English

I FOUND a pine that shot its solemn bole
Twice fifty feet against the summer sky
From out a sunless gorge; and sad of soul
It seemed, until I sought to question why;
Whereat the tree moaned darkly—made this strange reply:

“I am troubled betimes, I am sad in my sleep,
Foreboding the day I shall stagger and leap
And tremble through tempests o'er seas that are deep.

“They will fashion me forth for a ship; they will make
My stature and girth but a mock; they will break
My branches and rend me for merchanting's sake.

The dusky warriors stood in groups around the funeral pyre;
The scowl upon their knotted brows betrayed their vengeful ire.
It needed not the cords, the stake, the rites so stern and rude,
To tell it was to be a scene of cruelty and blood. . . .

O lovely was that winsome child of a dark and rugged line,
And e'en 'mid Europe's daughters fair surpassing might she shine:
For ne'er had coral lips been wreathed by brighter, sunnier smile,
Or dark eyes beamed with lustrous light more full of winsome wile. . . .

Ye sons of Athens, grant me one request,
And I'll requite you with a pleasing jest.
Protect me from my Master's cruel rod;
Hide me, O hide me, from the tyrant's nod!
He penned a prologue which to me was shown;
I liked it not, and told him 'twould not down.
He said it humor had, and wit enough,
But to my thinking it was scurvy stuff;
Howe'er, he made me get it all by heart,
And thus instructed my to play the part:

“Dear Tommy, child, repeat the whole with care;
Here you must raise your voice, but sink it there.

Oh! lift the hand, and Peace shall bear
Her olive where the palm-tree grows;
And torrid Afric's desert share,
The fragrance of salvation's rose.

But if with Pilate's stoic eye,
You calmly wash when blood is spilt;
Or deem a cold unpitying sigh,
Absolves you from the stain of guilt;

Or if like Jacob's recreant train,
Who traffick'd in a brother's woe,
You hear the suppliant plead in vain,
Or mock his tears that wildly flow;

Will not the judgments of the skies,
Which threw a shield 'round Joseph sold,

“Far be the dull and heavy day
“And toil, and restless care, from me—
“Sorrow attends on loads of gold,
“And kings are wretched, I am told.
“Soon from the noisy town removed
“To such wild scenes as Plato lov'd,
“Where, placed the leafless oaks between,
“Less haughty grows the wintergreen,
“There, Night, will I (lock'd in thy arms,
“Sweet goddess of the sable charms)
“Enjoy the dear, delightful dreams
“That fancy prompts by shallow streams,
“Where wood nymphs walk their evening round,
“And fairies haunt the moonlight ground.

That her destroying fury was with noise
And sudden uproar; but far otherwise,
With silent and with secret ministries,
Her skill of renovation she employs:
For Nature, only loud when she destroys,
Is silent when she fashions: she will crowd
The work of her destruction, transient, loud,
Into an hour, and then long peace enjoys.
Yea, every power that fashions and upholds
Works silently—all things, whose life is sure,
Their life is calm; silent the light that moulds
And colors all things; and without debate

He gave me all, and then he laid me by.
Straining my strings to breaking, with his pain,
He voiced an anguish, through my wailing cry,
Never to speak again.

He pressed his cheek against me, and he wept—
Had we been glad together over much?—
Emotions that within me deep had slept
Grew vibrant at his touch,

And I, who could not ask whence sprung his sorrow
Responsive to a grief I might not know,
Sobbed as the infant that each mood doth borrow
Sobs for the mother's woe.

No round boy-satyr, racing from the mere,
Shakes on the mountain lawn his dripping head
This many a May, your sister being dead,
Ye Christian folk! your sister great and dear.
To breathe her name, to think how sad-sincere
Was all her searching, straying, dreaming, dread,
How of her natural night was Plato bred
(A star to keep the ways of honour clear),

Who will not sigh for her? who can forget
Not only unto campèd Israel,
Nor martyr-maids that as a bridegroom met
The Roman lion's roar, salvation fell?

In regard to Eternity (said the Old Mandarin)
I feel about it as I do about one of my teeth.
Every now and then it gives me
A devil of a twinge,
And for a while
I groan and can think of naught else.
Then the anguish abates and I dismiss it from my mind.
But I know, just the same,
That some day
I've got to go through with it.

Lawgiver, if thy aim is good,
Make thy laws known, and understood.