serpent-circled wand.
XLIII
THE IMMORTAL PART
When I meet the morning beam,
Or lay me down at night to dream,
I hear my bones within me say,
"Another night, another day."
"When shall this slough of sense be cast,
This dust of thoughts be laid
at last,
The man of flesh and soul be slain
And the man of bone
remain?"
"This tongue that talks, these lungs that shout,
These thews that hustle
us about,
This brain that fills the skull with schemes,
And its
humming hive of dreams,-"
"These to-day are proud in power
And lord it in their little hour:
The immortal bones obey control
Of dying flesh and dying soul."
" 'Tis long till eve and morn are gone:
Slow the endless night comes
on,
And late to fulness grows the birth
That shall last as long as
earth."
"Wanderers eastward, wanderers west,
Know you why you cannot
rest?
'Tis that every mother's son
Travails with a skeleton."
"Lie down in the bed of dust;
Bear the fruit that bear you must;
Bring the eternal seed to light,
And morn is all the same as night."
"Rest you so from trouble sore,
Fear the heat o' the sun no more,
Nor the snowing winter wild,
Now you labour not with child."
"Empty vessel, garment cast,
We that wore you long shall last.
-Another night, another day."
So my bones within me say.
Therefore they shall do my will
To-day while I am master still,
And
flesh and soul, now both are strong,
Shall hale the sullen slaves along,
Before this fire of sense decay,
This smoke of thought blow clean
away,
And leave with ancient night alone
The stedfast and enduring
bone.
XLIV
Shot? so quick, so clean an ending?
Oh that was right, lad, that was
brave:
Yours was not an ill for mending,
'Twas best to take it to the
grave.
Oh you had forethought, you could reason,
And saw your road and
where it led,
And early wise and brave in season
Put the pistol to
your head.
Oh soon, and better so than later
After long disgrace and scorn,
You
shot dead the household traitor,
The soul that should not have been
born.
Right you guessed the rising morrow
And scorned to tread the mire
you must:
Dust's your wages, son of sorrow,
But men may come to
worse than dust.
Souls undone, undoing others,-
Long time since the tale began.
You
would not live to wrong your brothers:
Oh lad, you died as fits a man.
Now to your grave shall friend and stranger
With ruth and some with
envy come:
Undishonoured, clear of danger,
Clean of guilt, pass
hence and home.
Turn safe to rest, no dreams, no waking;
And here, man, here's the
wreath I've made:
'Tis not a gift that's worth the taking,
But wear it
and it will not fade.
XLV
If it chance your eye offend you,
Pluck it out, lad, and be sound:
'Twill hurt, but here are salves to friend you,
And many a balsam
grows on ground.
And if your hand or foot offend you,
Cut it off, lad, and be whole;
But play the man, stand up and end you,
When your sickness is your
soul.
XLVI
Bring, in this timeless grave to throw,
No cypress, sombre on the
snow;
Snap not from the bitter yew
His leaves that live December
through;
Break no rosemary, bright with rime
And sparkling to the
cruel clime;
Nor plod the winter land to look
For willows in the icy
brook
To cast them leafless round him: bring
No spray that ever
buds in spring.
But if the Christmas field has kept
Awns the last gleaner overstept,
Or shrivelled flax, whose flower is blue
A single season, never two;
Or if one haulm whose year is o'er
Shivers on the upland frore,
-Oh, bring from hill and stream and plain
Whatever will not flower
again,
To give him comfort: he and those
Shall bide eternal
bedfellows
Where low upon the couch he lies
Whence he never
shall arise.
XLVII
THE CARPENTER'S SON
"Here the hangman stops his cart:
Now the best of friends must part.
Fare you well, for ill fare I:
Live, lads, and I will die."
"Oh, at home had I but stayed
'Prenticed to my father's trade,
Had I
stuck to plane and adze,
I had not been lost, my lads."
"Then I might have built perhaps
Gallows-trees for other chaps,
Never dangled on my own,
Had I but left ill alone."
"Now, you see, they hang me high,
And the people passing by
Stop
to shake their fists and curse;
So 'tis come from ill to worse."
"Here hang I, and right and left
Two poor fellows hang for theft:
All the same's the luck we prove,
Though the midmost hangs for
love."
"Comrades all, that stand and gaze,
Walk henceforth in other ways;
See my neck and save your own:
Comrades all, leave ill alone."
"Make some day a decent end,
Shrewder fellows than your friend.
Fare you well, for ill fare I:
Live, lads, and I will die."
XLVIII
Be still, my soul, be still; the arms you bear are brittle, Earth and high
heaven are fixt of old and founded strong.
Think rather,-call to
thought, if now you grieve a little,
The days when we had rest, O soul,
for they were long.
Men loved unkindness
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