Old Year Leaves Being Old Verses Revised: By H. T. Mackenzie Bell ... New Edition |
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| MISCELLANEOUS PIECES. |
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 | Old Year Leaves |  |
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MISCELLANEOUS PIECES.
THE RIVER OF THOUGHT.
The strong River of Thought has an ayechangeful course,
Yet for ever it springs from the same changeless source
Where God-given Truth in its grandeur doth reign,
The regal physician of Man's mental pain.
Yet for ever it springs from the same changeless source
Where God-given Truth in its grandeur doth reign,
The regal physician of Man's mental pain.
Sometimes in high joyance it glideth along
With glamour of music and gladness of song:—
While borne on its bosom gay pleasure-boats sail,
Rejoicing a while in the light laughing gale.
With glamour of music and gladness of song:—
While borne on its bosom gay pleasure-boats sail,
Rejoicing a while in the light laughing gale.
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Sometimes like the stream which has sunk under ground,
Yet still keeps its course mid the darkness profound,
Unknown and alone it must hold on its way,
Till emerging at length in the full light of day.
Yet still keeps its course mid the darkness profound,
Unknown and alone it must hold on its way,
Till emerging at length in the full light of day.
Sometimes like the mountain's fierce torrent it flows,
And all that can hinder its progress o'erthrows;—
Possessing the power of immutable right,
And strong in the strength of invincible might.
And all that can hinder its progress o'erthrows;—
Possessing the power of immutable right,
And strong in the strength of invincible might.
Crass Ignorance surely succumbs to its sway,
As boldly it takes its all-conquering way,—
While keen-sighted Knowledge appears in its train,
The sweetener of pleasure, the soother of pain.
As boldly it takes its all-conquering way,—
While keen-sighted Knowledge appears in its train,
The sweetener of pleasure, the soother of pain.
Unceasingly hated by many, yet some
Unceasingly love it, though oft they are dumb.
Yet whatever betides, and wherever it flows,
'Tis the noble who love it, the weak who oppose
Unceasingly love it, though oft they are dumb.
Yet whatever betides, and wherever it flows,
'Tis the noble who love it, the weak who oppose
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Great River of Thought! our strange world doth not know
The evil you check, and the good you bestow:—
May Time teach the lesson, 'twill then comprehend
How well and how often you prove its true friend.
The evil you check, and the good you bestow:—
May Time teach the lesson, 'twill then comprehend
How well and how often you prove its true friend.
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WHISPERING WINDS.
Whispering winds strange musings carry
To our hearts as they sweep by:—
Thoughts that often thrilling tarry
Though the winds may wailing die.
To our hearts as they sweep by:—
Thoughts that often thrilling tarry
Though the winds may wailing die.
To the sailor, watchful pacing
On the deck of ship at sea,
Bring they dreams of danger facing,
Mid the tempest's mockery.
On the deck of ship at sea,
Bring they dreams of danger facing,
Mid the tempest's mockery.
To the exile, hoping, fearing,
Wandering on an alien strand,
Bring they memories endearing
Of his much-loved Father-land.
Wandering on an alien strand,
Bring they memories endearing
Of his much-loved Father-land.
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To the weary heavy-hearted
Often bring they thoughts of peace,
Of the peace where, pain departed,
Woe and weariness shall cease.
Often bring they thoughts of peace,
Of the peace where, pain departed,
Woe and weariness shall cease.
Sometimes bring they only sorrow
To the stricken in their train,
Imaging a dread to-morrow
Which will but augment their pain.
To the stricken in their train,
Imaging a dread to-morrow
Which will but augment their pain.
Bring they unto some new pleasure
And each trace of care destroy,
While to others yield a measure
Of distress that mars their joy.
And each trace of care destroy,
While to others yield a measure
Of distress that mars their joy.
Yet these forms of varied feeling
In this feature all agree,
That o'er every soul is stealing
Thought of an Eternity.
In this feature all agree,
That o'er every soul is stealing
Thought of an Eternity.
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HELPFULNESS.
Behold a fine tree growing in a field,
Apart from any other, and alone,
With nothing to preserve it or to shield
It from the wind, yet it is ever known
To thrive as well as trees whose lot is thrown
In sheltered woods, saved from the wintry blast.
