Marching Song of a Roman Legion of the Later Empire


When I left Rome for Lalage's sake,
By the Legions' Road to Rimini,
She vowed her heart was mine to take
With me and my shield to Rimini--
(Till the Eagles flew from Rimini--)
And I've tramped Britain, and I've tramped Gaul
And the Pontic shore where the snow-flakes fall
As white as the neck of Lalage--
(As cold as the heart of Lalage!)
And I've lost Britain, and I've lost Gaul,
And I've lost Rome and, worst of all,
I've lost Lalage!

When I face north a lost Cree
on some new shore puts a moccasin down,
rock in the light and noon for seeing,
he in a hurry and I beside him

It will be a long trip; he will be a new chief;
we have drunk new water from an unnamed stream;
under little dark trees he is to find a path
we both must travel because we have met.

Henceforth we gesture even by waiting;
there is a grain of sand on his knifeblade
so small he blows it and while his breathing
darkens the steel his become set

And start a new vision: the rest of his life.

Before I was a travelled bird,
I scoffed, in my provincial way,
At other lands; I deemed absurd
All nations but these U.S.A.

And--although Middle-Western born--
Before I was a travelled guy,
I laughed at, with unhidden scorn,
All cities but New York, N.Y.

But now I've been about a bit--
How travel broadens! How it does!
And I have found out this, to wit:
How right I was! How right I was!

We shall have our little day.
Take my hand and travel still
Round and round the little way,
Up and down the little hill.

It is good to love again;
Scan the renovated skies,
Dip and drive the idling pen,
Sweetly tint the paling lies.

Trace the dripping, pierced heart,
Speak the fair, insistent verse,
Vow to God, and slip apart,
Little better, Little worse.

Would we need not know before
How shall end this prettiness;
One of us must love the more,
One of us shall love the less.

Thus it is, and so it goes;

There are too many waterfalls here; the crowded streams
hurry too rapidly down to the sea,
and the pressure of so many clouds on the mountaintops
makes them spill over the sides in soft slow-motion,
turning to waterfalls under our very eyes.
--For if those streaks, those mile-long, shiny, tearstains,
aren't waterfalls yet,
in a quick age or so, as ages go here,
they probably will be.
But if the streams and clouds keep travelling, travelling,
the mountains look like the hulls of capsized ships,
slime-hung and barnacled.

v.30ff
C. M.
The covenant of grace unchangeable.

"Yet," saith the Lord, "if David's race,
The children of my Son,
Should break my laws, abuse my grace,
And tempt mine anger down;

"Their sins I'll visit with the rod
And make their folly smart;
But I'll not cease to be their God,
Nor from my truth depart.

"My cov'nant I will ne'er revoke,
But keep my grace in mind
And what eternal love hath spoke
Eternal truth shall bind.

"Once have I sworn (I need no more)
And pledged my holiness,

v.14-16,22-24
C. M.
Christ our strength and righteousness.

My Savior, my almighty Friend,
When I begin thy praise,
Where will the growing numbers end,
The numbers of thy grace?

Thou art my everlasting trust,
Thy goodness I adore;
And since I knew thy graces first,
I speak thy glories more.

My feet shall travel all the length
Of the celestial road,
And march with courage in thy strength,
To see my Father God.

When I am filled with sore distress
For some surprising sin,

v.5-13
L. M.
Divine providence in air, earth, and sea.

The God of our salvation hears
The groans of Zion mixed with tears;
Yet when he comes with kind designs,
Through all the way his terror shines.

On him the race of man depends,
Far as the earth's remotest ends,
Where the Creator's name is known
By nature's feeble light alone.

Sailors, that travel o'er the flood,
Address their frighted souls to God,
When tempests rage and billows roar
At dreadful distance from the shore.

He bids the noisy tempests cease;

Aug. 14. 1653.
Upon The Words Of Chush The Benjamite Against Him.


Lord my God to thee I flie
Save me and secure me under
Thy protection while I crie
Least as a Lion (and no wonder)
He hast to tear my Soul asunder
Tearing and no rescue nigh.

Lord my God if I have thought
Or done this, if wickedness
Be in my hands, if I have wrought
Ill to him that meant me peace,
Or to him have render'd less,
And fre'd my foe for naught;

Let th'enemy pursue my soul

I


Diana was never more pleasing to her lover,
when, by a stroke of fate, he saw her naked,
shown in the deep pool of icy water,
than I was by the mountain shepherdess,
standing there to wash her delightful veil,
that keeps blonde, lovely hair from the wind’s stress,
so that, now heaven’s fires overspill,
she made me tremble with an amorous chill.



II


Now that the wind and earth and sky are silent,
and the wild birds and creatures curbed by sleep,
without a wave the sea rests in the deep,