Part 2
And more, for I know that some day A greater wonder thou Shalt work for me, when thou shalt slay What thou hast quickened now. As once thy life did make me whole, So once thy death shall reap Both for thyself and for my soul The last redemption of a long, long sleep.
5. Funeral March of a Fallen Hero
Sound the trumpet, beat the drum, Lay the purple on his breast, Let my shuddering memories come To salute him in his rest, To bow down to his disgrace, While I cover up his face.
Once he led my soul to war, And the thunder of his cry Went before me, fierce and far, Calling me to triumph or die; To his sword I owe my place, But I cover up his face.
Scornfully he mocked my fears, ‘Raise the banner!--up and fight! Follow me through blood and tears!’ From the darkness into light, After him, I strove apace, Now I cover up his face.
In his eyes I dare not gaze, Lest I should see mirrored there All the white and hungry blaze Of my own eyes’ hot despair, All my shame for his disgrace-- So I cover up his face.
In my heart he lies in state, Purple sorrow is his pall, Trumps of doom and drums of fate Sound the dead-march of his fall-- On his livid brows a crown Of withered bays and laurels brown.
At his head tall candles burn, They are hopes that slowly die, At his feet the brazen urn Where my love’s best ashes lie, At his side the broken sword Of his own most solemn word.
Fallen hero, I would bring Dreams to deck thine obsequies, Lay them as an offering On thy heart, where sorrow lies, But ’twould spoil thy stately bed, For, like thee, my dreams are dead.
Sound the trumpet, beat the drum, Lay the purple on his breast, Bow before his shame, and come To perform each last behest, Give him royal resting-place-- But, O cover up his face!
6. ‘I Am Alpha and Omega....’
And dost Thou bless the end? O Lord of Life And the Beginning, Lord of the New Birth, Lord of the dancing April days of earth! When the sour chills of Autumn winds are rife, And Summer faints and withers in the strife Of tempests and the strangling grips of dearth, Dost Thou still bless the End?
O Lord of the world’s morning!--Thou canst bless, Birth-pangs and travail--Thou hast hallowed all-- But canst Thou bless the turning to the wall Of dying eyes? the panting slow distress Of those who fear the clutch of Nothingness? When into death’s cold deeps Thy servants fall, Dost Thou still bless the End?
And canst Thou bless the hour when love is dead? Thou seek’st the harmonies of new-strung lyres, Thou art the guardian of new-kindled fires, But when the last of love’s poor life is fled, His ashes to the four winds scatterèd, And my charred soul crept bleeding from the pyres, Dost Thou still bless the End?
Yea, Thou dost bless the End--For Thou hast sworn That Thou, Eternal, art the First and Last, Lord of the Future, Thine too is the past, Thine is the night, O high priest of the dawn! Alpha and Omega! both love new-born And love long dead are in Thy hands kept fast, Yea, Thou dost bless the End.
Thine are the shadows of the dropping night, Thine are the wastes of lonely moonless seas, The wilted leaves of tossing Autumn trees, Thine the faint cries, the slowly drowning sight Of those who in the gulfs of darkness fight-- And dead love sleeps upon Thy mighty knees Ever world without end.
CANT SONGS
The Scampsman’s Night
Mists on the marsh are gathering thick, The shuddering woods are dim, My barker’s muzzle looks grim, Of boozing and delling and such I’m sick.
Saddle my mare--my Marjorie-- For Oliver’s glim is bright, And this is a snaffling night-- Ho, my girl, for the nuttiest spree!
We’ll make his Lordship tip us the bit, We’ll knuckle his mort’s fawnie, And a kiss, for we’re gay dogs, we, And love to fool with a comely chit.
At morning’s dawn we will ride to our ken, And tipple, and count our swag, And of our flash spices brag, And rest the bodies of mares and men.
A Deuced Moral Lay
Oh lads that are quier on the rum-padding lay, That saddle your prancers at waning of day, That ride to the tavern at dawning, Take warning, For a dell with a scampsman the dickens ’ull play.
In gaol a full dozen of rum-pads are lying, And for Dolly and Molly and Polly are sighing, But those very same troublesome fair Sent ’em there, And they’ll all curse their morts when it comes to the dying.
Let the gemman who wants to bing wide of the crap Beware of his dell, for she’s certain to rap-- There I’ve tipped you a deuced moral lay, So good day, I’m off to lie soft in my Barbara’s lap.