And first from it in spring is heard the tone
Of singing birds; for, while its branches last,
It is a blessing where its lonely lot is cast.
Apart from any other, and alone,
With nothing to preserve it or to shield
It from the wind, yet it is ever known
To thrive as well as trees whose lot is thrown
In sheltered woods, saved from the wintry blast.
And first from it in spring is heard the tone
Of singing birds; for, while its branches last,
It is a blessing where its lonely lot is cast.
How well if often thus with man it were,
For surely cheering others on their way
Would wondrously relieve our ceaseless care,
And dissipate the gloom of Life's drear day,
By teaching us that Love will truly pay
An hundredfold again what we bestow
Upon our brother toilers; none can say
The blessings that we reap when thus we show
Our sympathy for men by sharing in their woe.
For surely cheering others on their way
Would wondrously relieve our ceaseless care,
And dissipate the gloom of Life's drear day,
By teaching us that Love will truly pay
An hundredfold again what we bestow
Upon our brother toilers; none can say
The blessings that we reap when thus we show
Our sympathy for men by sharing in their woe.
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THE SOURCE OF SONG.
What maketh the true poet sing?
Is it sense of deep injuries thrown
On the weak by the strong, which sting
His heart, till to song he is prone?
Is it sense of deep injuries thrown
On the weak by the strong, which sting
His heart, till to song he is prone?
Is it sight of some beautiful lake
All aflame with the dying sun's rays,—
O'er whose breast the acacias shake
Soft tresses of feathery sprays?
All aflame with the dying sun's rays,—
O'er whose breast the acacias shake
Soft tresses of feathery sprays?
Is it thought of some beautiful form
That fays well might deign to assume;
Displaying with ardour full warm,
How noble is youth's early bloom?
That fays well might deign to assume;
Displaying with ardour full warm,
How noble is youth's early bloom?
Is it thought of his dear mother-land,—
The deep longing that she be supreme:
Aspiration as loyal as grand,
Which to sons should be more than a dream?
The deep longing that she be supreme:
Aspiration as loyal as grand,
Which to sons should be more than a dream?
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Is it pleasure in physical health—
The supreme unacquirable dower,
Far greater in blessing than wealth,
And almost as mighty in power?
The supreme unacquirable dower,
Far greater in blessing than wealth,
And almost as mighty in power?
Is it simple desire to excel?
Or ambition that's highest and best,
Which longs among mankind to dwell,
To show by true life what is blest?
Or ambition that's highest and best,
Which longs among mankind to dwell,
To show by true life what is blest?
With such things the poet must strive,
And sometimes they impel him to sing,
Till in fortunate hour they may drive
Him for aid to re-touch his lute's string.
And sometimes they impel him to sing,
Till in fortunate hour they may drive
Him for aid to re-touch his lute's string.
But the primary cause which impels,—
More resistless than aught of these things,—
Is this: that within him there dwells
A soul which but lives when he sings.
More resistless than aught of these things,—
Is this: that within him there dwells
A soul which but lives when he sings.
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A STORM SONG.
The surges in anger are beating
On the rocks and the shingle-strewn shore,
And though with a hiss aye retreating,
They come in fierce fury once more.
On the rocks and the shingle-strewn shore,
And though with a hiss aye retreating,
They come in fierce fury once more.
Most sternly the billows are breaking
In wreaths white with purest of spray,—
Still further their great wrath awaking,
As forward they dash on their way.
In wreaths white with purest of spray,—
Still further their great wrath awaking,
As forward they dash on their way.
The wild wailing wind that is blowing,
The dreariness far out to sea,
The feelings that come without knowing
In truth what their nature may be.
The dreariness far out to sea,
The feelings that come without knowing
In truth what their nature may be.
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All these, and much more now oppress me
As musing I gaze on the strand:—
Yet though in some sense it distress me,
How noble a storm is,—how grand!
As musing I gaze on the strand:—
Yet though in some sense it distress me,
How noble a storm is,—how grand!
The ships in the bay are so swaying,
Their cables can scarce bear the strain:—
Their beams with the water are playing
While sailing is utterly vain
Their cables can scarce bear the strain:—
Their beams with the water are playing
While sailing is utterly vain
As the gale is against them completely;
The rain how it ceaselessly falls,
Clouds scud o'er the sky, ah how fleetly!
