 | Blackberries |  |
171
[Now, little Book, go thy ways!]
Now, little Book, go thy ways!
Move, if thy legs will carry thee!
Pleasure nor profit nor praise
To me—trudge off, nor tarry thee!
Move, if thy legs will carry thee!
Pleasure nor profit nor praise
To me—trudge off, nor tarry thee!
Why with so cruel a blast
Thus blow thee forth?—To get quit of thee!
Clear the old desk at last,
And the mind, of every bit of thee.
Thus blow thee forth?—To get quit of thee!
Clear the old desk at last,
And the mind, of every bit of thee.
Go, with a blessing!—go hang!—
Which shall I say?—leave both out?
Yet must I think with a pang
Of the world where I'm sending you, loth, out.
Which shall I say?—leave both out?
Yet must I think with a pang
Of the world where I'm sending you, loth, out.
'Midst the cold shoulders to roam,
With a curse here and there, or a flout, cast;—
Neither abroad nor at home
Art thou wanted, pitiful Outcast!
With a curse here and there, or a flout, cast;—
Neither abroad nor at home
Art thou wanted, pitiful Outcast!
172
Poor little Wandering Jew,
Pilgrim it! will-you, nill-you;
Welcomed of none or few;
Yet neither can any man kill you.
Pilgrim it! will-you, nill-you;
Welcomed of none or few;
Yet neither can any man kill you.
Go! for fate's voice is heard;
No longer with me sojourner.
Heaven send a kindly word
Whiles, and a chimney-corner!
No longer with me sojourner.
Heaven send a kindly word
Whiles, and a chimney-corner!
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