Mathieu Ropars: et cetera Part 19

Her voice was choked with sobs. Her latest words Were scarcely audible, though through them breathed Salem's sound training. "John," she faltered forth, "We know not what may happen: dear, dear John, "Were it not well that you--should--leave--with--me-- "Your--watch--and--pocket-book?"

THE TRAMPER'S BED--AND THE KING'S.

Down by the side of a sweet clover-stack, On a summer night, I lie on my back.

Clear s.p.a.ce is above me; and there, as I lie, I look straight up to the stars in the sky.

Once, when the King was dethroned by the mob, They swarmed to his palace, to stare or to rob, And the frightened lackies flung open the doors, And clouted shoes sc.r.a.ped along polished floors.

Then it was I caught sight of his Majesty's bed, With its canopy, gilded and carved, overhead;-- If his Majesty wishes the stars to behold, And looks up, he can see but the carving and gold!

Some night, should my soul be unbound as I sleep, And downward an Angel in search of it sweep, No bar, no obstruction, would hinder his flight;-- With a wave of his wings, by my corpse he would light.

But what, if the soul to be loosed were the King's?

Could an Angel reach that by the poise of his wings?

Could he easily cleave through a palace his way?

Through ceilings bedizened, through floors in decay-- Through gorgeous apartments and bare attic rooms, For lords and for ladies, for valets and grooms-- Through a quaint peaked roof rising high o'er the whole-- Could he enter, and tenderly waft off the soul?

Better, then, is the bed by the sweet clover-stack, With the stars full in view, and the clear Angel's track!

And though much be not mine of this world's pleasant things, I should care not to barter my couch for the King's!

OCCASION.

_From the Italian of Ternare_

"Say, who art thou, with more than mortal air, Endowed by Heaven with gifts and graces rare, Whom restless, winged 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 pa.s.s, 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 pa.s.sing 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, Pa.s.sed 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, Pa.s.s 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.