SHE'S dead-she's dead!
Her night of life is o'er.
No summer murmurs those still lips shall speak;
Sunrise and sunset she shall see no more;
Nor flush nor pallor to that faded cheek
Shall joy or fear for evermore restore;
Thou, Earth, no more shalt throb beneath her tread;
She's dead-she's dead!
Thou masker, Death!
Thou art but life disguised;
Still burn the suns though we but gaze on night.
From these poor raiments that her soul despised.
She's passed to holier hours and shadeless light.
Thou wan, dim Earth, she walks in fields more prized; And 'gainst her shining brows is heaven's own breath; Thou masker, Death !
O THE WILD, WILD WINDS HAVE VOICES.
O THE wild, wild winds have voices
That only that wife can hear;
One voice that wife rejoices,
While one but speaks of fear.
As she listens, the winds moan by,
And they tell of a prayed-for ship,
Of the look from a longed-for eye,
And the sound from a long-lost lip.
Now what does she hear them tell,
As, without, through the night they sweep?
Of his whaler speeding well
Home-home, o'er a waveless deep;
Yes, she hears in the winds a voice
That's telling how swift his ship
Speeds on, her heart to rejoice
With a kiss from his longed-for lip.
Now what do the wild gusts utter,
As, by, the night-winds moan?
Of tempest and wreck they mutter,
Of peril and death alone;
Of a bare hull swept before
The storm-of a foundering ship-
Of a face she shall see no more,
And a vainly longed-for lip.
CHILD, PURSUE THY BUTTERFLY!
CHILD, pursue thy butterfly,
Hot of foot and keen of eye,
But to learn, poor fool, when caught,
It, so wildly, hotly sought,
Was but all unworth thy thought,
All unworth a smile or sigh.
Child, pursue thy butterfly!
Thou, the hunter of a name,
Chaser of the flight of fame,
On, Ixion-like, above,
Mount, to clasp but cloud, and prove
Thou art but the cheat of Jove,
Mock and laughter of the sky.
Child, pursue thy butterfly!
Midas, thou that in the strife
But for riches, wastest life,
Win thy wish, and, winning, learn
All that thou hast toiled to earn
Is what wisdom well may spurn,
Bought with all thou winn'st it by.
Child, pursue thy butterfly!
Bee, that knowest but the power
Sweets to suck from every hour,
LIZ, YOU'VE A TEASING HEART.
Thou, whose wasted days have known
Pleasures of the sense alone,
On, amid thy joys to own,
Won, they waken but the sigh.
Child, pursue thy butterfly!
Shadow-hunter, too, art thou,
Who, to good, thy toil dost vow?
No-the golden gleams that woo
Thy swift hopes, O soul! pursue;
Won or not, thou track`st the true,
Ever to thine heaven more nigh;
Thine no fleeting butterfly!
LIZ, YOU'VE A TEASING HEART.
LIZ. you've a teasing heart; foolish one, part with it,
If you a moment of comfort would see;
What can you do, O the mad wild young heart, with it?
Quick, Liz, get rid of it; leave it with me.
I, too, have one, just its fellow at teasing me;
What, with so wild an one--what can I do?
Ah, if you'd know how you best could be pleasing me,
You'd let me leave it for good, Liz, with you.
Yours, that each instant so tricks you and plays from you,
By me so fondled and petted should be,
"Twould have no care to roam, and, if mine strays from you, Never put faith more in hearts or in me.
Nay, never fear but its good it will know too well
Ever to harbour a thought, Liz, to stray;
Would you, in truth, all its love have it show too well?
Only in sport threat to drive it away.
Then how 'twill flutter and tremble and pray to you,
Till that, poor scared thing, you'll pity its fear;
Quick, then my counsel take! heed what I say to you,
Quick! take my heart and leave yours, Lizzie, here!
TO THE CONGRESS OF PARIS. Lo, at the council-table seated,
The Congress sits in talk profound,
While guess and rumour are repeated
To wondering nations listening round.
Well may the peoples, gagged and fettered,
Flutter to hear of this and that,
Without a hope that they'll be bettered
By all, O Congress, that you're at !
Yes, despots laugh and subjects groan;
But, hark! I hear the nations say,
"We'll hold a Congress of our own
"Without your help, O Kings, some day."
What by your awful wisdom's uttered,
O Congress, we can only guess;
To us no syllable is muttered;
But royal ears your councils bless.
Around, the trembling nations listen :
O what will come of all this fuss!
Imperial eyes with gladness glisten;
Ah! that can bode no good to us. Yes, despots laugh and subjects groan ; But hark! I hear the nations say, "We'll hold a Congress of our own "Without your help, O Kings, some day."
We hoped, indeed, the proverb's moral Would hold true, not for thieves alone; The people said, "When Emperors quarrel, The peoples perhaps will get their own." This, too, their sceptred owners fearing,
Too soon they bid their war to cease;
O Congress, soon shall we be hearing,
Thrones only gain by this your peace.
Yes, despots laugh and subjects groan;
But, hark! I hear the nations say,
"We'll hold a Congress of our own
"Without your help, O Kings, some day!"
TO THE CONGRESS OF PARIS.
Say, is the map of Europe, lying
Upon your council-table there,
Their rights to nations still denying,
The self-same markings still to bear?
Vienna's Congress kings invested
With states that still their freedom claim;
Has Paris 'gainst their wrongs protested?
Or does it leave them but the same?
Yes, despots laugh and subjects groan;
But, hark! I hear the nations say,
"We'll hold a Congress of our own
"Without your help, O Kings, some day."
England and France, your faith believing,
Sardinia helped you in your need ;
Are you her holy hopes deceiving?
Or, say, shall Italy be freed?
How often, fettered Poland naming,
Poland," you said, "again should be."
Are you your uttered words disclaiming ?
Or, say, shall Poland now be free?
Yes, despots laugh and subjects groan;
But, hark! I hear the nations say,
"We'll hold a Congress of our own
"Without your help, O Kings, some day."
Alas! alas! what fettered nation,
What people gagged and watched and bound,
Thinks that for it, its hoped salvation
Will in your protocols be found?
What matter? Hope to us is singing
Of all of which your parchment's dumb;
The deluge that our new world's bringing,
Our better world, will surely come.
Yes, despots laugh and subjects groan;
But, hark! I hear the nations say,
"We'll hold a Congress of our own
"Without your help, O Kings, some day."
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