Part One

As clouds think of her clothing, as blossoms think of her face,
Spring wind caresses the railings
and dew is thick on the flowers.
If you do not find her by the Mountain of Numerous Jewels,
You may head for the Jasper Terrace
 to meet her beneath the moon.

Part Two

A branch of red voluptuousness, the dew congealed perfume,
For clouds and rain on Sorceress Mountain,
why go breaking your heart?
I wonder who could be compared in the palaces of the Han?
Would it be dear Flying Swallow
 trying new powder and rouge?

1. Bold Manning was to sea one day, And a dreary day it was,
too, As dreary day as ever you see, All wet with fog and
dew. They spied a large and lofty ship About three miles ahead.
“Come h'ist up our maintops'l, boys, And after her we'll speed!”

2 He called unto his bosun,
 Whose name was William Craig:
“Oh Craig, oh Craig, come up on deck
 And h'ist up our black flag!”
His bosun was a valiant man,
 His heart was stout and bold.
But when he saw his father's ship,
 He felt his blood run cold.

3 Now, Manning's ship you all do know,

Bold Captain of the Body-Guard,
I'll troll a stave to thee!
My voice is somewhat harsh and hard,
And rough my minstrelsy.
I've cheered until my throat is sore
For how Dupont at Beaufort bore;
Yet here's a cheer for thee!

I hear thy jingling spurs and reins,
Thy sabre at thy knee;
The blood runs lighter through my veins,
As I before me see
Thy hundred men with thrusts and blows
Ride down a thousand stubborn foes,

Rain now stopped on the plain to the west,
It is all orioles and blossoms, charming in every way.
Green hills surround the city walls,
White birds burst through the stream's mist.
A little village there beyond its clear flow,
Gardens here at the front of the bright, rain-washed scene.
Thinking way back to those guests at Orchid Islet,
Wistfully I stroll through the sunset of this spring day.

Body's desire that knows no end
the terrible power of a rising tide—
in the fire that flares up still more, perspiring,
salamanders twist and turn, dancing.

The ceaseless snow throws a feast of vol nuptial late at night
and shouts out joy in the hushed air.
Shattered by beauty and power
we then immerse ourselves in an esoteric flow
breathe in an aroused rosy haze
and reflected on the jewels in Indra's net
mold our lives inexhaustibly.

The cradling demon's power that lurks in winter
and the raw heat of sprouts that bud in winter—

Bobolink ! that in the meadow,
Or beneath the orchard's shadow,
Keepest up a constant rattle
Joyous as my children's prattle,
Welcome to the north again!
Welcome to mine ear thy strain,
Welcome to mine eye the sight
Of thy buff, thy black and white.

Brighter plumes may greet the sun
By the banks of Amazon;
Sweeter tones may weave the spell
Of enchanting Philomel;
But the tropic bird would fail,
And the English nightingale,
If we should compare their worth
With thine endless, gushing mirth.

Bobby Shaftoe's gone to sea,
With silver buckles on his knee,
He'll come back and marry me,
Bonny Bobby Shaftoe.

Bobby Shaftoe's bright and fair,
Combing down his yellow hair,
He's my ain for ever mair,
Bonny Bobby Shaftoe.

Bobby Shaftoe's gettin' a bairn,
For to dandle on his airm,
On his airm and on his knee,
Bobby Shaftoe loves me.

Bobby Shaftoe's gone to sea,
With silver buckles on his knee,
He'll come back and marry me,
Bonny Bobby Shaftoe.

The boat moored, lunch in a lonely village;
on the far bank I see a dappled horse,
in lean pasture, gaunt with hunger;
scruffy birds flocking down to peck his feed.
Pity is powerless — I have no bow;
again and again I try to pelt them with clods
but I haven't the strength to manage a hit,
face sweaty and hot with chagrin.

Boast not proud English, of thy birth and blood,
Thy brother Indian is by birth as Good.
Of one blood God made Him, and Thee and All,
As wise, as faire, as strong, as personall.

By nature wrath's his portion, thine no more
Till Grace his soule and thine in Christ restore
Make sure thy second birth, else thou shalt see,
Heaven ope to Indians wild, but shut to thee.

The boarding nettings are triced for fight;
Pike and cutlass are shining bright;
The boatswain's whistle pipes loud and shrill;
Gunner and topman work with a will;
Rough old sailor and reefer trim
Jest as they stand by the cannon grim;
There's a fighting glint in Decatur's eye,
And brave Old Glory floats out on high.

But many a heart beats fast below
The laughing lips as they near the foe;
For the pluckiest knows, though no man quails,
That the breath of death is filling the sails.
Only one little face is wan;