Puslapio vaizdai
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scorn myself; he loves me dream but that he loves me

, if you do not shudder at me, to call me sister, dwell with

ack and white, and be a nun ke you.

your fasts, not feasting with your feasts;

with your griefs, not grieving at your joys,

not rejoicing; mingle with your

rites:

vand be pray'd for; lie before your shrines:

ach low office of your holy house; your dim cloister, and distribute dole

poor sick people, richer in His eyes No ransom'd us, and haler too than I : And treat their loathsome hurts and heal mine own;

d so wear out in alms-deed and in prayer

The sombre close of that voluptuous day Which wrought the ruin of my lord the King.'

She said. They took her to themselves; and she

Still hoping, fearing "Is it yet too late?" Dwelt with them, till in time their abbess died.

Then she, for her good deeds and her pure life.

And for the power of ministration in her, And likewise for the high rank she had borne.

Was chosen abbess, there, an abbess, lived

For three brief years, and there, an abbess, passed

To where beyond these voices there is peace. 1859.

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A white-hair'd shadow roaming like a dream

The ever-silent spaces of the East,
Far-folded mists, and gleaming halls of

morn.

Alas! for this gray shadow, once a

man

So glorious in his beauty and thy choice, Who madest him thy chosen, that he seem'd

To his great heart none other than a God!

I ask'd thee, "Give me immortality.” Then didst thou grant mine asking with a smile,

Like wealthy men who care not how they give.

But thy strong Hours indignant work'd their wills,

And beat me down and marr'd and wasted me,

And tho' they could not end me, left me maim'd

To dwell in presence of immortal youth, Immortal age beside immortal youth, And all I was in ashes. Can thy love. Thy beauty, make amends, tho' even

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conies

A glimpse of that dark world where I was born.

Once more the old mysterious glimmer steals

From thy pure brows, and from thy shoulders pure,

And bosom beating with a heart renew'd, Thy cheek begins to redden thro' the gloom,

Thy sweet eyes brighten slowly close to mine,

Ere yet they blind the stars, and the wild team

Which love thee, yearning for thy yoke, arise,

And shake the darkness from their loosen'd manes,

And beat the twilight into flakes of fire. Lo! ever thus thou growest beautiful

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THE SAILOR BOY

He rose at dawn and, fired with hope, Shot o'er the seething harbor-bar, And reach'd the ship and caught the rope,

And whistled to the morning star.

And while he whistled long and loud
He heard a fierce mermaiden cry,
"O boy, tho' thou art young and proud,
I see the place where thou wilt lie.

"The sands and yeasty surges mix
In caves about the dreary bay.
And on thy ribs the limpet sticks,
And in thy heart the scrawl shall
play."

"Fool," he answer'd, "death is sure

To those that stay and those that roam, But I will nevermore endure

To sit with empty hands at home.

"My mother clings about my neck,

My sisters crying, Stay for shame;' My father raves of death and wreck,— They are all to blame, they are all to blame.

"God help me! save I take my part Of danger on the roaring sea,

A devil rises in my heart,

Far worse than any death to me.” 1861.

MILTON (ALCAICS)

O MIGHTY-MOUTH'D inventor of harmonies,

O skill'd to sing of Time or Eternity,
God-gifted organ-voice of England,

Milton, a name to resound for ages: Whose Titan angels, Gabriel, Abdiel, Starr'd from Jehovah's gorgeous armories,

Tower, as the deep-domed empyrean

Rings to the roar of an angel onset! Me rather all that bowery loneliness, The brooks of Eden mazily murmuring. And bloom profuse and cedar arches

Charm, as a wanderer out in ocean, Where some refulgent sunset of India Streams o'er a rich ambrosial ocean isle. And crimson-hued the stately palm

woods

Whisper in odorous heights of even. 1863.

THE VOYAGE

WE left behind the painted buoy
That tosses at the harbor-mouth;
And madly danced our hearts with joy,
As fast we fleeted to the south.
How fresh was every sight and sound
On open main or winding shore!
We knew the merry world was round,
And we might sail for evermore.

Warm broke the breeze against the brow,

Dry sang the tackle, sang the sail; The lady's-head upon the prow Caught the shrill salt, and sheer'd the gale.

The broad seas swell'd to meet the keel, And swept behind; so quick the run We felt the good ship shake and reel, We seem'd to sail into the sun!

How oft we saw the sun retire,
And burn the threshold of the night,
Fall from his Ocean-lane of fire,

And sleep beneath his pillar'd light! How oft the purple-skirted robe

Of twilight slowly downward drawn, As thro' the slumber of the globe Again we dash'd into the dawn!'

New stars all night above the brim
Of waters lighten'd into view;
They climb'd as quickly, for the rim
Changed every moment as we flew.
Far ran the naked moon across
The houseless ocean's heaving field,
Or flying shone, the silver boss
Of her own halo's dusky shield.

The peaky islet shifted shapes,

High towns on hills were dimly seen; We passed long lines of Northern capes And dewy Northern meadows green. We came to warmer waves, and deep Across the boundless east we drove. Where those long swells of breaker sweep

The nutmeg rocks and isles of clove.

