A woman on an empire's throne
        Has sat in queenly pride,
    And swayed the sceptre of her power
        O'er land and ocean wide:
    A crown of gold adorned the head
        That held a nation's fate,
    And courtly knights and princely peers
        Did on her bidding wait.

    A woman too in ancient days
        Has borne the warrior's brand,
    And by heroic deed performed
        Has saved her native land.
    She too has sung inspiring songs,
        And told entrancing tales;
    Has softened and has swayed the mind
        Where bolder genius fails.

    But nobler far than thronèd queen,
        Or heroine of fame,
    Or she who by her potent pen
        Has won illustrious name,
    Is she who seeks the n...

"Where is thy crown, O tree of Love?
    Flowers only bears thy root!
Will never rain drop from above
    Divine enough for fruit?"

"I dwell in hope that gives good cheer,
    Twilight my darkest hour;
For seest thou not that every year
    I break in better flower?"

Out of the cloud that covers me
And blots the stars and seldom lifts,
I thank whatever gods may be
For my indubitable gifts.

Under the whip, upon the setts,
Men drive me many a galling mile;
My stock of editors' regrets
Would fill a barrow, but -- I smile.

Fast by this trade of wind and wit
I mean to hold till life be done,
And every year I stay in it
Finds, and shall find me, tugging on.

It matters not how stiff and sheer
The climb -- how difficult the sum,
I am the man they've got to hear!
I am the man that's bound to come!

I.
Let them fight it out, friend! things have gone too far.
God must judge the couple: leave them as they are
Whichever one’s the guiltless, to his glory,
And whichever one the guilt’s with, to my story!

II.
Why, you would not bid men, sunk in such a slough,
Strike no arm out further, stick and stink as now,
Leaving right and wrong to settle the embroilment,
Heaven with snaky hell, in torture and entoilment?

III.
Who’s the culprit of them? How must he conceive
God, the queen he caps to, laughing in his sleeve,
’Tis but decent to profess oneself beneath her:
Still, one must not be too much in earnest, either!

IV.
Better sin the whole sin, sure that God observes;
Then go live his life out! Life will try his nerves,
When the sky, which...

Allegorical Statue in the Style of the Renaissance

for Ernest Christophe, sculptor

Let us observe this prize, of Tuscan charm;
In how the muscles of the body flow
Those holy sisters, Grace and Strength, abound.
This woman, this extraordinary piece,
Divinely robust, admirably slim,
Was made to be enthroned on sumptuous beds
As entertainment for a pope or prince.

Also, observe the fine voluptuous smile
Where Self-conceit parades its ecstasy;
This long, sly, languorous and mocking gaze;
This dainty visage, with its filmy veil,
Each trait of which cries out triumphantly,
'Pleasure invites Me, and I wear Love's crown!'
In this creation of such majesty
Excitement flows from her gentility!
Let us approach and look from every side!

O ...

(See Note 37)

        "Forward! forward!"
    Rang our fathers' battle-cry.
        "Forward! forward!"
    Norsemen, be our watchword high!
All that fires the spirit and makes the heart's faith bright,
    For that we forward go with might
        And faithful fight.

        "Forward! forward!"
    Whoso loves a home that's free.
        "Forward! forward!"
    Freedom's course must ever be.
Though it shall be tested by doubt and by defeat,
    Who will the losses' count repeat
        When vict'ries greet?

        "Forward! forward!"
    Whoso trusts in Norway's day.
        "Forward! forward!"
    Whoso goes our fathers' way.
Hid in Northern mountains are spirit-treasures true
    They shall, when dawns the morning's bl...

Picture and book remain,
An acre of green grass
For air and exercise,
Now strength of body goes;
Midnight, an old house
Where nothing stirs but a mouse.

My temptation is quiet.
Here at life's end
Neither loose imagination,
Nor the mill of the mind
Consuming its rag and bonc,
Can make the truth known.

Grant me an old man's frenzy,
Myself must I remake
Till I am Timon and Lear
Or that William Blake
Who beat upon the wall
Till Truth obeyed his call;

A mind Michael Angelo knew
That can pierce the clouds,
Or inspired by frenzy
Shake the dead in their shrouds;
Forgotten else by mankind,
An old man's eagle mind.

RUPERT is dead, and RUPERT was my friend;
"Only surviving son of" - so it ran -
"Beloved husband" and the rest of it.
But six months back I saw him full of life,
Ardent for fighting; now he lies at ease
In some obscure but splendid field of France,
His strivings over and his conflicts done.
He was a fellow of most joyous moods
And quaint contrivings, ever on the point
Of shaking fame and fortune by the hand
But always baulked of meeting them at last.
He could not brook - and always so declared -
The weak pomposities of little men,
Scorned all the tin-gods of our petty world,
And plunged headlong into imprudences,
And smashed conventions with a reckless zeal,
Holding his luck and not himself to blame
For aught that might betide when reckoning came.
Bu...

        As the ambitious sculptor, tireless, lifts
    Chisel and hammer to the block at hand,
    Before my half-formed character I stand
        And ply the shining tools of mental gifts.
    I'll cut away a huge, unsightly side
        Of selfishness, and smooth to curves of grace
        The angles of ill-temper.

    And no trace
    Shall my sure hammer leave of silly pride.
        Chip after chip must fall from vain desires,
    And the sharp corners of my discontent
    Be rounded into symmetry, and lent
        Great harmony by faith that never tires.
    Unfinished still, I must toil on and on,
    Till the pale critic, Death, shall say, "'Tis done."

My God (oh, let me call Thee mine,
Weak, wretched sinner though I be),
My trembling soul would fain be Thine;
My feeble faith still clings to Thee.

