Look from the prow of thine anchored bark—
Anchored by classic shore—and mark,
Down fathoms-deep in the purple sea,
How Time and the waters have dealt on me
Art lost in the moonless and starless night?
Far-away looming, a light! a light!
Fearlessly steer, for on me 'tis placed,
To guide thy bark o'er the trackless waste
Earth knows me, too; and will heave and quake
Where my subterranean course I take:
And none so aghast at my ravages then,
As they whose type was the Sire of men.
But not ever thus; at times I'm seen
On the cheek or the neck of Beauty's queen;
Or (to favoured mortal alone confest)
Tinging the snow upon Beauty's breast.
So, whether above the waves, or below,
Or beneath the Earth, or on breast of snow,
Linked with the past, or alive to-day,
Tell who I am—if tell ye may.
II.
My lady calls; my First obeys—
Nor less his lord's behest:
In bower and hall, in olden days,
My First was in request.
Yet 'tis my First that tells us now
What then my First was doing;
How he went forth to war, and how
He prospered in his wooing.
A wise King bade the lazy fool
Observe my Second's ways,
And notice—as it were in school—
The wisdom she displays.
Yet hers is a devouring race,
And might—though strange it be—
Eat up, in given time and place,
My First, or you, or me.
As for my whole—in every age
Mankind must have its show;
In actual life, on mimic stage,
In peace, war, joy, or woe.
Now 'tis a wedding, now a death,
A gathering, or a play;
It comes, but, like a passing breath,
Full soon 'tis swept away.
III.
When Richard of the Lion Heart
In arms the Paynim sought,
I of his panoply was part,
And, wielding me, he fought.
When ladies on a different field
With men their skill essay,
I am the weapon that they wield
If they would gain the day.
When cooks in certain dishes show
Their culinary art,
I am on hand—the masters know
What flavour I impart.
IV.
I'm a word of one syllable. Look you for me
Mid Niagara's roar; in the turbulent sea;
Where the winds and the waters are wildest at play,
And fling off their laughter in volumes of spray.
I'm a noun of five letters; but throw one aside—
I'm a verb; with the noun I'm no longer allied.
I'm a grave, solemn verb; nay, I truly might say,
Those who follow my precept do nothing but pray.
But again; let two letters be dropped—there's a change;
As a noun—and by no means a grave one—I range.
Now I'm here; now I'm there; seen by night and by day,
For in short, I'm a beam, or a flash, or a ray.
Thus a verb and two nouns packed together you see,
In a word of one syllable.—What can it be?
V.
There are some words, that in a double sense
Must be interpreted; of these am I.
Your housemaid, thus, wilt know me literally
Better than you do; but, with all respect
For Betty's carefulness, she scarce can catch
My finer meaning. I'm, with her, a thing
For brush and duster; in me, you behold
A symbol. So much for me as I stand.
Now cut my head off—I'm another word
Of narrow and of wide significance,
Handful of dust, the very world itself.
Cut off my tail—the effect is still the same;
I'm yet another of those duplex words:
Mental and bodily, an essential part
Of all mankind, without which no one lives,
Nay, not an animal, though you may swear,
And truly too, that I have no existence,
And never had, in certain men and women.
Enough: it is not difficult to find
Three words, six meanings, in one syllable.
VI.