English

We were together wandering I know not where,
A way of clouds that soft beneath our feet
Slid back in slow retreat
As we did onward fare
Lightly, silently, slowly through the golden air.

And each to each was rapturously dear,
Walking hand in hand, and save us two
Was naught in all that blue
Of liquid atmosphere;
Yet we thrilled as if unventured worlds lay waiting near.

In perfect comradeship, complete assent
Of hearts and minds and senses did we move,
Wholly in our own love
And eager talk intent,

I.

While the swift wings of time doth fly,
Rouse up my soul, stretch ev'ry thought;
This world with all its joys must die,
And ev'ry mortal scene is short.

II.

Soon must I leave this house of clay,
And instantaneous take my flight
To the bright realms of endless day,
Or down to everlasting night.

III.

O for a blessed Saviour nigh,
To help in that important hour,
To waft my soul above the sky,
By his almighty arm of pow'r!

IV.

Well done! The statue, on its base of granite,
Stands in the sunlight, perfect and complete,
And like a visitor from some strange planet,
Curbing his steed beside the crowded street,
A million curious eyes already scan it,
And, with delighted gaze, its advent greet.

The end has crowned the work; the high endeavor,
And the long toil, with full success are blest;
And while the city stands, henceforth, forever,
Firm as to-day this noble form shall rest,
Nor shall the hand of Time or Violence sever

Strike! Oh, strike!
Already the strings of me quiver,
Vibrate,
With the imagining of your fingers. . . .
Strike!
Set free these aching sounds,
Strike harshly, wildly,
Loud —
O strong, beautiful —
Till the strings cry out,
Till the strings are torn with the fierceness of your hands' delight,
With the agony of their own music,
With the agony of their releasing —

Broken —
Still.

I.

Tell a poor soul that I may find;
Where is the Saviour of mankind?
And let me see his smiling face
That I may know, and sing his grace.

II.

Ye foll'wers of the heav'nly Lamb,
Who're bound to spread his bleeding fame,
O, if you can, I pray you tell

P ALLAS .

Pallas , the guardian of the slighted stage ,
Brings a complaint , that fires her into rage:
Stung to the soul , she cannot — will not, bear it,
But for the sex's honour must declare it.

O F fifty powder'd beaux ; here, wedgid , behind,
Not one fast friend can fading woman find!
They rail — they joke — nor their distaste conceal ;
Unconscious of your power , from head , to heel!

Was it by negligence or accident,
That in my sicknesse as my servant went
To warme my bed, some ashes she let fall?
Neither perhaps, but 'twas prophetical,
Foretelling that I must to ashes turn,
And shortly be inclosed in my urne.
And if that Providence hath so decreed,
Welcome i'th' name of God, let Death succeed
His elder brother, Sleep, and then give way
To life again, such as the saints enjoy.
Now on my grave I think, and yet not quake,
Since thence as from my bed I shal awake;
When I lie down in dust I doe not die,

I.

High was the crime, great was the fall,
And fatal was the daring blow,
When man with paradise and all,
Plung'd in a labyrinth of wo.

II.

Deep did the damning poison seize,
The num'rous throng of human race;
Beyond all help for their disease,
But by Jehovah's arm of grace.

III.

And when redeeming love comes down,
By the incarnate Son of GOD ;
How many disregard the crown,
While others think to spill his blood!

IV.

What a strange thing's this ague? which doth make
Me like an earthquake first with cold to shake;
Then like Mount Etna burn with fervent heat,
And by and by dissolve into a sweat?
Sure 'tis some Cacodaemon, by his art
Insinuating himselfe in every part;
Now in the head, then in the back it lies,
Sometimes i'th' stomack, sometimes in the thighs,
Now like a souldier whom nothing can fray,
He sets upon me boldly at mid-day;
Then like a thief steals on me late at night,
Or early e're the approach o' th' morning light.

I've 'scap'd, o-night, two terrible disasters,
My honour's indignation — and my master 's:
And heaven best knows, what hapless, hole can hide me,
If (to crown all my woes) YOUR help's deny'd me.

L ADIES ! — you see, how much expos'd our sex is:
Sleeping or waking — some sad chance perplexes.
Man's a more wily Snake , than mother Eve's was;
In his own shape — and others to — deceives us:
Hungry devourer! never tir'd, with snapping ; —
Shun him, with open eyes , he'll catch us napping .