From the Italian of Ternaré
"Say, who art thou, with more than mortal air,
Endowed by Heaven with gifts and graces rare,
Whom restless, wingèd feet for ever onward bear?"—
"I am Occasion—known to few, at best;
And since one foot upon a wheel I rest,
Constant my movements are—they cannot be repressed.
"Not the swift eagle in his swiftest flight
Can equal me in speed. My wings are bright;
And man, who sees them waved, is dazzled by the sight.
"My thick and flowing locks, before me thrown,
Conceal my form—nor face, nor breast is shown,
That thus, as I approach, my coming be not known.
"Behind my head, no single lock of hair
Invites the hand, that fain would it grasp there;
But he, who lets me pass, to seize me may despair."
"Whom, then, so close behind thee do I see?"—
"Her name is Penitence; and Heaven's decree
Hath made all those her prey, who profit not by me.
"And thou, O mortal, who dost vainly ply
These curious questions, thou dost not descry,
That now thy time is lost—for I am passing by."
THE MOURNFUL BALLAD OF THE "ALABAMA."
Captain Semmes is on a cruise
O'er the track that skippers use;
From the Western Isles, to those
Near Nantucket shoals, he goes.
Woe is me, Alabama!
Letters to the merchants tell
Who into his clutches fell;
'Tis the talk of all the town;
News-boys call it up and down
Woe is me, Alabama!
Straight the sons of Commerce came
To their Chamber, crying shame
For the tidings they had learned,
For their ships and cargoes burned.
Woe is me, Alabama!
Up and spake a merchant prince:
"Friends, our city well may wince,
For you have, alas! to know
Of a most disastrous blow!
Woe is me, Alabama!
"All is sunk beneath the waves,
Breadstuffs, lard, tobacco, staves;
Chained have been our Captains bold
In the 'Alabama's' hold!
Woe is me, Alabama!
"Lawless, too, is Captain Semmes;
Neutral shipments he condemns.
Useless is it to appeal
To Consul's signature and seal.
Woe is me, Alabama!
"But there's worse than this behind;
Treacherous friends this blow designed.
Great as is the corsair's guilt,
Greater theirs his ship who built!
Woe is me, Alabama!
"Neutral money, neutral skill,
Wrought us this outrageous ill;
Neutral engines, neutral guns,
Aid him as he fights or runs.
Woe is me, Alabama!
"Sons of Commerce, men of worth,
Let these words of mine go forth!
Let the British monarch know
That to her all this we owe!"
Woe is me, Alabama!
So the warning words went forth
To England, from the angered North,
Passed along from mouth to mouth,
"No more dealings with the South!"
Woe is me, Alabama!
"You may sell to this our land
All we want of contraband;
But have a care that nothing goes,
From you, a neutral, to our foes!"
Woe is me, Alabama!
Now Heaven preserve us all in peace,
And let these ugly squabbles cease!
So fighters all, and standers-by,
Shall nevermore have cause to cry,
"Woe is me, Alabama!"
November, 1862.
LINES FOR THE GUITAR.
From the French of Victor Hugo.
Man was saying: "How can we,
In our little boats at sea,
Pass the guarda-costas by?"—
"Row!" said Woman in reply.
Man was saying: "How forget
Perils that our lives beset,
Strife, and Poverty's low cry?"—
"Sleep!" said Woman in reply.
Man was saying: "How be sure
Beauty's favour to secure,
Nor the subtle philtre try?"—
"Love!" said Woman in reply.