Whereat the watch-dog rousing from his sloth,
Chases the bold invader far away,
And, careless though the chanticleer be wroth,
With joyful bark proclaims the break of day.
LOVE’S VOICE.
As little streams that start to find the sea
Proclaim with babbling tongues their voyaging
And with proud riot make the meadows ring,
Or fill the wild woods with much noisy glee,
As of their course they tell each waving tree
And wandering bird that chances near to wing;
So shallow lovers in the world’s ear sing
Their plaint of passion with vain minstrelsy.
But vast as restless ocean’s deep expanse,
Superbly splendid, solemnly sublime,
Whose music beats upon the shore of time
In rhythmic beauty, is my heart’s romance:
But as no song can sound the mighty sea,
My soul is silent in its love for thee.
LILIES AND POPPIES.
White lilies languish on their graceful stems,
Red poppies laugh amid the growing corn;
Lilies at poppies look with lofty scorn
And cherish dear their own chaste diadems;
Poppies at lilies scoff, their scarlet gems
Blaze in the splendor of a life, love-born
And love-begetting, and do most adorn
Those whom love’s beauty unto death condemns.
Lay the white blossoms on the lowly bier
Of her who passed away, so pure and young,—
Fling the red passion-poisoned flowers among
Her syren-sisters who live sinning here.
O! star-souled lily! white for none to blame.
O! blood-stained poppy! red with blush of shame.
TO BACCHUS.
The poet sings in love-sick verse
Plaints thy goblets soon disperse;
Pluck the willow from his head,
’Twine the vine-leaf in its stead,
Fill the bowl with drink divine,
Give the wounded minstrel wine;
And the fool now fraught with pain,
Ne’er shall weep for love again.
See! it scarcely stains his lips,
Yet to draughts have turned his sips.
Subtle raptures swiftly fill
Every vein with fiery thrill;
Long before its rage is o’er
Pants the reeling wretch for more;
Squeeze the grape, fill high the bowl,
Wine shall cheer the wounded soul.
Let the ruddy torrent flow,
Heal all wounded hearts below,
Freely let the red stream pour,
With its storm the blood shall roar;
Surges of mad ecstacy
Shall embroil life’s phantasy;
Clouds of joy before the brain
Dull the deeper sense of pain.
Love is great; but in life’s dream
Wine alone shall reign supreme;
To old Bacchus! drink and sing;
Cupid’s Victor! Pleasure’s King!