By peaks that flamed, or, all in shade, Gloom'd the low coast and quivering brine

With ashy rains. that spreading made
Fantastic plume or sable pine;
By sands and steaming flats, and floods
Of mighty mouth, we scudded fast,
And hills and scarlet-mingled woods
Glow'd for a moment as we passed.

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And only one among us-him

We pleased not he was seldom pleased;

He saw not far, his eyes were dim,

But ours he swore were all diseased. A ship of fools," he shriek'd in spite, "A ship of fools," he sneer'd and wept,

And overboard one stormy night

He cast his body, and on we swept.

And never sail of ours was furl'd,

Nor anchor dropped at eve or morn; We loved the glories of the world.

But laws of nature were our scorn. For blasts would rise and rave and cease, But whence were those that drove the sail

Across the whirlwind's heart of peace, And to and thro' the counter gale?

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NORTHERN FARMER

OLD STYLE

WHEER 'asta bean saw long and mea liggin' 'ere aloan?

Noorse? thoort nowt o' a noorse; whoy, Doctor 's abean an' agoan;

Says that I moant 'a naw moor aale, but I beant a fool;

Git ma my aale, fur I beant a-gawin' to break my rule.

Doctors, they knaws nowt, fur a says what 's nawways true;

Naw soort o' koind o' use to saay the things that a do.

I've 'ed my point o' aale ivry noight sin' I bean 'ere.

An' I've ed my quart ivry marketnoight for foorty year.

Parson's a bean loikewoise, an' a sittin' ere o' my bed.

"The Amoighty 's a taakin o' you1 to 'issén, my friend," a said, An' a towd ma my sins, an' 's toithe were due, an' I gied it in hond; I done moy duty boy 'um, as I 'a done boy the lond.

Larn'd a ma' bea. I reckons I 'annot sa mooch to larn.

But a cast oop, thot a did, 'bout Bessy Marris's barne.

Thaw a kuaws I hallus voated wi'

Squoire an' choorch an' staate, An' i' the woost o' toimes I wur niver agin the raate.

An' I hallus coom'd to 's choorch afoor moy Sally wur dead,

An' 'eard 'um a bummin' awaay loike a buzzard-clock 2 ower my 'ead, An' I niver knaw'd whot a mean'd but I thowt a 'ad summut to saay, An' I thowt a said whot a owt to 'a said, an' I coom'd awaay.

Bessy Marris's barne! tha knaws she laaid it to mea.

Mowt a bean, mayhap, for she wur a bad un, shea.

'Siver, I kep 'um, I kep 'um, my lass, tha mun understond;

I done moy duty boy 'um, as I 'a done boy the lond.

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But Parson a cooms an' a goas, an' a says it easy an' freea :

"The Amoighty 's a taakin o' you to 'issen, my friend,” says 'ea.

I weant saay men be loiars, thaw summun said it in 'aaste;

But 'e reads wonn sarmin a weeak, an' I 'a stubb'd Thurnaby waaste.

D' ya moind the waaste, my lass? naw, naw, tha was not born then; Theer wur a boggle in it, I often eard 'um mysén;

Moast loike a butter-bump,1 fur I 'eard 'um about an' about,

But I stubb'd 'um oop wi' the lot, an' raaved an' rembled 'um out.

Keaper's it wur; fo' they fun 'um theer a-laaid of 'is faace

Down i' the woild 'enemies afoor I coom'd to the plaace.

Noaks or Thimbleby-toaner3 'ed shot 'um as dead as a naail. Noaks wur ang'd for it oop at ‘soizɔ— but git ma my aale.

Dubbut loook at the waaste; theer warn't not feead for a cow; Nowt at all but bracken an' fuzz, an' loook at it now

Warn't worth nowt a haacre, an' now theer 's lots o' feead, Fourscoor yows upon it, an' some on it down i' seead.5

Nobbut a bit on it 's left, an' I mean'd to 'a stubb'd it at fall,

Done it ta-year I mean'd, an' runn'd plow thruff it an' all,

If Godamoighty an' parson 'ud nobbut let ma aloan,

Mea,

wi' haate hoonderd haacre o Squoire's, an lond o' my oan.

Do Godamoighty knaw what a's doing a-taakin' o' mea?

I beant wonn as saws 'ere a bean an yonder a pea

An' Squoire 'ull be sa mad an' all-a' dear, a' dear!

And I a managed for Squoire coom Michaelmas thutty year.

A mowt 'a taaen owd Joanes, as 'ant not a 'aapoth o' sense,

Or a mowt a' taaen young Robins-a niver mended a fence:

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IN THE VALLEY OF CAUTERETZ

ALL along the valley, stream that flashest white,

Deepening thy voice with the deepening of the night,

All along the valley, where thy waters flow,

I walk'd with one I loved two and thirty years ago.

All along the valley, while I walk'd today,

The two and thirty years were a mist that rolls away;

For all along the valley, down thy rocky bed,

Thy living voice to me was as the voice of the dead,

And all along the valley, by rock and cave and tree,

The voice of the dead was a living voice to me. 1864.

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