Cast for Lag
On the Pamunkey’s pine-fringed shore-- Lord! how drear is the torrent’s roar! Sits the gentleman rum-pad, slave, Watching the leap of the restless wave, And sighing for his Jenny.
Cast for lag was this scampsman bold, Flung in a slaver’s stinking hold, Kicked and flogged like a vagrant cur-- That was hard on a gentleman, Sir, Who sighed for pretty Jenny.
Bought by a planter and driven away Many a mile on a sweltering day, Lashed to a negro, foul and black, Each time I stumbled the whip on my back, Lord! how I sighed for Jenny.
Set to work in the sugar canes, Hunger, thirst, and the sun’s hot pains, Bed at night with a filthy crew, Tumble and toss and sweat and stew, And wretched dreams of Jenny.
Thus the miserable days go by, Grinding toil ’neath a torrid sky, Pain and hate, thirst and hunger wild, Tears at night like a beaten child-- Pray for me, pretty Jenny!
To a Comrade Sped
Oh you fool, you! Who’d have thought it! Dangling like a dog on string. That poor spice, you’ve dearly bought it-- Lad, how does it feel to swing?
Did you kick when the hemp choked you, And your heels danced in the air, And the sweat of dying soaked you, Struggling on the three-legged mare?
Swear you did! Your grin, my Billy, Is not what it ought to be, Thus to show your teeth is silly, And not over good to see.
Dolly wouldn’t kiss that cheek, Sir, With the veins swelled out so black, Pretty Bab would squirm and shriek, Sir, At the scars upon your back--
Which you had in gaol, my beauty, Ere you gambolled on the crap, Lud! the Sheriff did his duty, Ordered you both rope and strap.
For you held the roads a-trembling, Billy with the face so black; Ah, I hear you--‘No dissembling! Tip the steven--don’t be slack!’
Blowens screamed, and gemmen cursed you, But you caved ’em with your pop, Now, alas! the hemp has burst you, Ere you reaped your nutty crop.
Oh you fool, you! Who’d have thought it! Bowled out, trussed up, stark, and dead. Ruffler crack, Egad! you’ve caught it, Caught it fairly on the head.
MISCELLANEOUS
Bride’s Song
It was not always thus I loved, Once, long ago, another love was mine, A love that through the constellations moved On fiery way divine-- It was not always thus I loved. But can a bird for ever fly? Too rare, too lofty, is the sky, The poor bird folds his tired wings, And in the tree-top sings, And tries To forget the skies.
It was not always thus I dreamed, Once, long ago, I walked in Paradise, And through the coolness of the garden gleamed An angel’s beckoning eyes-- It was not always thus I dreamed. But can the sun be ever bright? He faints before the sword of night, And back into the house we hie, And with a candle try, When day’s done, To forget the sun.
I went into the sunset, and I heard Among the trees the faint note of a bird.
Immortality
One star upon the desert of the sky, One song upon the silences of night, Upon the tossing of the stream, one light, One moment in a blank eternity.
For, O my love, eternity is drear, And soon we both shall weary of it so, That we shall turn and hide ourselves for fear In that sweet hour God gave us long ago.
We cannot wander from it very far, For down the long wild ways, it calls us home, Red through the evening like a fallen star, A dim undying hearth for loves that roam.
I feel were I to meet you I might not Even know you in the street, nor you know me-- You might look back and whisper, ‘Who is she?’ And I might sigh at something half forgot.
But in our Moment I can kiss your face, Smiling and strong--unchanged by all the years; And I can hold you there a little space, And you hold me--unchanged by all my tears.
And I can whisper to you of that night When our dark boat made moon-swept waters hiss. Your face was wet with spray, spray-wet your kiss, Your eyes were stars that I had set alight.
Dim planets hung above the trembling trees, The suck of water shook the misty air, The darkness showed you magic in my hair, The darkness showed you rest upon my knees.
We saw two wandering stars fall through the sky-- ’Twas you and I, lost in the chilly haze, Apart, adrift, forsaken, but ablaze With one short hour’s eternal ecstacy.
And into our poor love of rags and tears The fire of life and deathless love rushed down, Rushed the great love of this world’s million years, Gave us the kingdom, set on us the crown--
Gave us all love of lovers since the morn Of love in the dim daybreak of the earth, Gave us all harmonies since music’s birth, Gave us all colours since the first red dawn--
Gave us the Springtime with its changing tunes, Gave us the mysteries of many Junes, Gave us the stars, gave us the trackless sea, Gave us each other to eternity.
