Songs of Labor and Other Poems | Page 2

tumult, they struggle, oh, lost is my ego;--?I know not, I care not, I am a machine!...
My Boy
I have a little boy at home,?A pretty little son;?I think sometimes the world is mine?In him, my only one.
But seldom, seldom do I see?My child in heaven's light;?I find him always fast asleep...?I see him but at night.
Ere dawn my labor drives me forth;?'Tis night when I am free;?A stranger am I to my child;?And strange my child to me.
I come in darkness to my home,?With weariness and--pay;?My pallid wife, she waits to tell?The things he learned to say.
How plain and prettily he asked:?"Dear mamma, when's 'Tonight'??O when will come my dear papa?And bring a penny bright?"
I hear her words--I hasten out--?This moment must it be!--?The father-love flames in my breast:?My child must look at me!
I stand beside the tiny cot,?And look, and list, and--ah!?A dream-thought moves the baby-lips:?"O, where is my papa!"
I kiss and kiss the shut blue eyes;?I kiss them not in vain.?They open,--O they see me then!?And straightway close again.
"Here's your papa, my precious one;--?A penny for you!"--ah!?A dream still moves the baby-lips:?"O, where is my papa!"
And I--I think in bitterness?And disappointment sore;?"Some day you will awake, my child,?To find me nevermore."
The Nightingale to the Workman
Fair summer is here, glad summer is here!?O hark! 'tis to you I am singing:?The sun is all gold in a heaven of blue,?The birds in the forest are trilling for you,?The flies 'mid the grasses are winging;?The little brook babbles--its secret is sweet.?The loveliest flowers would circle your feet,--?And you to your work ever clinging!...?Come forth! Nature loves you. Come forth! Do not fear!?Fair summer is here, glad summer is here,?Full measure of happiness bringing.?All creatures drink deep; and they pour wine anew?In the old cup of life, and they wonder at you.?Your portion is waiting since summer began;?Then take it, oh, take it, you laboring man!
'Tis summer today; ay, summer today!?The butterflies light on the flowers.?Delightfully glistens the silvery rain,?The mountains are covered with greenness again,?And perfumed and cool are the bowers.?The sheep frisk about in the flowery vale,?The shepherd and shepherdess pause in the dale,?And these are the holiest hours!...?Delay not, delay not, life passes away!?'Tis summer today, sweet summer today!?Come, throttle your wheel's grinding power!...?Your worktime is bitter and endless in length;?And have you not foolishly lavished your strength??O think not the world is with bitterness rife,?But drink of the wine from the goblet of life.
O, summer is here, sweet summer is here!?I cannot forever be trilling;?I flee on the morrow. Then, you, have a care!?The crow, from the perch I am leaving, the air?With ominous cries will be filling.?O, while I am singing to you from my tree?Of love, and of life, and of joy yet to be,?Arouse you!--O why so unwilling!...?The heavens remain not so blue and so clear;--?Now summer is here! Come, summer is here!?Reach out for the joys that are thrilling!?For like you who fade at your wheel, day by day,?Soon all things will fade and be carried away.?Our lives are but moments; and sometimes the cost?Of a moment o'erlooked is eternity lost.
What is the World?
Well, say you the world is a chamber of sleep,?And life but a sleeping and dreaming??Then I too would dream: and would joyously reap?The blooms of harmonious seeming;?The dream-flow'rs of hope and of freedom, perchance,?The rich are so merrily reaping;--?In Love's eyes I'd fancy the joy of romance;?No more would I dream Love is weeping.
Or say you the world is a banquet, a ball,?Where everyone goes who is able??I too wish to sit like a lord in the hall?With savory share at the table.?I too can enjoy what is wholesome and good,?A morsel both dainty and healthy;?I have in my body the same sort of blood?That flows in the veins of the wealthy.
A garden you say is the world, where abound?The sweetest and loveliest roses??Then would I, no leave asking, saunter around?And gather me handfuls of posies.?Of thorns I am sure I would make me no wreath;?(Of flowers I am very much fonder).?And with my beloved the bowers beneath?I'd wander, and wander, and wander.
But ah! if the world is a battlefield wild,?Where struggle the weak with the stronger,?Then heed I no storm and no wife and no child!--?I stand in abeyance no longer;--?Rush into the fire of the battle nor yield,?And fight for my perishing brother;?Well, if I am struck--I can die on the field;?Die gladly as well as another....
Despair
No rest--not one day in the seven for me??Not one, from the maddening yoke to be free??Not one to escape from the boss on the prowl,?His sinister glance and his furious growl,?The cry of the foreman, the smell of the shop,--?To feel for one moment the manacles drop??--_'Tis rest then you want, and you fain would forget??To rest and oblivion they'll carry