English

The Beast of Rome sent forth his might
'Gainst Ethiopia's silent hosts,
And in battle went the men
Who haunt the hills and plains like ghosts.

Askaris, grinning soldiers,
Like April fools at summer play,
Did shoulder arms for Italy
To give the Beast of Rome the day.

When blacks fight blacks in white men's wars
They're fools for all their valiant pain,
For they shall never hope for right
In whatsoever is the gain.

Ras Gugsa, ignoble of fame,
Betrayed the Emperor's goodwill;

This wild-rose, plucked by Avon's side,
Is not a whit more sweet or fair
Than those which brighten summer-tide
In dear New England's air;

But this is of a noble line
Which held, in yonder century,
A privilege, by right divine,
That now no gold could buy;

A privilege of rarer fame
Than any prince of royal blood,
Or any king on earth can claim;
So is this half-blown bud

Ennobled, not by wealth or wars,
But by the truth that it may trace
Its lineage back to ancestors

The Ermine rather chose to die
A martyr of its purity,
Than that one uncouth soil should stain
Its hitherto preserved skin;
And thus resolv'd she thinks it good
To write her whiteness in her blood.
But I had rather die, than e'er
Continue from my foulness clear;
Nay, I suppose by that I live,
That only doth destruction give:
Madman I am, I turn mine eye
On every side, but what doth lie
Within, I can no better find;
Than if I ever had been blind.
Is this the reason thou dost claim
Thy sole prerogative, to frame

We had tramped through field and forest,
O the long and dreary way!
With the stars alone to guide us,
For we dared not move by day—

Jack and I, two Union soldiers,
Just escaped from prison-shed,
Squalid, ghastly, shoeless, starving,
And no place to ask for bread;

Swimming rivers deep and swollen,
Crossing mountains grim and dark,
Wading marshes, crouched in thickets,
Trembling at the blood-hound's bark.

O the chill nights marched in silence,
As the weeks crept slowly past;

The sleigh-bells danced that winter night;
Old Brattleboro rang with glee;
The windows overflowed with light;
Joy ruled each hearth and Christmas tree.
But to one the bells and mirth were naught:
His soul with deeper joy was fraught.
He waited until the guests were gone;
He waited to dream his dream alone;
And the night wore on.

Alone he stands in the silent night;
He piles the snow in the village square;
With spade for chisel, a statue white
From the crystal quarry rises fair.

How blest was the Created State
Of Man and Woman, e're they fell,
Compar'd to our unhappy ffate!
We need not fear another Hell:

Naked beneath cool Shades they lay,
Enjoyment waited on desire;
Each member did their wills obey:
Nor could a wish set pleasure higher.

But we, poor Slaves to hope and fear,
Are never of our Joys secure:
They lessen still, as they draw near;
And none but dull delights endure.

Then, Cloris, while I duty pay,
The nobler Tribute of a heart;
Be not you so severe, to say

Tell me, O youth so straight and tall,
So glad with eager thought!
Have you seen of late a bouncing boy
Brimful of merry sport?
Brimful of merry sport is he,
A lad of fifteen summers,
With velvet lip still smooth and fair,
But a fist that awes all comers.

He used to laugh with unconcern
Whene'er a school-girl met him,
Unconscious quite what wondrous power
She 'd have in time to fret him.
He only cared for “fellows” then,
And “ball,” and “tag,” and “shinny,”
And thought a chap who brushed his hair

There runs a pathway by the hedge
And up across the clearing,
A ribbon through the woodland's edge,
Appearing, disappearing,
That fades beyond the hills of gray
Where red the west is burning;
And many men have passed this way,
And few who came returning.

Full many men have followed it,
The path beside the shanty;
And some there were with wealth or wit,
And some who sang a chanty;
And some were sad and some were gay,
And there were some who flattered;
Yes, many men have passed this way—

The wind sweeps over the corn,
The wind sweeps over my heart,
It lifts me up and it blows
My soul and body apart;

And I run, I run by its side
In bodiless liberty—
I touch the tops of the trees,
And dapple and darken the sea;

I rush through populous streets,
I eddy through glade and glen—
And now the wind dies down,
And I am my body again.

A Sea that foams against untrodden sands;
A voyaged ship with high, sky-moving spars;
A casement opened by pale hidden hands;
A hill lost in a multitude of stars.