Love may be gone, as you are gone, my dear, But our almighty moment cannot die-- It shall stand fast when the last crumbling sphere Shall crash out of the ruin of the sky.
When the last constellations faint and fall, When the last planets burst in fiery foam, When all the winds have sunk asleep, when all The worn way-weary comets have come home--
When past and present and the future flee, My moment lives! and I shall hold you there. It lives to be my immortality, An immortality which you shall share.
One star upon the desert of the sky, One song upon the silences of night, Upon the tossing of the stream, one light, One moment in a blank eternity.
The Optimist
The earth is green, the earth is wide, And when its widest bound is past, There are the stars on every side, For soaring souls to win at last-- There is no bound for those that fly, Floorless and roofless is the sky, Hope knows no hindrance but clipped wings, So, throughout all life’s little while, My heart is happy, and I smile, In spite of many things, In spite of pain, In spite of fears, In spite of want, In spite of tears --In spite of you.
Mine is the future, and the past, The growing and the dying gleam, Mine is ambition till the last, And there are dreams for me to dream. Mine is the sagging Winter day, Mine too the softness of the May, The lusty strength of bread and wine, The valiant dawn, the pondering night, The flowering change from dark to light, All holy things are mine, In spite of pain, In spite of fears, In spite of want, In spite of tears --In spite of you.
Adventure weaves the shining dress Experience at last shall wear, Grief, rapture, triumph, bitterness Combine to trace the pattern there. All sorrow that my soul assails Helps to embroider golden veils To deck me in the glorious day When I shall reign in endless rest, So strength and laughter fill my breast, And on my heartstrings play, In spite of pain, In spite of fears, In spite of want, In spite of tears --In spite of you.
Resurrection
By the grave I watch and weep, Watch and weep in anxious pain, Watch my Love’s exhausted sleep, Weep lest he should wake again-- With heart and mind and soul I dread The resurrection of the dead.
Is it a hard law of Thine That no third day’s dawn shall break Without bringing life divine To the dead? O for the sake Of all Thy thorns and lilies won, Let my weary one sleep on!
Rough was life for my poor love, Fierce the whirlwind, wild the wave, It was mercy from above That he found this quiet grave, And there laid him down to rest, In the earth’s consoling breast.
He is desperate for sleep. He would never choose to wake, And I watch by him and weep, Trembling lest the light should break In the merciful dark skies, And torment his heavy eyes.
Though I know that Christ the Lord On the third day rose again, And I fear it is His word That the crucified should reign, Yet to Him I humbly pray That my love shall sleep for aye.
For he never was a king, Never sat upon a throne, He was just a trodden thing, Stumbling in the dark alone. Let him rest--Eternal bliss?-- He is far too tired for this.
Life is for the gods and great, Resurrection for the strong, Joy for those of high estate, Slaves would rather slumber long. Let no angel from above Wake the sleeping slave--my love.
By the grave I watch and weep, Watch and weep in anxious pain, Watch my love’s exhausted sleep, Weep lest he should wake again-- With heart and mind and soul I dread The resurrection of the dead.
A Prayer
Lord, let me die on my feet--upright and boldly facing My last sad great adventure and experience’s crown, Let my eyes be all undimmed as they look into the darkness, Let me hail death as a conqueror before he strikes me down.
Let me die with my head up, sword drawn, my shield flung from me, Stout to the end, yet proud to win my discharge at last, With worshipping clear gaze let me run to meet the future, And with forgiving laughter make my farewells to the past.
Let me not die in my bed, in weariness and weakness, While outside, undesired, unheard, all valiant nature calls, Save me from tumbled sheets, drawn blinds, and muffled footsteps, From staring eyes to pity me when the last anguish falls.
Lord let me die in my boots, I care not where death meets me, But let me die upright and armed, with free unclouded mind, Let me relish in their fullness the last moments life shall give me, Then plunge on without vain regrets for vain things left behind.
Let me meet death on the waters, in the din of the waves’ roaring, In the shattering of the thunder, when the splitting timbers break, Let me meet him on the mountains, on the shrieking snow-storm riding, I care not where he finds me, if he find me but awake.
I care not how I meet him, if I meet him as a warrior, Not as a slave the master he has given cause to frown. I will challenge him to combat, and when he sees me fearless, He will hail me as a conqueror before he strikes me down.