O hard sweet strife, O sting
Of buffeting salt!
Doubt and despair take wing,
Failure, and fault.
I dread not wrath or wrong,—
Smile, and am free;
Strong while the winds are strong,
The rocks, the sea.
Heart of my heart, tho' life
Front us with storm,
Love will outlast the strife,
More pure, more warm.
KHARTOUM.
Set in the fierce red desert for a sword,
Drawn and deep-driven implacably! The tide
Of scorching sand that chafes thy landward side
Storming thy palms; and past thy front outpoured
The Nile's vast dread and wonder! Late there roared
(While far off paused the long war, long defied)
Mad tumult thro' thy streets; and Gordon died,
Slaughtered amid the yelling rebel horde!
Yet, spite of shame and wrathful tears, Khartoum,
We owe thee certain thanks, for thou hast shown
How still the one a thousand crowds outweighs,—
Still one man's mood sways millions,—one man's doom
Smites nations;—and our burning spirits own
Not sordid these nor unheroic days!
LIBERTY.
[From the French of Louis Honore Fréchette]
A child, I set the thirsting of my mouth
To the gold chalices of loves that craze.
Surely, alas, I have found therein but drouth,
Surely has sorrow darkened o'er my days.
While worldlings chase each other madly round
Their giddy track of frivolous gayety,
Dreamer, my dream earth's utmost longings bound:
One love alone is mine, my love is Liberty.
I have sung them all;—youth's lightsomeness that fleets,
Pure friendship, my most fondly cherished dreams,
Wild blossoms and the winds that steal their sweets,
Wood odors, and the star that whitely gleams.
But our hearts change; the spirit dulls its edge
In the chill contact with reality;
These vanished like the foam-bells on the sedge:
I sing one burden now, my song is Liberty.