University of Virginia Library

My Life has been a wild, strange life,
Now lulled in love—now wrapt in strife;
I've had my dreams as most have had,
Like others have been good and bad,
Like others have but lived to save
A wreck—a thought—a hope—a grave;
Have lived to see things fleet around me,
And fetters break—that once have bound me;
See hopes arise and hopes depart
Through that unguarded fort, the heart!
And things of strength and ardour pass,
Shattered and cold like broken glass;
Have heard men talk of wilful death,
And laugh with almost the next breath;
Then met them in life's later days,
Strong upon million-trodden ways;
Seen lovers lay them down to die,
Despair in heart and death in eye;
And seen the same in rich content
Wived, fathering, housed, and corpulent!
And if I asked them what became
Of passion, death, despair and flame,—
They smiled with red, full, puckering cheek:
“A boyish freak! A boyish freak!”
Seen manhood trample without ruth
O'er all the flowers that blest its youth,
And plodding onwards to the tomb,
Blush at their late remembered bloom;
Have met the young man, ardent all,
Starting on fire at glory's call;
Have heard him too with patriot grace
Refuse—yes! even refuse a place!
And, yet invincible to bribe,
Launch forth his noble diatribe;
Have heard him coughed and jested down
Alike in parliament and town:
For every one was held uncouth,
Who smacked of honesty and truth,—
Till drawn to fashion's shot-silk banners,
She taught him principles and manners;
False beauty's smiles like snares were spread,
Cold irony's keen arrows sped,
While bright before his eyes were set
Gay ribbon, star and coronet,
All—all the hopes of joy and ease,
At that one price alone—to please!
To please?—To dress by fashion's glass,
To serve the few and spurn the mass,
Cease to be bold, and frank, and hearty,
Abandon country for a party!
While dignities were let for hire,
The highest bidder still the buyer,
Till little of the man remained,
And country lost what party gained.
At first I have beheld him burn,
Then stand—then waver—and then turn!
How few could brave—how few could shun
The many bearing on the one!
Oh! who the tempting could withstand?
Who would not choose the safe left-hand,
Within the courtly harbour get,
And anchor with a coronet,
Held by a ribbon from afar
And blazoned—bondsman! by a star?

'Tis true at times the multitude
Grow harsh and turbulent and rude,
And, troubled with a fierce unrest,
Insult the man who loves them best—
While beckons from the distance, bland
With favouring grace, the courtly hand:
Oh! who can doubt between the two?
Why should not I as others do?—

Why? Because not for life's short day
On life's thronged stage our role we play.
Experience teaches—all who live
Must bear, but duty says, forgive!
Nor leave men in your pride of mood
For that they know not their own good!
What? do the prophets cease to preach
Because the ignorant they teach?
No! but with truth they meet reviling,
Curses with prayers and frowns with smiling,
Until at length the calm, strong word,
From sounding ever, shall be heard.
Faint pauses steal on stormiest weather:
You'll heed the stream that flows—for ever!

Life's fitful changes overpassed,
I've seen men settle down at last
With wealth and power and heaped up grace,
But all with such a dull, sour face!
It made me ask them what they wanted,
That favouring fortune had not granted,—
Ambition's craving? Glory's dream?
I read their answer: self-esteem!
'Tis wearisome to vegetate,
Still going downwards, slow and late,
With wealth and honour's bounteous store,
E'en such as fancy numbers o'er:
But not one bright Perspective, greeting
Between the Coming and the Fleeting!
Their great dim Future overcast
With shadows from their weary Past;
And those proud men with secret pain
Longed—how they longed—to live again!
Or else with thought and feelings blunted,
Ambition's fungus-growth half stunted,
They sat, unconscious all, and gave
Death's images before the grave.

Oh! how I mourned that such should be!
Oh! fetters—fetters for the free!
There's prison-life in open plain,
Without a dungeon or a chain;
Men may be slaves without a brand,
Nor dare to move a chainless hand.
Who says the mind is never bound—
That freedom still in thought is found?
Oh! Custom and Convention sure,
And artful lurer's artful lure
Will draw it to abjection's brink,
And teach the thinker what to think.
Few, few the men, who dare reply
The strong Truth to the stronger Lie!
And many those who pass their life,
In danger brave and bold in strife,
Yet dare not even bear a thought
Against the rules they have been taught!

Think not, my friends! I would intrude
On you the sourness of my mood;
Think not I am a misanthrope—
He still can love, who still can hope.
Much—much upon this teeming earth
Of great and high has sprung to birth;
Much—much, my friends! shall yet be born
To grace—ennoble—and adorn;
For patriots live among us yet,
Names history never shall forget;
There still are honest hearts and true,
And tongues to speak and hands to do;
With much to shun and much to cheer,
And much to hope, though much to fear:
Then ye, who rise to guard the Right,
March on by day and watch by night,
Lest stealthy foes, the victory done,
By cunning steal what valour won!
Though baffled oft, yet unrepining,
From sire to son the task consigning,
Through one great life, that knows no grave,
Live—none to injure—all to save!

Another word—before I trace
My graceless life, demanding grace:
“My Life,” I purpose to portray—
Think not 'neath Egotism's sway—
There's much a worldly care would hush,
Much—much at which I still must blush:
But I am now an altered man,
Not haught of heart as I began;
And in my time, from low to high
I've seen so many do as I,
Methought it might a warning be,
And that save you which ruined me.

If you should doubt my story's truth,
Look back—look back on your own youth!
Gaze round you upon friend and foe,
And much you'll find of what you know!
Perchance too, you and I have met,
Both struggling in life's mazy net,
For mine has been a talked-of name,
Slandered—till slander grew to fame.

Again I'd pray you to forbear
If aught seems writ with lack of care:
I've half unlearned the Poet's art,
And only kept the Poet's heart.
They've told me too, when I were dead
'Twere better far my tale were said:
I've been in scenes of courtly state;
On iron walks of varying fate;
Seen huts and factories—camps and mines,
And priestcraft's curse on Christian shrines:
To-morrow steals but from to-day!
I fain would witness what I say,
And not, when I have met my doom,
Hear men come knocking at my tomb,
While shameless cowards may give the lie
To him, they know can not reply!
Nay!—Should they seek—I still am here
To dare—to prove.........and.........
PERCY VERE.