English

(Overseer)

Hail you, King's serfs!
Heed you your task,
The King inspects,
Come to reckon.

(King)

Hail you, overseer!
Time of late spring,
Have you more wants?
How the new crops?

(Overseer)

Barley and wheat
Nearing sprouting,
Praise to high God
We reap good years

(King)

Tell my people:
Take spud and hoe —
Soon shall use scythes.

My life has grown so dear to me
Because of thee!
My maiden with the eyes demure,
And quiet mouth, and forehead pure,
Joy makes a summer in my heart
Because thou art!

The very winds melodious be
Because of thee!
The rose is sweeter for thy sake,
The waves in softer music break,
On brighter wings the swallows dart,
Because thou art!

My sky is swept of shadows free
Because of thee!
Sorrow and care have lost their sting,
The blossoms glow, the linnets sing,

(On Completion of New Granite Buildings)

A Q UATERCENTENARY O DE

Eternity is throned upon thy spires:
Upon Eternity thy towers rest:
Thou wert conceived in the eternal fires
Of the sun's womb: upon the sun's white breast
Wert carried ere the souls of men were made —
Nay, in the nebula the seed was sown
Of every stone,
And by the stars were thy foundations laid.
The fire-mist held thee ere the sun it bore;
The sun had presage of thee ere she hurled
From her wild heart the world;

TO X. X. X.

“Who could be satisfied alone with dreams,
Which life illumine with but borrowed gleams,
With mock procession leading hope astray?
To me must Truth her charms unveiled display.
Should with my dream my heaven disappear,
Should my free spirit, in its bold career
Towards unknown possibility's domain.
Be hampered by the present's galling chain,
'T will learn at least itself to bear a thrall;
And to the sacred sound of duty's call,
Or to the more imperious call of need,

Far off against the solemn sky
Black lie the city's towers;
Before me rustles, dim and dry,
My field of golden flowers.

How thin the wind's cool whisper draws
Through withered leaf and stalk!
Is this the breeze that once would pause
With blossoms bright to talk?

Dark lies the land in twilight sad,
No bird sings in its bowers;
Where is the glory once that clad
My field of golden flowers?

The distant city rings its bells,
Like memory's tender chime;

Out of the slums
Wild music comes,
The pipe of flutes, the boom of drums,
And down the street strange banners flare.
What means this noise? What means this blare?
This clash of song, this crash of prayer?
What mean these mingled tears and flame?
This glory on the face of shame?
It is the Army of the Lord,
It is the clashing of His sword,
It is His axe's merry din,
Upon the brazen casque of sin.

Out of the slums
Sad music comes,
Low, mournful flutes, and muffled drums,

1.

Warm bask the vines, light-thrilled, along your steeps,
Azure the fleet of islands hangs in azure,
On lichen'd rock the wrinkled lizard sleeps —
The shore's pine-odour, lifting, sighs for pleasure,
Telaro, Telaro!
Nets, too, festooned about your elfin port
Rough-carved out of the Etrurian mountain-side,
Ripplings from golden luggers scarce distort
The image of the belfry where they ride.
Yet, on a black volcanic night long gone,
That bell-tower on the mole

How much of paper's spoil'd! what floods of ink!
And yet how few, how very few can think!
The knack of writing is an easy trade;
But to think well requires — at least a head.
Once in an age, one genius may arise,
With wit well cultur'd, and with learning wise:
Like some tall oak, behold his branches shoot!
No tender scions springing at the root.
Whilst lofty Pope erects his laurell'd head,
No lays, like mine, can live beneath his shade:
Nothing but weeds and moss, and shrubs are found:

LINES TO A CERTAIN NATION .

Milo, the wrestler oiled, whom victories—
Six times the Pythian, six the Olympian—crowned,
Could shoulder a bullock, run the stadium round,
And in a day devour the beast with ease.
Thrice-happy too, in philosophic strength,
Showed sumptuous ladies paths to Hera's shrine
And crushed his fellow-Greeks of Sybaris,
Haling their treasure to Crotona. In fine
This subtlest of protagonists at length
Taught his folk, force was all, and all force his.

Because the world is very stern;
Because the work is very long;
Because the foes are very strong,
Whatever side I turn:

Because my courage ebbs away;
Because my spirit's eyes are dim;
Because with failures to the brim
My cup fills day by day:

Because forbidden ways invite;
Because the smile of sin is sweet;
Because so readily run my feet
Towards paths, that close in night:

Because God's face I long to see;
Because God's Image stamps me yet:
Oh! by Thy Passion, Christ, forget