And harsh are the sea-birds' shrill calls.
The rain how it ceaselessly falls,
Clouds scud o'er the sky, ah how fleetly!
And harsh are the sea-birds' shrill calls.
The storm is now spent and departed
And yet its effects still remain,—
Two mothers are made broken-hearted,
Their boys will not greet them again.
And yet its effects still remain,—
Two mothers are made broken-hearted,
Their boys will not greet them again.
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How wondrous it is that Creation
Is aye in perpetual strife,
And shows not, for man's emulation,
How calmness should regulate life!
Is aye in perpetual strife,
And shows not, for man's emulation,
How calmness should regulate life!
Can it be that when Man in his madness
To Evil at first became thrall,
All Nature was forced with sore sadness
To join his unspeakable fall?
To Evil at first became thrall,
All Nature was forced with sore sadness
To join his unspeakable fall?
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A SONG FOR POLAND IN 1878.
Ah, how cruel the thraldom and bitter the bonds
Of our wretched and down-trodden nation!
Not a throb of our hearts but in anguish responds
To the sight of such dire desolation:
And in scarce-spoken words we are heard to declare
Woe hath made us wellnigh broken-hearted,
Dark and dreary the prospect; dear Poland, despair,
Since thy liberty now hath departed.
Of our wretched and down-trodden nation!
Not a throb of our hearts but in anguish responds
To the sight of such dire desolation:
And in scarce-spoken words we are heard to declare
Woe hath made us wellnigh broken-hearted,
Dark and dreary the prospect; dear Poland, despair,
Since thy liberty now hath departed.
Other peoples get freedom, while we in the dust
Alone and forsaken are lying;
Ever lower and lower continually thrust,
Men's love of their country fast dying.
While the Government check with malicious intent
Any change for our good which is started.
Dark and dreary the prospect; let Poland lament,
Since her liberty's light hath departed!
Alone and forsaken are lying;
Ever lower and lower continually thrust,
Men's love of their country fast dying.
While the Government check with malicious intent
Any change for our good which is started.
Dark and dreary the prospect; let Poland lament,
Since her liberty's light hath departed!
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No! Revenge on the tyrants who work us such ill
Mid their bland hypocritical prating:—
And arouse ye, undaunted, remembering that still
Retribution is certainly waiting.
Let our nation awake which now slumbering lies!
Not a moment be longer down-hearted!
For rejoicing may come if proud Poland arise,
And her freedom return which departed.
Mid their bland hypocritical prating:—
And arouse ye, undaunted, remembering that still
Retribution is certainly waiting.
Let our nation awake which now slumbering lies!
Not a moment be longer down-hearted!
For rejoicing may come if proud Poland arise,
And her freedom return which departed.
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WHAT ALL MAY DO.
Our past life must perish,Our future arise,
And oft what we cherish
Most speedily dies:—
There are griefs for whose changing
We helplessly long,
Though we feel our arranging
Is hopelessly wrong:—
But if we live rightly,
We have in our power
To gather up brightly,
From each fading hour,
A thought-woven treasure
Of justly-earned joy,
Whose bountiful measure
No grief can destroy.
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REWARD OF PARLIAMENTARY DOCILITY.
A Brother to a Sister.
My dear—
As words though sincere,
Are at best but ‘small beer,’
My party (in office) have made me a peer:
A step which the press I do hope won't deem queer,
Nor question its justice, not slightingly sneer,
(What I've done to deserve it is not very clear,
Save doing as bid, when divisions were near—
Thus causing our Whip's drooping spirits to cheer,)
But be that as it may, I subscribe myself here
John Anthony Snobbins,
Are at best but ‘small beer,’
My party (in office) have made me a peer:
A step which the press I do hope won't deem queer,
Nor question its justice, not slightingly sneer,
(What I've done to deserve it is not very clear,
Save doing as bid, when divisions were near—
Thus causing our Whip's drooping spirits to cheer,)
But be that as it may, I subscribe myself here
John Anthony Snobbins,
(now) Lord Abinmere.
| Old Year Leaves | |