I was anxious to know if my mistress was true,
So I thought of a trick that would test darling Sue.
— I must leave you, — I said, — for a season, my dear,
— Don't forget me too soon, I'll be back in a year. —
At once she leaped up sobbing loud from our bed,
Her hair flying loose and her cheeks flaming red,
And beating her face with a pitiful cry
— Do not leave me, — she sobbed, — or I surely shall die. —
So I yielded the point in a stiff sort of way,
And said with an air, — I suppose I must stay. —

They would not let me kiss my dear,
So how we tricked them you shall hear.
We stretched her zone from lip to lip
And let our kisses downward slip.
Just as a gardener with his hose
Directs the water as it flows.
She from one end the current sped,
I sent a backward tide instead;
Our ferries passed and passed again,
And so we respite found from pain.

Close I held her all the night,
But she never ceased to grieve
From the hour when softly bright
Rose the star of eve —

" Cruel, cruel," was her cry,
" Harbinger of coming morn,
Soon the night will pass, and I
Shall be left forlorn."

Naught is sweet to Passion's slave;
All too short the hours of sleep;
Would that we such nights might have
As Cimmerians keep.

Thy thunder pealeth o'er us,
God of the earth and sky!
And o'er the gloomy heavens,
The clouds roll dark and high;
But oh! there lieth brooding
A cloud more dark and dread,
Above our guilty nation,
In fearful portent spread.

Though broad our fertile borders
All smilingly expand,
The curse of blood is on us,
And on our pleasant land;
For we have sinn'd before thee,
And caus'd dark floods to roll,
Of tyranny and anguish,
Across our brother's soul.

But let not yet thine anger
Consume our blood-stain'd sod;

Time cannot conquer Nature; that I see
Whene'er I look on slender Meliti.
What though her years are counted by the score,
What though old age holds wide for her the door!
Her girlish wantonness she still retains,
Her cheeks are bright, the charm of youth remains,
Nor do her eyes forget their ancient art,
One fleeting glance and lo, she's snared your heart.

I sing this song that you may know me better;
That I may know thee better;
And that we two may burn our false idols
At the same altar.

I come first to you,
Young, inland mariner on a sea of flowing grapes,
In purple France:
Shaking the sweet snow from my hardy shoulders
I come to you.
Long has my race, companioned by strong elements,
Misunderstood the liquid nature of your soul.
And you, with the same blindness as mine own,
Have called my silent Northmen cold and passionless.
Let us approach one another, comrade;

When God, provok'd with daring crimes,
Scourges the madness of the times,
He turns their fields to barren sand,
And dries the rivers from the land.

His word can raise the springs again,
Can make the wither'd mountains green,
Send show'ry blessings from the skies,
Make harvests in the desert rise.

Where nothing dwelt but beasts of prey,
Or men as fierce and wild as they;
He bids th' oppress'd and poor repair,
And builds them towns and cities there.

They sow the fields, and trees they plant,

The great ship furrows a silent sea,
And wakens the blue to flame,
But at morrowdawn will her track be gone,
And the waters flow on the same.

The great ship looks with a thousand eyes
In the blue eye of the bay.
But never a gleam of their golden dream
Slips down in the sea to stay.

The little cart hath a creaking sound;
And moves like a thing asleep.
But it leaves a trace, on the road's white face,
That many a year shall keep.

O tide of leaves, in the moaning eves,
Wash down through my broken door;

Suppose me free from pining care,
With head, and heart, quite debonnaire;
Or riding in a Vis-a-Vis,
Discoursing with a Belle Esprit;
Or walking in St. James's Park,
With some gay meteor of a spark,
Who talks of what he does not know;
A mixture of conceit and show;
Or wielding of the Critic's rod,
Dispensing favours with a nod;
Or grown, perhaps, an amoroso,
A Dulcinea del Toboso;
Or deep immers'd in pains and study,
Tho' I am still so thick and muddy;
Grant that this vision were most true,
In ev'ry state the same to you.

When Abr'ham, full of sacred awe,
Before Jehovah stood,
And, with an humble, fervent pray'r,
For guilty Sodom sued; —

With what success, what wondrous grace,
Was his petition crown'd!
The Lord would spare, if in the place
Ten righteous men were found.

And could a single holy soul
So rich a boon obtain?
Great God! and shall a nation cry,
And plead with thee in vain?

Our country, — guilty as she is, —
Her num'rous saints can boast,
And now their fervent pray'rs ascend;
And can those pray'rs be lost?