English

Andrew Rose, the British sailor,
Now to you his woes I'll name.
'Twas on the passage from Barbados
Whilst on board of the Martha Jane.
Chorus

Wasn't that most cruel usage,
Without a friend to interpose?
How they whipped and mangled, gagged and strangled
The British sailor, Andrew Rose.

'Twas on the quarterdeck they laid him,
Gagged him with an iron bar.
Wasn't that most cruel usage
To put upon a British tar?

'Twas up aloft the captain sent him,
Naked beneath the burning sun,

Andonis is the spring song like
sun spirits are manito's together
maple sugar in its first taste, me-na-wah
samaras on rainy days blossom
pierce the sky in three lifetimes
air winy with rain
red rim on evenfall
Andonis is the spring song, me-na-wah--

And yet the woman, who all things remembers,
Writhing her limbs as serpents on the embers,
Beating her breasts, as if herself she hated,
Utters these words by her musk impregnated:
—“I, my lips are moist, and I know the science
Of losing in a bed's depths my defiance;
I dry all tears of all that have the passion
For these my breasts, my laughter is their fashion.
I replace, for those men who see me naked,
The sun, the moon, the stars, so must you take it!
I have, dear learned man, the power to rifle

And will they cast the altars down,
Scatter the chalice, crush the bread?
In field, in village, and in town
He hides an unregarded head;

Waits in the corn-lands far and near,
Bright in His sun, dark in His frost,
Sweet in the vine, ripe in the ear —
Lonely unconsecrated Host.

In ambush at the merry board,
The Victim lurks unsacrificed;
The mill conceals the harvest's Lord,
The wine-press holds the unbidden Christ.

And why not I, as hee
That 's greatest, if as free?
 (In sundry strains that strive,
Since there so many be)
 Th' old Lyrick kind revive?

I will, yea, and I may;
Who shall oppose my way?
 For what is he alone,
That of himselfe can say,
 Hee's Heire of Helicon ?

Apollo , and the Nine,
Forbid no Man their Shrine,
 That commeth with hands pure;
Else be they so divine,
 They will not him indure.

For they be such coy Things,
That they care not for Kings,

And why does Gratt teach English? Why, because
A law school felt he could not learn the laws.
“Hamlet,” he tells his students, “you will find,
Concerns a man who can't make up his mind.
The Tempest? . . . um . . . the one with Ariel! . . .
Are there more questions now?” But one can tell
That all his will, brains, and imagination
Are concentrated on a higher station:
He wants to be in the Administration.
Sometimes at parties he observes the Dean;
He giggles, coughs, and turns aquamarine.
Yet some day we will hear of “Mr. Gratt,

And who shall separate the dust
What later we shall be:
Whose keen discerning eye will scan
And solve the mystery?

The high, the low, the rich, the poor,
The black, the white, the red,
And all the chromatique between,
Of whom shall it be said:

Here lies the dust of Africa;
Here are the sons of Rome;
Here lies the one unlabelled,
The world at large his home!

Can one then separate the dust?
Will mankind lie apart,
When life has settled back again
The same as from the start?

And who has seen the moon, who has not seen
Her rise from out the chamber of the deep
Flushed and grand and naked, as from the chamber
Of finished bridegroom, seen her rise and throw
Confession of delight upon the wave,
Littering the waves with her own superscription
Of bliss, till all her lambent beauty shakes toward us
Spread out and known at last: and we are sure
That beauty is a thing beyond the grave,
That perfect, bright experience never falls
To nothingness, and time will dim the moon

And when the sun puts out his lamp
We'll sleep serene within the camp,
Trusting to his invet'rate skill
Who leads the stars oer yonder hill,
Whose discipline doth never cease
To watch the slumberings of peace,
And from the virtuous hold afar
The melancholy din of war. —
For ye our sentries still outlie,
The earth your pallet and your screen the sky.

From steadfastness I will not swerve
Remembering my sweet reserve.

With all your kindness shown from year to year
Ye do but civil demons still appear,

And when the rain had gone away
And it was shining everywhere,
I ran out on the walk to play
And found a little bug was there.

And he was running just as fast
As any little bug could run,
Until he stopped for breath at last,
All black and shiny in the sun.

And then he chirped a song to me
And gave his wings a little tug,
And that's the way he showed that he
Was very glad to be a bug!