Songs of Labor and Other Poems Part 5

'Tis my youth that flies from me!

To My Misery

O Misery of mine, no other In faithfulness can match with thee, Thou more than friend, and more than brother, The only thing that cares for me!

Where'er I turn, are unkind faces, And hate and treachery and guile, Thou, Mis'ry, in all times and places, Dost greet me with thy pallid smile.

At birth I found thee waiting for me, I knew thee in my cradle first, The same small eyes and dim watched o'er me, The same dry, bony fingers nursed.

And day by day when morning lightened, To school thou led'st me--home did'st bring, And thine were all the blooms that brightened The chilly landscape of my spring.

And, thou my match and marriage monger, The marriage deed by thee was read; The hands foretelling need and hunger Were laid in blessing on my head.

Thy love for me shall last unshaken, No further proof I ask, for when My hopes for aye were from me taken, My Mis'ry, thou wert with me then;

And still, while sorrow's storm is breaking Above me, and my head I bow-- The kindly and the unforsaking, Oh Mis'ry, thou art with me now.

Ay, still from out Fate's gloomy towers I see thee come to me again, With wreaths of everlasting flowers, And songs funereal in thy train.

And when life's curses rock me nightly, And hushed I lie in slumber's hold, Thy sable form comes treading lightly To wrap me in its garments fold.

Thy brother let me be, and wholly Repay thee all I owe, tho' late: My aching heart, my melancholy, My songs to thee I dedicate.

O Long The Way

O long the way and short the day, No light in tower or town, The waters roar and far the sh.o.r.e-- My ship, my ship goes down!

'Tis all in vain to strive again, My cry the billows drown, The fight is done, the wind has won-- My ship, my ship goes down!

Bright sun, adieu! Thou'lt shine anew When skies no longer frown, But I--the deafening billows crash-- My ship, my ship goes down!

To The Fortune Seeker

A little more, a little less!-- O shadow-hunters pitiless, Why then so eager, say!

What'er you leave the grave will take, And all you gain and all you make, It will not last a day!

Full soon will come the Reaper Black, Cut thorns and flowers mark his track Across Life's meadow blithe.

Oppose him, meet him as you will, Old Time's behests he harkens still, Unsparing wields his scythe.

A horrid mutiny by stealth Breaks out,--of power, fame and wealth Deserted you shall be!

The foam upon your lip is rife; The last enigma now of Life Shall Death resolve for thee.

You call for help--'tis all in vain!

What have you for your toil and pain, What have you at the last?

Poor luckless hunter, are you dumb?

This way the cold pall-bearers come: A beggar's soul has pa.s.sed!

A little less, a little more !-- Look forth, look forth! without the door There stands a robber old.

He'll force your ev'ry lock and spring, And all your goods he'll take and fling On Stygian waters cold.

My Youth

Come, beneath yon verdant branches, Come, my own, with me!

Come, and there my soul will open Secret doors to thee.

Yonder shalt thou learn the secrets Deep within my breast, Where my love upsprings eternal; Come! with pain opprest, Yonder all the truth I'll tell thee, Tell it thee with tears...

(Ah, so long have we been parted, Years of youth, sweet years!)

See'st thou the dancers floating On a stream of sound?

There alone, the soul entrancing, Happiness is found!

Magic music, hark! it calls us, Ringing wild and sweet!

One, two, three!--beloved, haste thee, Point thy dainty feet!

Now at last I feel that living Is no foolish jest...

(O sweet years of youth departed, Vanished with the rest!)

Fiddler, play a little longer!

Why this hurry, say?

I'm but half-way through a measure-- Yet a little play!

Smiling in her wreath of flowers Is my love not fair?

See us in the charmed circle, Flitting light as air!

Haste thee, loved one, for the music Shall be hushed anon...

(O sweet years of youth departed, Whither are ye gone?)

Gracious youth of mine, so quickly Hath it come to this?

Lo, where flowed the golden river, Yawns the black abyss!

Where, oh where is my beloved, Where the wreath of flowers?

Where, oh where the merry fiddler, Where those happy hours?

Shall I never hear the echoes Of those songs again?

Oh, on what hills are they ringing, O'er what sunny plain?

May not I from out the distance Cast one backward glance On that fair and lost existence, Youth's sweet dalliance?

Foolish dreamer! Time hath s.n.a.t.c.hed it, And, tho' man implore, Joys that _he_ hath reaped and garnered Bloom again no more!