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'It tingles to your scalps,
To think of it, my boys!

Confusion on their Alps,
And all their baby toys!

The mountains Britain boasts are men:
And scale you them, my brethren!'

Cluck, went his tongue; his fingers, snap.
Britons were proved all heights to cap.

And we who worshipp'd crags,
Where purple splendours burn'd,

Our idol saw in rags,
And right about were turn'd.

Horizons rich with trembling spires
On violet twilights lost their fires.

And heights where morning wakes
With one cheek over snow; -

And iron-walled lakes
Where sits the white moon low; -

For us on youthful travel bent,
The robing picturesque was rent.

Wherever Beauty show'd
The wonders of her face,

This man his Jackass rode,
High despot of the place.

Fair dreams of our enchanted life
Fled fast from his shrill island fife.

And yet we liked him well;
We laugh'd with honest hearts:-

He shock'd some inner spell,
And rous'd discordant parts.

We echoed what we half abjured:
And hating, smilingly endured.

Moreover, could we be
To our dear land disloyal?

And were not also we
Of History's blood-Royal?

We glow'd to think how donkeys graze
In England, thrilling at their brays.

For there a man may view
An aspect more sublime

Than Alps against the blue:-
The morning eyes of Time!

The very Ass participates
The glory Freedom radiates!

CASSANDRA
I

Captive on a foreign shore,
Far from Ilion's hoary wave,

Agamemnon's bridal slave
Speaks Futurity no more:

Death is busy with her grave.
II

Thick as water, bursts remote
Round her ears the alien din,

While her little sullen chin
Fills the hollows of her throat:

Silent lie her slaughter'd kin.
III

Once to many a pealing shriek,
Lo, from Ilion's topmost tower,

Ilion's fierceprophetic flower
Cried the coming of the Greek!

Black in Hades sits the hour.
IV

Eyeing phantoms of the Past,
Folded like a prophet's scroll,

In the deep's long shoreward roll
Here she sees the anchor cast:

Backward moves her sunless soul.
V

Chieftains, brethren of her joy,
Shades, the white light in their eyes

Slanting to her lips, arise,
Crowding quick the plains of Troy:

Now they tell her not she lies.
VI

O the bliss upon the plains,
Where the joining heroes clashed

Shield and spear, and, unabashed,
Challenged with hot chariot-reins

Gods!--they glimmer ocean-washed.
VII

Alien voices round the ships,
Thick as water, shouting Home.

Argives, pale as midnight foam,
Wax before her awful lips:

White as stars that front the gloom.
VIII

Like a torch-flame that by day
Up the daylight twists, and, pale,

Catches air in leaps that fail,
Crushed by the inveterate ray,

Through her shines the Ten-Years' Tale.
IX

Once to many a pealing shriek,
Lo, from Ilion's topmost tower,

Ilion's fierceprophetic flower
Cried the coming of the Greek!

Black in Hades sits the hour.
X

Still upon her sunless soul
Gleams the narrow hidden space

Forward, where her fiery race
Falters on its ashen goal:

Still the Future strikes her face.
XI

See toward the conqueror's car
Step the purple Queen whose hate

Wraps red-armed her royal mate
With his Asian tempest-star:

Now Cassandra views her Fate.
XII

King of men! the blinded host
Shout:- she lifts her brooding chin:

Glad along the joyous din
Smiles the grand majestic ghost:

Clytemnestra leads him in.
XIII

Lo, their smoky limbs aloof,
Shadowing heaven and the seas,

Fates and Furies, tangling Threes,
Tear and mix above the roof:

Fates and fierce Eumenides.
XIV

Is the prophetess with rods
Beaten, that she writhes in air?

With the Gods who never spare,
Wrestling with the unsparing Gods,

Lone, her body struggles there.
XV

Like the snaky torch-flame white,
Levelled as aloft it twists,

She, her soaring arms, and wrists
Drooping, struggles with the light,

Helios, bright above all mists!
XVI

In his orb she sees the tower,
Dusk against its flaming rims,

Where of old her wretched limbs
Twisted with the stolen power:

Ilium all the lustre dims!
XVII

O the bliss upon the plains,
Where the joining heroes clashed

Shield and spear, and, unabashed,
Challenged with hot chariot-reins

Gods!--they glimmer ocean-washed.
XVIII

Thrice the Sun-god's name she calls;
Shrieks the deed that shames the sky;

Like a fountain leaping high,
Falling as a fountain falls:

Lo, the blazing wheels go by!
XIX

Captive on a foreign shore,
Far from Ilion's hoary wave,

Agamemnon's bridal slave
Speaks Futurity no more:

Death is busy with her grave.
THE YOUNG USURPER

On my darling's bosom
Has dropped a living rosy bud,

Fair as brilliant Hesper
Against the brimming flood.

She handles him,
She dandles him,

She fondles him and eyes him:
And if upon a tear he wakes,

With many a kiss she dries him:
She covets every move he makes,

And never enough can prize him.
Ah, the young Usurper!

I yield my golden throne:
Such angel bands attend his hands

To claim it for his own.
MARGARET'S BRIDAL EVE

I
The old grey mother she thrummed on her knee:

There is a rose that's ready;
And which of the handsome young men shall it be?

There's a rose that's ready for clipping.
My daughter, come hither, come hither to me:

There is a rose that's ready;
Come, point me your finger on him that you see:

There's a rose that's ready for clipping.
O mother, my mother, it never can be:

There is a rose that's ready;
For I shall bring shame on the man marries me:

There's a rose that's ready for clipping.
Now let your tongue be deep as the sea:

There is a rose that's ready;
And the man'll jump for you, right briskly will he:

There's a rose that's ready for clipping.
Tall Margaret wept bitterly:

There is a rose that's ready;
And as her parent bade did she:

There's a rose that's ready for clipping.
O the handsome young man dropped down on his knee:

There is a rose that's ready;
Pale Margaret gave him her hand, woe's me!

There's a rose that's ready for clipping.


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