Bound to one triumph, of one travail born, Doomed to one death, in one brief life we moil; The pangs that maim us and the powers that spoil Are common sorrows heired from worlds outworn.
Alike in weakness, time too long hath torn Our mother, Patience, and our father, Toil.
Brothers in hatred of the fates that foil, Say not in vain we murmur and we mourn!
O, by the love that lights our mothers' eyes, By hearth and home, by common hopes and fears, By all sad sweetness of the human years, Partings, and meetings, by our infants' cries-- One are we, through the heart's divine allies, In long allegiance to eternal tears!
THE PASSING-BELL
AN IMPRESSION
A roaring furnace, and a passing-bell; Grim vitreous gloom, and one low, raking gleam From a spent sun that spills its passive beam Athwart a smouldering city. Comes the smell Of sweat and labour. The sad, sullen knell _Boom_s in the brain. As in a baleful dream A panting siren, veiled with hissing steam, Shrieks like a _loom_ing horror deep in hell.
A flaccid flood of faces, blanched with _doom_, And raucous cries from out a blinking dark Crowd on the callous dusk. With haunting _bark_ Death hunts his hapless victims. Heaven's sick _bloom_ Swoons in the frost. Through droning twilight--hark!
The slow, thick, ominous burden of the _tomb_.
CONDEMNED
_FIAT JUSTITIA: FIAT LUX_
Our deeds avail not; and our dreams are thrust Into the dark and wither from the sky.
We live in duress, and to sweetness die; And lo! our guerdon is the world's distrust.
Yet have we dreamt of judgment that is just, And seen a splendour trailing from on high; From mean abortion mounts our piteous cry: "Out of the dust, O Christ! out of the dust!"
We are as leaves within the winter gale, And are through tribulation darkly driven; And all the promise that the prime hath given Is as faint smoke before the winds that wail.
Wan from the drowning pools of bitter bale Our futile faces front the hush of heaven!
TO AMERICA
I.
Thou of the starry wing, that canst not soar, Confused power, still seeking, still unblest; For ever clutching to a braggart breast The hope portentous and the worldling's lore.
Furiously futile, with a raucous roar Thy dizzy moments mock th' eternal quest; To feverish ends, by factions fierce distrest, Toiling, a sanguine Titan evermore,--
America!--Ah, burthen of the mind!-- Cradled in truth, and 'mid distractions born To pure emprise on that despotic morn When freedom yearned along the westering wind, And tyranny, that hound among the blind, Bayed toward the deep where faith went forth--forlorn.
II.
Thou who didst dare th' unknown, precarious sea, And down the unbounded winds adventurous roam, Searching the world's horizons for a home, A haven for the heart of liberty:-- Boaster of freedom, found no longer free, What vaporous phantom from time's ocean-foam Blurs the translucence of th' eternal dome Where sang the burning stars that beckoned thee?
Thy heart hath caught the siren's doom-sweet cries, And sips oblivion at fond Circe's nod.
Oh! for a seer whose soul is lightning-shod, To stand imperial 'gainst th' impervious skies, As Lincoln stood, with brave heaven-gazing eyes, To appeal from guile's impermanence to God!
TO ITALY
I.
Italia, seated by the sapphire sea, Crooning of summers rich from long ago, Dreamer mid dreams, thy peerless face aglow With rare romance and passionate poesy; Hath time's delirium taken even thee, Mother of Petrarch, Raphael, Angelo?
And dost thou purblind speed to weltering woe, Dead to the wonder that was _Italy_?
Farewell thy peace, farewell thy pride, farewell The roseate rapture of the radiant years.
Thy breast shall nourish sorrows, and thy fears Shall haunt the olives and the sunset bell; Ah, thou shalt sigh for Francis and his cell, And beat with Dante to the bourn of tears.
II.
Italia, dowered with Asia's amorous eyes, With India's glow through snows Circassian, The Muses' love since Dorian lightning ran Kindling the west to perilous surprise,-- Crowned with thy dawn-star, lo! portentous-wise, Steps the stern pupil of the Mantuan And lowers toward moon-mute deserts African Where, stained with rapine's rose, thy honour lies.
Dim grows the vision of th' enchanted shore.
Queen of the lovely and the lonely vow, Farewell. False time hath charmed thee, and thy brow Is toward eclipse and storms that rend and roar.
Fond valedictions fade afar, but thou Canst be our dream's Italia nevermore.
A SON OF CAIN
By
JAMES A. MACKERETH
_Crown 8vo, 3/6 net._
SOME OPINIONS OF THE PRESS.