thunder, when the splitting timbers break, + Let me meet him on the mountains, on the shrieking snow-storm riding, + I care not where he finds me, if he find me but awake. + + I care not how I meet him, if I meet him as a warrior, + Not as a slave the master he has given cause to frown. + I will challenge him to combat, and when he sees me fearless, + He will hail me as a conqueror before he strikes me down. + + + +*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 75479 *** |