Poems of Cheer Part 14

Thank Fate for foes! I hold mine dear As valued friends. He cannot know The zest of life who runneth here His earthly race without a foe.

I saw a prize. "Run," cried my friend; "'Tis thine to claim without a doubt."

But ere I half-way reached the end, I felt my strength was giving out.

My foe looked on the while I ran; A scornful triumph lit his eyes.

With that perverseness born in man, I nerved myself, and won the prize.

All blinded by the crimson glow Of sin's disguise, I tempted Fate.

"I knew thy weakness!" sneered my foe, I saved myself, and balked his hate.

For half my blessings, half my gain, I needs must thank my trusty foe; Despite his envy and disdain, He serves me well where'er I go.

So may I keep him to the end, Nor may his enmity abate: More faithful than the fondest friend, He guards me ever with his hate.

FRIENDSHIP

Dear friend, I pray thee, if thou wouldst be proving Thy strong regard for me, Make me no vows. Lip-service is not loving; Let thy faith speak for thee.

Swear not to me that nothing can divide us - So little such oaths mean.

But when distrust and envy creep beside us Let them not come between.

Say not to me the depths of thy devotion Are deeper than the sea; But watch, lest doubt or some unkind emotion Embitter them for me.

Vow not to love me ever and for ever, Words are such idle things; But when we differ in opinions, never Hurt me by little stings.

I'm sick of words: they are so lightly spoken, And spoken, are but air.

I'd rather feel thy trust in me unbroken Than list thy words so fair.

If all the little proofs of trust are heeded, If thou art always kind, No sacrifice, no promise will be needed To satisfy my mind.

TWO SAT DOWN

Two sat down in the morning time, One to sing and one to spin.

All men listened the song sublime - But no one listened the dull wheel's din.

The singer sat in a pleasant nook, And sang of a life that was fair and sweet, While the spinner sat with a steadfast look, Busily plying her hands and feet.

The singer sang on with a rose in her hair, And all men listened her dulcet tone; And the spinner spun on with a dull despair Down in her heart as she sat alone.

But lo! on the morrow no one said Aught of the singer or what she sang.

Men were saying: "Behold this thread,"

And loud the praise of the spinner rang.

The world has forgotten the singer's name - Her rose is faded, her songs are old; But far o'er the ocean the spinner's fame Yet is blazoned in lines of gold.

BOUND AND FREE

Come to me, Love! Come on the wings of the wind!

Fly as the ring-dove would fly to his mate!

Leave all your cares and your sorrows behind!

Leave all the fears of your future to Fate!

Come! and our skies shall be glad with the gold That paled into gray when you parted from me.

Come! but remember that, just as of old, You must be bound, Love, and I must be free.

Life has lost savour since you and I parted; I have been lonely, and you have been sad.

Youth is too brief to be sorrowful-hearted - Come! and again let us laugh and be glad.

Lips should not sigh that are fashioned to kiss - b.r.e.a.s.t.s should not ache that joy's secrets have found.

Come! but remember, in spite of all this, I must be free, Love, while you must be bound.

You must be bound to be true while you live, And I keep my freedom for ever, as now.

You must ask only for that which I give - Kisses and love-words, but never a vow.

Come! I am lonely, and long for your smile, Bring back the lost lovely Summer to me!

Come! but remember, remember the while, That you must be bound, Love, and I must be free.

AQUILEIA

[On the election of the Roman Emperor Maximus, by the Senate, A.D.

238, a powerful army, headed by the Thracian giant Maximus, laid siege to Aquileia. Though poorly prepared for war, the constancy of her citizens rendered her impregnable. The women of Aquileia cut off their hair to make ropes for the military engines. The small body of troops was directed by Chrispinus, a Lieutenant of the Senate. Apollo was the deity supposed to protect them. --Gibbon's Roman History.]

"The ropes, the ropes! Apollo send us ropes,"

Chrispinus cried, "or death attends our hopes."

Then panic reigned, and many a mournful sound Hurt the cleft air; for where could ropes be found?

Up rose a Roman mother; tall was she As her own son, a youth of n.o.ble height.

A little child was clinging to her knee - She loosed his twining arms and put him down, And her dark eyes flashed with a sudden light.

How like a queen she stood! her royal crown, The rich dark ma.s.ses of her splendid hair.

Just flecked with spots of sunshine here and there, Twined round her brow; 'twas like a coronet, Where gems of gold lie bedded deep in jet.

She loosed the comb that held the shining strands, And threaded out the meshes with her hands.

The purple ma.s.s fell to her garment's hem.

A queen new clothed without her diadem She stood before her subjects.