English

The Wildgrave winds his bugle-horn,
To horse, to horse! halloo, halloo!
His fiery courser snuffs the morn,
And thronging serfs their lord pursue.

The eager pack from couples freed
Dash through the bush, the brier, the brake;
While answering hound and horn and steed
The mountain echoes startling wake.

The beams of God's own hallowed day
Had painted yonder spire with gold,
And, calling sinful man to pray,
Loud, long, and deep the bell had tolled;

But still the Wildgrave onward rides;

Empty saddles in the old corral,
Where do ya ride tonight?
Are you roundin' up the dogies,
The strays of long ago?
Are ya on the trail of buffalo?

Empty saddles in the old corral,
Where do ya ride tonight?
Are there rustlers on the border,
Or a band of Navajo?
Are ya heading for the Alamo?

Empty boots covered with dust,
Where do ya ride tonight?
Empty guns, covered with rust,
Where do you talk tonight?

Empty saddles in the old corral,
My tears will be dried tonight

Once as abroad I stray'd
In the soft evening gleam,
I saw by shadow'd stream
Two naked figures bright,
Shameless and unafraid,
Dancing in sheer delight,
As might two graceful girls.
Amid the willows cool
I saw their flesh as pearls
Shine by the shadowy pool
All opalescent white!
Crown'd by their misty curls!
So lovely delicate
It soothes me to relate!

My spirit was entranc'd
To see such artless grace.
On tip-toe I advanced.
O, 'twas a holy place!
And when I peep'd, behold!

Eliza and Anne were extremely distress'd
To see an old bird fly away from her nest.
And leave her poor young ones alone;
The pitiful chirping they heard from the tree
Made them think it as cruel as cruel could be,
Not knowing for what she had flown.

But, when with a worm in her bill she return'd,
They smil'd on each other, soon having discern'd
She had not forsaken her brood;
But like their dear mother was careful and kind,
Still thinking of them, though she left them behind
To seek for them suitable food.

Abrupt and charming mover,
Your pointed eyes under lit leaves,
Your light hair, your smile,
I watch burn in a foreign land
Bright through my dark night
And sheltered by my hand.

My ribs are like a Jonah's whale
In which I dream you: from day
I have recalled your play
Disturbing as birds flying
And with the Spring's infection
And denial of satisfaction.

You dance, forgetting all: in joy
Sustaining that instant of the eye
Which like a Catherine wheel spins free.

The Elephant is like a wall,
He is broad and very tall.
Upon his back we have a ride,
And swing and sway from side to side.

Of man's delight and man's desire
In one thing is no weariness —
To feel the fury of the fire,
And writhe within the close caress
Of fierce embrace, and wanton kiss,
And final nuptial done aright,
How sweet a passion, shame, is this,
A strong man's love is my delight!

Free women cast a lustful eye
On my gigantic charms, and seek
By word and touch with me to lie,

With whom, then, should I sleep? perhaps with thee,
And gaze into those eyes, those deep sad eyes,
Feeling the drowsy touch of thy vast wings.

Thy brother Sleep I know, with him have lain
Many a night, forgetting all the day
And every pain in that sweet comradeship.

Ah, he is younger, gay, capricious oft,
Dwelling with some for hours, or else away,
As with my friend, for lonely days and nights.

But thou, angel of night, youth of the silent glance,
All sleep with thee, but yet how diversely,

Put on that languor which the world frowns on,
That blamed misleading strangeness of attire,
And let them see that see us we have done
With their false worldliness and look up higher.
Because the world has treated us so ill
And brought suspicion near our happiness,
Let men that like to slander as they will;
It shall not be my fault if we love less.
Because we two who never did them harm,
And never dreamt of harm ourselves, find men
So eager to perplex us and alarm
And scare from us our dove-like thoughts, well then

Oh, lost and unforgotten friend,
Whose presence change and chance deny;
If angels turn your soft proud eye
To lines your cynic playmate penned,

Look on them, as you looked on me,
When both were young; when, as we went
Through crowds or forest ferns, you leant
On him who loved your staff to be;

And slouch your lazy length again
On cushions fit for aching brow
(Yours always ached, you know), and now
As dainty languishing as then,

Give them but one fastidious look,
And if you see a trace of him