I
H[ome] thou returnest from Thames, whose Naiads long
Have seen thee lingering, with a fond delay,
Mid those soft friends whose hearts, some future day,
Shall melt, perhaps, to hear thy tragic song.
Go, not unmindful of that cordial youth
Whom, long endeared, thou leavest by Lavant's side;
Together let us wish him lasting truth,
And joy untainted with his destined bride.
Go! nor regardless, while these numbers boast
My short-lived bliss, forget my social name;
But think; far off, how, on the southern coast,

FROM AN " ODE ON THE CELEBRATION OF THE BATTLE OF BUNKER HILL, JUNE 17, 1825 "

T HE trump hath blown,
And now upon that reeking hill
Slaughter rides screaming on the vengeful ball;
While with terrific signal shrill,
The vultures, from their bloody eyries flown,
Hang o'er them like a pall.
Now deeper roll the maddening drums,

ROBERT GOULD SHAW

The wars we wage
Are noble, and our battles still are won
By justice for us, ere we lift the gage.
We have not sold our loftiesTheritage.
The proud republic hath not stooped to cheat
And scramble in the market place of war;
Her forehead weareth yet its solemn star.
Here is her witness: this, her perfect son,
This delicate and proud New England soul
Who leads despisid men, with just-unshackled feet,
Up the large ways where death and glory meet,
To show all peoples that our shame is done,

WRITTEN AFTER SEEING AT BOSTON THE STATUE OF ROBERT GOULD SHAW, KILLED WHILE STORMING FORT WAGNER, JULY 18, 1863, AT THE HEAD OF THE FIRST ENLISTED NEGRO REGIMENT, THE 54TH MASSACHUSETTS

I

Before the solemn bronze Saint Gaudens made
To thrill the heedless passer's heart with awe,
And set here in the city's talk and trade
To the good memory of Robert Shaw,
This bright March morn I stand,
And hear the distant spring come up the land;
Knowing that what I hear is not unheard
Of this boy soldier and his negro band,

Eightfold camellia blossom that opens on my tongue full of love
Droplet of honeydew that collects at the tip of the petal
Drop of costly perfumed oil that trembles on the alembic
Thrust forward by thoughts of tender love, I press my lips
To the camellia, to the alembic, to the widemouthed jar —
Joyous glitter
That spouts and goes down into hell, my throat
Frothy honey liquor that brims over the widemouthed pot
And spills along the shapely furrow, leaving a gleaming trail —
It was stored through seasons of lasting fog and hail

Sweet semi-circled Cynthia played at maw,
The whilst Endymion ran the wild-goose chase:
Great Bacchus with his cross-bow killed a daw,
And sullen Saturn smiled with pleasant face:
The ninefold Bugbears of the Caspian lake
Sat whistling ebon hornpipes to their ducks;
Madge-owlet straight for joy her girdle brake,
And rugged Satyrs frisked like stags and bucks:
The untamed tumbling fifteen-footed Goat
With promulgation of the Lesbian shores
Confronted Hydra in a sculler boat,
At which the mighty mountain Taurus roars:

With sweetest milk and sugar first
I it at my own fingers nursed;
And as it grew, so every day
It wax'd more white and sweet than they--
It had so sweet a breath! and oft
I blush'd to see its foot more soft
And white--shall I say?--than my hand,
Nay, any lady's of the land!

It is a wondrous thing how fleet
'Twas on those little silver feet:
With what a pretty skipping grace
It oft would challenge me the race:--
And when't had left me far away
'Twould stay, and run again, and stay:
For it was nimbler much than hinds,

The wanton Troopers riding by
Have shot my Faun and it will dye.
Ungentle men! They cannot thrive
To kill thee. Thou neer didst alive
Them any harm: alas nor cou'd
Thy death yet do them any good.
I'me sure I never wisht them ill;
Nor do I for all this; nor will:
But, if my simple Pray'rs may yet
Prevail with Heaven to forget
Thy murder, I will Joyn my Tears
Rather then fail. But, O my fears!
It cannot dye so. Heavens King
Keeps register of every thing:
And nothing may we use in vain.
Ev'n Beasts must be with justice slain;

The lorde blesse the and kepe the.
The lorde make his face shyne apon the and be mercyfull unto the:
The Lord lifte upp his countenaunce apon the, and geve the peace.
For ye shall put my name apon the childern of Ysrael, that I maye blesse them.

5. How goodly are thy tents, O Jacob, and thy tabernacles. O Israel!
6. As the valleys are they spread forth, as gardens by the river's side, as the trees of lign aloes which the Lord hath planted, and as cedar trees beside the waters.
7. He shall pour the water out of his buckets, and his seed shall be in many waters, and his king shall be higher than Agag, and his kingdom shall be exalted.