Not only for the Past I grieve,
The Future fills me with dismay;
Unless Thou hasten to relieve,
Thy suppliant is a castaway.

I cannot say my faith is strong,
I dare not hope my love is great;
But strength and love to Thee belong;
Oh, do not leave me desolate!

I know I owe my all to Thee;
Oh, TAKE the heart I cannot give!
Do Thou my strength, my Saviour be,
And MAKE me to Thy glory live.

(Read Before A Meeting Of The Danville Scribbler Club.)


Dear friends, to-night the inspiration of my theme
Is not the baseless fabric of a weird, fantastic dream--
For truth, combined with justice, doth impel,
And therefore it is fact--not fiction--that I tell.

"Truth, crushed to earth, will rise again"--
A maxim true as holy writ;--then it is plain,
If rudely woven by an untaught hand it be,
Sustains but transitory wrong and injury.

And thus it is, in homely rhyme, I venture forth,
Relating nothing here but under oath;
And if, perchance, at times it sounds a little strange,
You know that truth o'er fiction hath a wider range.

These stanzas three I hope you'll deem explanatory--
As introductory and preliminary to the story--
A preface ...

Now, smiling friends and shipmates all,
Since half our battle 's won,
A broadside for our Admiral!
Load every crystal gun
Stand ready till I give the word, -
You won't have time to tire, -
And when that glorious name is heard,
Then hip! hurrah! and fire!

Bow foremost sinks the rebel craft, -
Our eyes not sadly turn
And see the pirates huddling aft
To drop their raft astern;
Soon o'er the sea-worm's destined prey
The lifted wave shall close, -
So perish from the face of day
All Freedom's banded foes!

But ah! what splendors fire the sky
What glories greet the morn!
The storm-tost banner streams on high,
Its heavenly hues new-born!
Its red fresh dyed in heroes' blood,
Its peaceful white more pure,
To float unstained o'er ...

In all thy need be thou possess'd
Still with a well-prepared breast;
Nor let the shackles make thee sad;
Thou canst but have what others had.
And this for comfort thou must know
Times that are ill won't still be so.
Clouds will not ever pour down rain;
A sullen day will clear again.
First peals of thunder we must hear,
Then lutes and harps shall stroke the ear.

    If we don't or if we do.
    What's the odds to me and you?
    Fame is e'er a heartless jade,
    And her slaves are poorly paid;
    Weary hearts and soul's distress
    Are the prices of success;
    All our stations sadness view,--
    If we don't or if we do.

    If we don't or if we do,
    Our deservings will accrue;
    We must pay the fullest price,
    For each virtue and each vice,
    And each life for every thing
    Must an equal portion bring;
    Justice shall our deeds review,
    If we don't or if we do.

    If we don't or if we do,
    Fortune to our worth is true;
    Trophies that enshroud our clay,
    Scarce are worth the price we pay;
    Shame doth small endeavors share,
    Fame and glory, toil...

Rail on, Rail on, ye heartless crew!
My strains were never meant for you;
Remorseless Rancour still reveal,
And damn the verse you cannot feel.
Invoke those kindred passions' aid,
Whose baleful stings your breasts pervade;
Crush, if you can, the hopes of youth,
Trampling regardless on the Truth:
Truth's Records you consult in vain,
She will not blast her native strain;
She will assist her votary's cause,
His will at least be her applause,
Your prayer the gentle Power will spurn;
To Fiction's motley altar turn,
Who joyful in the fond address
Her favoured worshippers will bless:
And lo! she holds a magic glass,
Where Images reflected pass,
Bent on your knees the Boon receive -
This will assist you to deceive -
The glittering gift was made for...

Tune - "Hey, tuttie taitie."



I.

    Scots, wha hae wi' Wallace bled,
    Scots, wham Bruce has aften led;
    Welcome to your gory bed,
            Or to victorie!

II.

    Now's the day, and now's the hour;
    See the front o' battle lour:
    See approach proud Edward's pow'r
            Chains and slaverie!

III.

    Wha will be a traitor-knave?
    Wha can fill a coward's grave?
    Wha sae base as be a slave!
            Let him turn and flee!

IV.

    Wha for Scotland's king and law
    Freedom's sword will strongly draw,
    Freeman stand, or freeman fa',
            Let him follow me!

V.

    By oppression's woes and pains!
    By our sons in ...

The warder looks down at the mid hour of night,

On the tombs that lie scatter'd below:
The moon fills the place with her silvery light,

And the churchyard like day seems to glow.
When see! first one grave, then another opes wide,
And women and men stepping forth are descried,

In cerements snow-white and trailing.

In haste for the sport soon their ankles they twitch,

And whirl round in dances so gay;
The young and the old, and the poor, and the rich,

But the cerements stand in their way;
And as modesty cannot avail them aught here,
They shake themselves all, and the shrouds soon appear

Scatter'd over the tombs in confusion.

Now waggles the leg, and now wriggles the thigh,

As the troop with strange gestures advanc...

All my ways are before thee. Psalm 119:168.


Awake, O soul, awake!
Enter thy cell of thought,
And there in calmness meditate
On what God's word has taught.

There's nought within thy scope,
No influence thou hast sown,
No gloomy doubt, no joyful hope,
But unto him are known.

Awake! but grovel not
In ashes of despair,
Christ's precious blood can cleanse each spot;
Cast on him every care.

Before him are thy ways,
But in his mercy free
He further yet his love displays,
And intercedes for thee.

Awake to holy fear
And praise thy God on high;
Be it thy joy to praise him here
And praise him in the sky.