Poems From The Breakfast Table | Page 8

foreign tongue,
The meaning
whereof, as lawyers swear,
Is this: Can I keep this old arm-chair?

And then his Excellency bows,
As much as to say that he allows.

The Vice-Gub. next is called by name;
He bows like t' other, which
means the same.
And all the officers round 'em bow,
As much as to
say that they allow.
And a lot of parchments about the chair
Are
handed to witnesses then and there,
And then the lawyers hold it clear

That the chair is safe for another year.
God bless you, Gentlemen! Learn to give
Money to colleges while
you live.
Don't be silly and think you'll try
To bother the colleges,
when you die,
With codicil this, and codicil that,
That Knowledge
may starve while Law grows fat;
For there never was pitcher that
wouldn't spill,
And there's always a flaw in a donkey's will!
ODE FOR A SOCIAL MEETING
WITH SLIGHT ALTERATIONS BY A TEETOTALER--(...)
COME! fill a fresh bumper, for why should we go
While the nectar
(logwood) still reddens our cups as they flow? Pour out the rich juices
(decoction) still bright with the sun, Till o'er the brimmed crystal the
rubies (dye-stuff) shall run.

The purple-globed clusters (half-ripened apples) their life-dews have
bled;
How sweet is the breath (taste) of the fragrance they
shed!(sugar of lead)
For summer's last roses (rank poisons) lie hid in
the wines (wines!!!) That were garnered by maidens who laughed
through the vines (stable-boys smoking long-nines)
Then a smile (scowl) and a glass (howl) and a toast (scoff) and a cheer
(sneer);
For all the good wine, and we 've some of it here! (strychnine
and whiskey, and ratsbane and beer!)
In cellar, in pantry, in attic, in
hall,
Long live the gay servant that laughs for us all! (Down, down
with the tyrant that masters us all!)
POEMS FROM THE PROFESSOR AT THE
BREAKFAST-TABLE
1858-1859
UNDER THE VIOLETS
HER hands are cold; her face is white;
No more her pulses come and
go;
Her eyes are shut to life and light;--
Fold the white vesture,
snow on snow,
And lay her where the violets blow.
But not beneath a graven stone,
To plead for tears with alien eyes;

A slender cross of wood alone
Shall say, that here a maiden lies
In
peace beneath the peaceful skies.
And gray old trees of hugest limb
Shall wheel their circling shadows
round
To make the scorching sunlight dim
That drinks the
greenness from the ground,
And drop their dead leaves on her mound.
When o'er their boughs the squirrels run,
And through their leaves the
robins call,
And, ripening in the autumn sun,
The acorns and the
chestnuts fall,
Doubt not that she will heed them all.

For her the morning choir shall sing
Its matins from the branches
high,
And every minstrel-voice of Spring,
That trills beneath the
April sky,
Shall greet her with its earliest cry.
When, turning round their dial-track,
Eastward the lengthening
shadows pass,
Her little mourners, clad in black,
The crickets,
sliding through the grass,
Shall pipe for her an evening mass.
At last the rootlets of the trees
Shall find the prison where she lies,

And bear the buried dust they seize
In leaves and blossoms to the
skies.
So may the soul that warmed it rise!
If any, born of kindlier blood,
Should ask, What maiden lies below?

Say only this: A tender bud,
That tried to blossom in the snow,

Lies withered where the violets blow.
HYMN OF TRUST
O Love Divine, that stooped to share
Our sharpest pang, our bitterest
tear,
On Thee we cast each earth-born care,
We smile at pain while
Thou art near!
Though long the weary way we tread,
And sorrow crown each
lingering year,
No path we shun, no darkness dread,
Our hearts still
whispering, Thou art near!
When drooping pleasure turns to grief,
And trembling faith is
changed to fear,
The murmuring wind, the quivering leaf,
Shall
softly tell us, Thou art near!
On Thee we fling our burdening woe,
O Love Divine, forever dear,

Content to suffer while we know,
Living and dying, Thou art near!
A SUN-DAY HYMN
LORD of all being! throned afar,
Thy glory flames from sun and star;


Centre and soul of every sphere,
Yet to each loving heart how
near!
Sun of our life, thy quickening ray
Sheds on our path the glow of day;

Star of our hope, thy softened light
Cheers the long watches of the
night.
Our midnight is thy smile withdrawn;
Our noontide is thy gracious
dawn;
Our rainbow arch thy mercy's sign;
All, save the clouds of
sin, are thin!
Lord of all life, below, above,
Whose light is truth, whose warmth is
love,
Before thy ever-blazing throne
We ask no lustre of our own.
Grant us thy truth to make us free,
And kindling hearts that burn for
thee,
Till all thy living altars claim
One holy light, one heavenly
flame!
THE CROOKED FOOTPATH
AH, here it is! the sliding rail
That marks the old remembered spot,--

The gap that struck our school-boy trail,--
The crooked path across
the lot.
It left the road by school and church,
A pencilled shadow, nothing
more,
That parted from the silver-birch
And ended at the
farm-house door.
No line or compass traced its plan;
With frequent bends to