NO MORE GREAT LOVE MY HEART
"No more great Love my heart beguiles,"
Methought:
I said, "I dare to hold his wiles
"At nought."
But, ah, again, by your dear smiles
I'm caught.
How strong his strength, and I, how weak!
Fierce child!
Your laughing lips he did but seek,
And smiled,
And I no more of scorn could speak-
Beguiled.
How came I so the boy to slight?
Ah, true!
Yet how could I guess what his might
Could do,
When then he ne'er had snared my sight
With you!
TIME said to Pride,
"Robe thee in rich array;
"Fair Lowliness deride
"That walks beside thy way!"
But ever grim Death kept singing,
Awful and low its tone,
"Wisest are they who, born in time,
"Yet live not for time alone."
But ever grim Death kept singing,
Piercing and calm its tone,
"Wisest are they, the sons of time,
"Who live not for time alone."
"Known be thy name!"
Vanity heard Life say,
"Breathe thou the breath of fame "That shall not pass away!" But ever grim Death kept singing, Solemn and clear its tone, "Wisest are they who, toiling in time, "Yet toil not for time alone."
A PRAYER TO THE PEOPLE.
SONG, that all wondrous things can save,
Tells how, of old, to Eden's lord
A magic gift the fairies gave,
Some kindly action's rich reward;
A crystal cup, that, safe, no ill
Should unto Eden's race befall;
Theirs should be every blessing still,
While theirs the Luck of Eden Hall.
O, lords of Eden, treasure up
The fairies' gift-your magic cup!
Lands, state and reverence, courage, power,
Wealth that no wildest waste impairs,
Health, genius, every good's their dower,
While the good fairies' gift is theirs.
But let a rash or faithless hand
The magic blessing once let fall,
Lost shall be power, and wealth, and land,
Lost with the Luck of Eden Hall.
O, race of Eden, treasure up
The fairies' gift-your magic cup!
O truth, in olden fiction told!
O England, heed the lesson well; A precious truth this tale of old,
To ears that heed it, still should tell ;
Unto thy trust a gift, how rare!
By gracious Providence is given ;
O, of that priceless gift take care,
Freedom, that priceless gift of heaven!
O, land of freemen, treasure up,
Freedom, God's gift-thy magic cup!
Since thou hast had it, time can tell
How every blessing has been yours;
Still dost thou prize thy treasure well;
See how thy greatness still endures!
Matchless the race that in thee dwells;
Thy sails are white on every sea;
To wondering nations, glory tells
Of all possessed and done by thee.
O, land of freemen, treasure up
God's priceless gift-thy magic cup!
Hark! through the troubled earth resounds The strife for rights thy sons have here; Whilst peace abides within thy bounds,
And wisdom rules thee free from fear. Envious, thy state the nations see,
By tyrants gagged, by priests oppressed;
O race, so great because so free,
How blessed are you with freedom blessed!
O, race of freemen, treasure up
God's priceless gift-your magic cup!
Ah, prize it well! O my own land,
Let not the mocking nations see
This blessing, given to thy hand,
E'er held less dear than now by thee!
Still let this highest gift of God,
Thee, land, above the nations lift,
So shall thy future path be trod
Secure from ill, through this God's gift.
O, land of freemen, treasure up
God's priceless gift-thy magic cup!
So in its weird strength shalt thou stand,
Rock-like amid the waves of ill;
Thy conquering march through time, how grand
Thy future ever grander still;
But O, remember, in that hour
Thy hold is from thy treasure forced,
To weakness turns thy vaunted power-
With freedom's loss shall all be lost.
O, race of freemen, treasure up
God's priceless gift-your magic cup!
A CRY FOR EUROPEAN FREEDOM.
WHEN will the nations be up once more,
With a shout that shall ring from shore to shore,
And Europe's despots go down before
The flaunt of our flag-the Tricolor?
Palsied and hag-ridden, Europe seems,
Tranced and tortured in evil dreams,
But hard she breathes and turns her o'er;
Let her wake to the flap of the Tricolor!
The render of chains-the Tricolor ;
The planter of rights-the Tricolor;
O that the people's ranks once more
Were flaunting onward the Tricolor!
Frenchmen, ground 'neath a despot's heel,
When will you turn on the girdling steel?
Paris, will it be long before
St. Antoine's up for the Tricolor?
Mutterers by the thrice-freed Seine,
When will your barricades rise again?
When will your Marseillaise once more
Be thundered out 'neath the Tricolor?
"Eighty-nine's" flag-the Tricolor;
"Thirty's" banner-the Tricolor;
When will "forty-eight's" ranks once more
Conquer a crown 'neath the Tricolor.
Shall not Naples' Bourbon hear
A shout that shall smite him white with fear?
Shall not Sicily strike once more,
Armed and ranked, for the Tricolor?
Freedom yet shall make her home
In a proud Milan, and a priestless Rome,
And Florence shall yet take heart once more,
For her old free life, 'neath the Tricolor.
Mazzini's banner-the Tricolor;
Garibaldi's colours-the Tricolor;
The South's republics shall live once more,
Chainless again 'neath the Tricolor.
How long will Clicquot befool and lie,
Nor fear that his Berliners' hour is nigh?
Brandenburg oaths will serve no more
When Prussia takes to the Tricolor.
For another March will the dotard wait?
For the vengeance that's due for "forty-eight ?"
To Potsdam shall he not fly once more,
Hunted forth by the Tricolor?
The righter of wrongs-the Tricolor;
The smiter of thrones-the Tricolor;
Let Potsdam's pedant grow wise before
His Prussians take to the Tricolor!
Darkly St. Stephen's tower looks down
On lowering brows in Vienna's town,
On lips that mutter yet more and more
Of days that shall come with the Tricolor.
Austrians, when will the glad time come
When German thoughts must no more be dumb,
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