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The book of the dead

Boker, George H. (1823-1890)

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[Beside the spreading Nile of old]
 1. 
[I. 'Tis not my purpose to explain]
 2. 
[II. This cross between a curse and psalm]
 3. 
[III. Let him who dares usurp God's right]
 4. 
[IV. I make a pageant of my pain]
 5. 
[V. To-day my inmost soul was stirred]
 6. 
[VI. Thy grave is shut against the lies]
 7. 
[VII. If this cruel cup of love and hate]
 8. 
[VIII. Sometimes I weary of my task]
 9. 
[IX. I hear the clarions of the day]
 10. 
[X. If passion less, and reason more]
 11. 
[XI. Peter and Judas merged in one]
 12. 
[XII. While this shall stand, the wicked deeds]
 13. 
[XIII. The regicides who slew King Charles]
 14. 
[XIV. I had a vision of the night]
 15. 
[XV. The moon sails up the mottled sky]
 16. 
[XVI. When the dead Cid was laid in state]
 17. 
[XVII. If yon cold lizard, sliming o'er]
 18. 
[XVIII. False Pilate washed his guilty hands]
 19. 
[XIX. Oft when thy duties bound thee down]
 20. 
[XX. The chain that binds me to this oar]
 21. 
[XXI. For gold you did your treacherous deed]
 22. 
[XXII. I stand beside the sea once more]
 23. 
[XXIII. The noblest heart I ever knew]
 24. 
[XXIV. At times the patience of my soul]
 25. 
[XXV. With passion yet my nature quakes]
 26. 
[XXVI. I know the men of after-time]
 27. 
[XXVII. To-day should be a golden one]
 28. 
[XXVIII. Of old Amilcar called his son]
 29. 
[XXIX. Let him who in my footsteps treads]
 30. 
[XXX. The poet's word that stings and lives]
 31. 
[XXXI. If all the liars under heaven]
 32. 
[XXXII. I know not to what hearts I speak]
 33. 
[XXXIII. Faint not, strong heart, beneath thy grief]
 34. 
[XXXIV. Coarse miscreant, with the cringing back]
 35. 
[XXXV. I twine to-day a victor's crown]
 36. 
[XXXVI. Our dead to us are never dead]
 37. 
[XXXVII. The fierce, rebellious fall of rain]
 38. 
[XXXVIII. With song of birds, and hum of bees]
 39. 
[XXXIX. If I could value at its height]
 40. 
[XL. Against the words which current pass]
 41. 
[XLI. A sculptured stone to-day was laid]
 42. 
[XLII. If sorrow is love's fruit, and love]
 43. 
[XLIII. The dreary morning of my woe]
 44. 
[XLIV. If mere existence be Love's scope]
 45. 
[XLV. These wild, unquiet thoughts that rove]
 46. 
[XLVI. Blow gently, southern breezes, blow]
 47. 
[XLVII. Standing upon this grave, I view]
 48. 
[XLVIII. Before the scornful face of death]
 49. 
[XLIX. I, for my part, would rather tear]
 50. 
[L. What special baseness of our kind]
 51. 
[LI. The beef-faced brute who leads this band]
 52. 
[LII. To-day I faced my enemies]
 53. 
[LIII. I cannot pass that threshold o'er]
 54. 
[LIV. Why sorrow for the hopeless past]
 55. 
[LV. If to the soul, as to the sense]
 56. 
[LVI. Eternal God, before Thy face]
 57. 
[LVII. One counsels me to drop my scourge]
 58. 
[LVIII. If good and evil are but one]
 59. 
[LIX. Long golden days and mellow nights]
 60. 
[LX. Is grief a weakness of the mind]
 61. 
[LXI. My cries of wrath are fitful cries]
 62. 
[LXII. I sat with men; few words were said]
 63. 
[LXIII. What cuts thee from thy fellow-wretch]
 64. 
[LXIV. I watched at eve beside thy tomb]
 65. 
[LXV. Arch traitor, in thy restless bed]
 66. 
[LXVI. If all this passion run to waste]
 67. 
[LXVII. I do not draw for man alone]
 68. 
[LXVIII. If I were well assured of this]
 69. 
[LXIX. Dear Lord, to Thee I cry aloud]
 70. 
[LXX. I, wandering by this bitter shore]
 71. 
[LXXI. What man shall set his hardened brow]
 72. 
[LXXII. Through the dark path, o'er which I tread]
 73. 
[LXXIII. I fought with spectres in the night]
 74. 
[LXXIV. Were beauty nearer the divine]
 75. 
[LXXV. A service done to me is naught]
 76. 
[LXXVI. Ye men of evil, ye who dare]
 77. 
[LXXVII. In hazy gold the hill-side sleeps]
 78. 
[LXXVIII. Now thou art gone, in vain to me]
 79. 
[LXXIX. Great God, I cannot bear this thing]
 80. 
[LXXX. My soul is open to thy eye]
 81. 
[LXXXI. If this sole solace of my grief]
 82. 
[LXXXII. Not pity, but a deeper sense]
 83. 
[LXXXIII. Perhaps I make my grief too plain]
 84. 
[LXXXIV. What evidence lies round about]
 85. 
[LXXXV. The hopes, on which our spirits live]
 86. 
[LXXXVI. I meet thee, sometimes, in the deep]
 87. 
[LXXXVII. When my dead roses bloom once more]
 88. 
[LXXXVIII. When I am turned to mouldering dust]
 89. 
[LXXXIX. They tell me thou art far away]
 90. 
[XC. I stood amidst an angry throng]
 91. 
[XCI. I trust in man. Not all are base]
 92. 
[XCII. Where violets and daisies spring]
 93. 
[XCIII. I pity him who holds his grief]
 94. 
[XCIV. In robes of woe, before me stood]
 95. 
[XCV. The day arose in dismal black]
 96. 
[XCVI. Can time, that makes the memory]
 97. 
[XCVII. Let me not scorn my better self]
 98. 
[XCVIII. It seems that even rogues like these]
 99. 
[XCIX. O man of serviceable mind]
 100. 
[C. The primrose in the valley blooms]
 101. 
[CI. The yearly miracle of Spring]
 102. 
[CII. We poets hang upon the wheel]
 103. 
[CIII. Glory to God! This blesséd hour]
 104. 
[CIV. I, sighing o'er the happy past]
 105. 
[CV. If any good may come to me]
 106. 
[CVI. I know that I shall never cease]
 107. 
[CVII. With pious hands I close thy tomb]

