From their folded mates they wander far,
Their ways seem harsh and wild:
They follow the beck of a baleful star,
Their paths are dream-beguiled.
Yet haply they sought but a wider range,
Some loftier mountain slope,
And little recked of the country strange
Beyond the gates of hope.
And haply a bell with a luring call...
Black riders came from the sea.
There was clang and clang of spear and shield,
And clash and clash of hoof and heel,
Wild shouts and the wave of hair
In the rush upon the wind:
Thus the ride of sin.
THE Brilliant black eye
May in triumph let fly
All its darts without caring who feels ’em;
But the soft eye of blue,
Though it scatter wounds too,
Is much better pleased when it heals ’em!
Dear Fanny!
The black eye may say,
“Come and worship my ray;
By adoring, perhaps you may move me!”...
All in the Downs the fleet was moored,
The streamers waving in the wind,
When black-eyed Susan came aboard;
“O, where shall I my true-love find?
Tell me, ye jovial sailors, tell me true
If my sweet William sails among the crew.”
William, who high upon the yard
Rocked with the billow to and fro,
Soon as her well-known voice...
[May 27, 1863]
DARK as the clouds of even,
Ranked in the western heaven,
Waiting the breath that lifts
All the dead mass, and drifts
Tempest and falling brand
Over a ruined land,—
So still and orderly,
Arm to arm, knee to knee,
Waiting the great event,
Stands the black regiment.
Down the long dusty line...
Bees are Black, with Gilt Surcingles —
Buccaneers of Buzz.
Ride abroad in ostentation
And subsist on Fuzz.
Fuzz ordained — not Fuzz contingent —
Marrows of the Hill.
Jugs — a Universe's fracture
Could not jar or spill.
TURPIN had his Black Bess, and she carried him well,
As fame with her loud-breathing trumpet will tell;
She knew not the lash, and she suffered no spur;
A bold rider was all that was needed by her.
That rider grew pallid and cautious with fear,
There was danger around him and death in the rear;
But he...
As I lie at rest on a patch of clover
In the Western Park when the day is done,
I watch as the wild black swans fly over
With their phalanx turned to the sinking sun;
And I hear the clang of their leader crying
To a lagging mate in the rearward flying,
And they fade away in the darkness dying,
...
The Black Berry — wears a Thorn in his side —
But no Man heard Him cry —
He offers His Berry, just the same
To Partridge — and to Boy —
He sometimes holds upon the Fence —
Or struggles to a Tree —
Or clasps a Rock, with both His Hands —
But not for Sympathy —
We — tell...
