East of the Passes there were loyal knights,
Who rose in arms to crush all wickedness
They were meant to meet together in Mengjin,
To set their hearts on getting to Xianyang.
Yet the allied armies would not pull together,
But marched about like lines of aimless geese
A lust for power led them at last to wrangle,
In a little while they were at each other's throats
A young man was styled emperor in Huainan.
An imperial seal was carved out in the north.
Their armor was alive with breeding lice,
Ten thousand families were all wiped out.

We throw us down on the dusty plain
When the gold has gone from the west,
But we rise and tramp on the track again,
For we're tired — too tired to rest.
Darker and denser the shadows fall
That are cramping each aching brow —
Scotty the Wrinkler! you've solved it all,
Give us a wrinkle now.

But no one lieth so still in death
As the rover who never could rest;
And he's free of thought as he's free of breath —
And his hands are crossed on his breast.
You have earned your rest — you brave old tramp —

It knows it all, it knows it all,
The world of groans and laughter —
It sneers of pride before a fall,
But the bitter pride comes after:
So leave me and I'll seek you not,
So seek me and you'll find me —
But till I know your hand-grip's true
I'll stand with hands behind me.

It knows it all, it knows it all,
The world of lies and sorrow —
It prates of pride before a fall,
And of the humble morrow;
But shame and blame are but a name,
O heart that's hurt past curing!
We'll drink to-night the sinner's pride,

The wanderer reaches home with joy
From absence of a year and more;
His eye seeks a beloved boy —
His wife lies weeping on the floor.

They whisper he is gone. The glooms
Of evening fall; beyond the gate
A lonely grave in outline looms
To greet the sire who came too late.

Forth to the little mound he flings,
Where wild-flowers bloom on every side
His bones are in the Yellow Springs,
His flesh like dust is scattered wide.

" O child who never knew thy sire,
For ever now to be unknown,

Oh the times was hard and the wages low,
Leave her, Johnny, leave her;
And the grub was bad and the gales did blow,
And it's time for us to leave her.

Leave her, Johnny, leave her, Oh leave her, Johnny, leave her, For the voy'ge is done and the gales can blow, And it's time for us to leave her.

I thought I heard the Old Man say,
" Ye can go ashore and take her pay".

Oh her stern was foul and the voy'ge was long;
And the winds was bad and the gales was strong.

And we'll leave her tight and we'll leave her trim,

What made my heart, at Newstead, fullest swell? —
'Twas not the thought of Byron, of his cry
Stormily sweet, his Titan-agony;
It was the sight of that Lord Arundel

Who struck, in heat, his child he loved so well,
And his child's reason flicker'd, and did die.
Painted (he will'd it) in the gallery
They hang; the picture doth the story tell.

Behold the stern, mail'd father, staff in hand!
The little fair-hair'd son, with vacant gaze,
Where no more lights of sense or knowledge are!

Methinks the woe, which made that father stand

Mirth may with Princes very well agree,
A Merry S TATU then, faire Madam, be;
Rightly 'twill fit your age, your vertues grace;
Yeelding A Merry S TATU in your face.

Smile then, high Lady, while of M IRTH write I,
That so my Muse may with alacrity,
Unto your Highnessing without all feare,
And a true S TATU of your vertues reare:
Reaching whereto, that she may higher flee,
Thus humbly begge I on my bended knee,
Ever A Merry S TATU be to me.

In summer, on the headlands,
The Baltic Sea along,
Sits Neckan with his harp of gold,
And sings his plaintive song.

Green rolls beneath the headlands,
Green rolls the Baltic Sea;
And there, below the Neckan's feet,
His wife and children be.

He sings not of the ocean,
Its shells and roses pale;
Of earth, of earth the Neckan sings,
He hath no other tale.

He sits upon the headlands,
And sings a mournful stave
Of all he saw and felt on earth
Far from the kind sea-wave.

Sings how, a knight, he wander'd

They sing of the grandeur of cliffs inland,
But the cliffs of the ocean are truly grand —
And I love to wander and dream and doubt
Where the cliffs by the ocean run out and out.

To the northward far as the eye can reach
Are sandhill, boulder, and sandy beach,
But southward rises the track for me,
Where the cliffs by the ocean run out to sea.

Friends may be gone in the morning fair,
But the cliffs by the ocean are always there;
Lovers may leave when the wind is chill,
But the cliffs by the ocean are steadfast still.

Lo, we stand before thee now,
And our silent, inward vow
Thou dost hear in that profound,
Where is neither voice nor sound!

Not by any outward sign
Dost thou show thy will divine;
Deep within thy voice doth cry,
And our quickened souls reply.

Thou dost hear, and thou wilt bless
With thy strength and tenderness:
Lo, we come to do thy will, —
With thy life our spirits fill!