English

The youthful flower of chivalry
Who love and fame inspire:
How high so'er his pedigree,
Contented is with low degree
Of warrior's faithful 'squire.

To manhood ris'n, a belted knight:
(His mantling blood bestirs)
" In court, or hall, (he cries) or fight,
May curses on my memory light,
If I disgrace my spurs! "

Angel of peace, thou hast wandered too long!
Spread thy white wings to the sunshine of love!
Come while our voices are blending in song,
Fly to our ark like the storm beaten dove!
Fly to our ark on the wings of the dove!
Speed o'er the far sounding billows of song,
Crowned with thine olive leaf garland of love,
Angel of Peace, thou hast waited too long!

Brothers we met, on this altar of thine,
Mingling the gifts we have gathered for thee,
Sweet with the odors of myrtle and pine,

The appointed winners in a long-stretch'd game;
The course of Time and nations — Egypt, India, Greece and Rome;
The past entire, with all its heroes, histories, arts, experiments,
Its store of songs, inventions, voyages, teachers, books,
Garner'd for now and thee — To think of it!
The heirdom all converged in thee!

All the past we leave behind:
We take up the task eternal,
And the burden and the lesson,
Conquering, holding, daring, venturing,
So we go the unknown ways,
Pioneers! O Pioneers!

Not for delectations sweet,
Not the riches safe and palling,
Not for us the tame enjoyment;
Never must you be divided,
In our ranks you move united,
Pioneers! O Pioneers!

All the pulses of the world,
All the joyous, all the sorrowing,
These are of us, they are with us;
We today's procession heading,

Tune — Saw ye my Eppie M'Nab [see no. 355]

Amang our young lassies there 's Muirland Meg,
She'll beg or she work, and she'll play or she beg,
At thretteen her maidenhead flew to the gate,
And the door o' her cage stands open yet. —

Her kittle black een they wad thirl you thro',
Her rose-bud lips cry, kiss me now;
The curls and links o' her bonie black hair,
Wad put you in mind that the lassie has mair. —

An armfu' o' love is her bosom sae plump,
A span o' delight is her middle sae jimp;

Amusing myself with rocks, I sit peering into the valley;
searching for blossoms, I wander round and round the temple.
Again and again I hear the birds talking,
and here and there the voice of the stream.

All things born of causes end when causes run out;
but causes, what are they born of?
That very first cause — where did it come from?
At this point words fail me, workings of my mind go dead.
I took these words to the old woman in the house to the east;
the old woman in the house to the east was not pleased.
I questioned the old man in the house to the west;
the old man in the house to the west puckered his brow and walked away.
I tried writing the question on a biscuit, fed it to the dogs,
but even the dogs refused to bite.

An evening
when you hear a needle
hit the floor.
A whisky glass on a table breaks
and from the drawer
of countless pasts
emerge unfamiliar cards
incomprehensible codes
the notes
of a mind that is missing.
This is
a world of light and shadow
a world of negatives:
the files of records of the K University Hospital surgical ward.
Blood vessels like the veins of an orchid
make ash-white rivers,
the skin and subcutaneous fat enfolds
a world of darkness.
The dull tactile sense

Among floating weeds, frogs play with their children

Although mythological or personified description
is something I would be ashamed to attempt,
let me for a moment assume the position of the ancient poet
and state the following to the black, obscene nimbus:
I, a humble official, hoping to wash both mind and body
in the vast air glimmering above this summit,
and in the cold wind passing here with a fragrance of roses,
and in the terrifying blue etching of mountains and valleys,
have managed from today's business schedule
a few moments
and stand here, knowing their full value.