My Lyrical Life Poems Old and New. By Gerald Massey |
 | 1. |
|
|
|
|
| I. |
| II. |
| III. |
| IV. |
| V. |
| VI. |
| VII. |
| VIII. |
| IX. |
| X. |
| XI. |
| XII. |
| XIII. |
| XIV. |
| XV. |
| XVI. |
| XVII. |
|
|
| I. |
| II. |
| III. |
| IV. |
| V. |
| VI. |
| VII. |
| 2. |
|
|
|
| I. |
| II. |
| III. |
| IV. |
| V. |
| VI. |
| VII. |
| VIII. |
| IX. |
| X. |
| XI. |
| XII. |
ALEXANDER RUSSEL. |
|
|
|
| I. |
| II. |
| III. |
| IV. |
| V. |
| VI. |
| VII. |
| VIII. |
| IX. |
| X. |
| XI. |
| XII. |
| XIII. |
| XIV. |
| XV. |
| XVI. |
| XVII. |
| XVIII. |
| XIX. |
| XX. |
|
|
|
| I. |
| II. |
| III. |
| IV. |
| V. |
| VI. |
| VII. |
| VIII. |
| IX. |
| X. |
| XI. |
| XII. |
| XIII. |
| XIV. |
| XV. |
| XVI. |
| XVII. |
| XVIII. |
| XIX. |
| XX. |
| XXI. |
|
|
 | My Lyrical Life |  |
ALEXANDER RUSSEL.
What! “Russel of the Scotsman” dead?
Nay, Death himself would hang the head,
And dare not tell the foolish lie;
Such living forces never die.
Nay, Death himself would hang the head,
And dare not tell the foolish lie;
Such living forces never die.
The Shadows that make up our night
Were growing thin for him to fight.
But still he fights, we think with pride,
Our battle from the other side!
Were growing thin for him to fight.
But still he fights, we think with pride,
Our battle from the other side!
Hard head, warm heart, and liberal hand,
Open or shut, to bless or brand;
Large-moulded, with Norse fire aglow;
This was a man, to friend or foe!
Open or shut, to bless or brand;
Large-moulded, with Norse fire aglow;
This was a man, to friend or foe!
Long in our mêlée will be missed
The mace of Russel's mighty fist,
That struck, and, wasting nought in sound,
Buried its blow without rebound.
The mace of Russel's mighty fist,
That struck, and, wasting nought in sound,
Buried its blow without rebound.
With “derring-do,” and thought that strives,
Erect his Statue in your lives,
Warm-blooded, not in marble wan—
The living measure of the man!
Erect his Statue in your lives,
Warm-blooded, not in marble wan—
The living measure of the man!
Walhalla! Rise and welcome him
Aross the Braga-Beaker's rim;
And, that his glory may be full,
Brim high some Water-Drinker's Skull.
Aross the Braga-Beaker's rim;
And, that his glory may be full,
Brim high some Water-Drinker's Skull.
| My Lyrical Life | |