Songs of Labor and Other Poems | Page 7

flowers mark his track?Across Life's meadow blithe.?Oppose him, meet him as you will,?Old Time's behests he harkens still,?Unsparing wields his scythe.
A horrid mutiny by stealth?Breaks out,--of power, fame and wealth?Deserted you shall be!?The foam upon your lip is rife;?The last enigma now of Life?Shall Death resolve for thee.
You call for help--'tis all in vain!?What have you for your toil and pain,?What have you at the last??Poor luckless hunter, are you dumb??This way the cold pall-bearers come:?A beggar's soul has passed!
A little less, a little more !--?Look forth, look forth! without the door?There stands a robber old.?He'll force your ev'ry lock and spring,?And all your goods he'll take and fling?On Stygian waters cold.
My Youth
Come, beneath yon verdant branches,?Come, my own, with me!?Come, and there my soul will open?Secret doors to thee.?Yonder shalt thou learn the secrets?Deep within my breast,?Where my love upsprings eternal;?Come! with pain opprest,?Yonder all the truth I'll tell thee,?Tell it thee with tears...?(Ah, so long have we been parted,?Years of youth, sweet years!)
See'st thou the dancers floating?On a stream of sound??There alone, the soul entrancing,?Happiness is found!?Magic music, hark! it calls us,?Ringing wild and sweet!?One, two, three!--beloved, haste thee,?Point thy dainty feet!?Now at last I feel that living?Is no foolish jest...?(O sweet years of youth departed,?Vanished with the rest!)
Fiddler, play a little longer!?Why this hurry, say??I'm but half-way through a measure--?Yet a little play!?Smiling in her wreath of flowers?Is my love not fair??See us in the charmed circle,?Flitting light as air!?Haste thee, loved one, for the music?Shall be hushed anon...?(O sweet years of youth departed,?Whither are ye gone?)
Gracious youth of mine, so quickly?Hath it come to this??Lo, where flowed the golden river,?Yawns the black abyss!?Where, oh where is my beloved,?Where the wreath of flowers??Where, oh where the merry fiddler,?Where those happy hours??Shall I never hear the echoes?Of those songs again??Oh, on what hills are they ringing,?O'er what sunny plain??May not I from out the distance?Cast one backward glance?On that fair and lost existence,?Youth's sweet dalliance??Foolish dreamer! Time hath snatched it,?And, tho' man implore,?Joys that he hath reaped and garnered?Bloom again no more!
In The Wilderness
Alone in desert dreary,?A bird with folded wings?Beholds the waste about her,?And sweetly, sweetly sings.
So heaven-sweet her singing,?So clear the bird notes flow,?'Twould seem the rocks must waken,?The desert vibrant grow.
Dead rocks and silent mountains?Would'st waken with thy strain,--?But dumb are still the mountains,?And dead the rocks remain.
For whom, O heavenly singer,?Thy song so clear and free??Who hears or sees or heeds thee,?Who feels or cares for thee?
Thou may'st outpour in music?Thy very soul... 'Twere vain!?In stone thou canst not waken?A throb of joy or pain.
Thy song shall soon be silenced;?I feel it... For I know?Thy heart is near to bursting?With loneliness and woe.
Ah, vain is thine endeavor;?It naught availeth--nay;?For lonely as thou camest,?So shalt thou pass away.
I've Often Laughed
I've often laughed and oftener still have wept,?A sighing always through my laughter crept,?Tears were not far away...?What is there to say?
I've spoken much and oftener held by tongue,?For still the most was neither said nor sung.?Could I but tell it so...?What is there to know?
I've hated much and loved, oh so much more!?Fierce contrasts at my very heartstrings tore...?I tried to fight them--well...?What is there to tell?
Again I Sing my Songs
Once again my songs I sing thee,?Now the spell is broken;?Brothers, yet again I bring thee?Songs of love the token.?Of my joy and of my sorrow?Gladly, sadly bringing;--?Summer not a song would borrow--?Winter sets me singing.
O when life turns sad and lonely,?When our joys are dead;?When are heard the ravens only?In the trees o'erhead;?When the stormwind on the bowers?Wreaks its wicked will,?When the frost paints lying flowers,?How should I be still?
When the clouds are low descending,?And the sun is drowned;?When the winter knows no ending,?And the cold is crowned;?When with evil gloom oppressed?Lie the ruins bare;?When a sigh escapes the breast,?Takes us unaware;
When the snow-wrapped mountain dreams?Of its summer gladness,?When the wood is stripped and seems?Full of care and sadness;?When the songs are growing still?As in Death's repose,?And the heart is growing chill,?And the eyelids close;
Then, O then I can but sing?For I dream her coming--?May, sweet May! I see her bring?Buds and wild-bee humming!?Through the silence heart-appalling,?As I stand and listen,?I can hear her song-birds calling,?See her green leaves glisten!
Thus again my songs I sing thee,?Now the spell is broken;?Brothers, yet again I bring thee?Of my love the token.?Of my joy and of my sorrow?Gladly, sadly bringing,--?Summer not a song would borrow!--?Winter sets me singing.
Liberty
When night and silence deep?Hold all the world in sleep,?As tho' Death claimed the Hour,?By some strange witchery?Appears her form to me,?As tho' Magic were her dow'r.
Her beauty heaven's light!?Her bosom snowy white!?But pale her cheek appears.?Her shoulders firm and fair;?A mass of gold her hair.?Her eyes--the home of tears.
She looks at me nor speaks.?Her arms are raised; she seeks?Her