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60

[XXVIII. Of old Amilcar called his son]

Of old Amilcar called his son
Before the gods, and made him swear,
While swords could strike or blood could run,
Unending hate towards Rome to bear.
So thou, my son, with lifted hand,
As solemnly avow to me,
Against this sacrilegious band,
Perpetual strife and enmity.
My latter days small joy impart:
Death comes in sadness, not in fear;
I feel his touch upon my heart,
I hear his footstep in my ear.
Half-way I'll step my guest to greet,
I'll face the shadow at my gate,
With, Welcome, friend! at last we meet:
Receive my hand: thou hast tarried late!
61

But if I leave my work undone,
My scroll of vengeance scant and strait,
To thy young hand, my only son,
The fearful task I dedicate.
By night or day, through foul or fair,
Pursue this purpose to its end:
God grant the sacred gift I bear,
Thrice magnified, on thee descend!
Scourge wrong and fraud, scourge fool and knave,
Nor care what tears or blood you draw;
Train your young sinews till you have
The panther's tread, the lion's paw!
Tell liars that they lie; and tell
The high-set scoundrel that his pelf
Was minted in the fires of hell,
And there shall perish with himself!
Remember, that the holiest name,
Earth knows, was merciless to wrong:
He reddened once with righteous sham,
And in the Temple used the thong.
62

Men's lips shall follow thee with groans;
Perhaps thou'lt win a martyr's crown;
But shout, like Stephen, blind with stones,
Like Peter, hanging visage down!
The boldly good are martyrs yet:
Who dares to scorn this sinful world,
Shall find his cross is ready set,
And stones are gathered to be hurled.
Christ's mantle will not stretch and flow,
Its scanty freedom binds and irks,
Man wears it in the church for show,
But strips it off to do his works.
Be thou a Christian more sincere,
Be just and true, be wise and bold;
Nor shame thy Master for a sneer,
Nor sell Him for a bag of gold!
Be thou a soldier of the Lord,
Armed with the sword, the cross, the lyre;
Press onward through the pagan horde,
Nor fear, nor pause, nor turn, nor tire!
63

True poets are true prophets, sent
To scatter fear through wicked lands;—
Take thy commission by descent,
With prayer, and laying on of hands!
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