He knocks at all doors, strays and roams; Nay hath not so much wit as some stones have, Which in the darkest nights point to their homes By some hid sense their Maker gave; Man is the shuttle, to whose winding quest And passage through these looms
God ordered motion, but ordained no rest.
ONE more Unfortunate,
Weary of breath,
Rashly importunate,
Gone to her death!
Take her up tenderly,
Lift her with care;
Fashioned so slenderly,
Young, and so fair!
Look at her garments
Clinging like cerements;
Whilst the wave constantly
Drips from her clothing ;
Take her up instantly,
Loving, not loathing.
Touch her not scornfully;
Think of her mournfully,
Gently and humanly;
Nor of the stains of her;
All that remains of her
Now is pure womanly.
Make no deep scrutiny
Into her mutiny,
Rash and undutiful;
Past all dishonour,
Death has left on her
Only the beautiful.
Still, for all slips of hers,
One of Eve's family-
Wipe those poor lips of hers
Oozing so clammily.
Loop up her tresses Escaped from the comb, Her fair auburn tresses; Whilst wonderment guesses Where was her home?
Who was her father?
Who was her mother?
Had she a sister?
Had she a brother?
Or was there a dearer one
Still, and a nearer one
Yet, than all other?
Alas! for the rarity
Of Christian charity
Under the sun!
O it was pitiful !
Near a whole city full
Home she had none.
Sisterly, brotherly,
Fatherly, motherly,
Feelings had changed:
Love, by harsh evidence,
Thrown from its eminence;
Even God's providence
Seeming estranged.
Where the lamps quiver
So far in the river,
With many a light
From window and casement, From garret to basement, She stood, with amazement, Houseless by night.
The bleak wind of March Made her tremble and shiver;
But not the dark arch
Or the black flowing river:
Mad from life's history,
Glad to death's mystery
Swift to be hurled-
Anywhere, anywhere
Out of the world!
In she plunged boldly,
No matter how coldly
The rough river ran,-
Picture it-think of it,
Dissolute man!
Lave in it, drink of it,
Then, if you can!
Take her up tenderly,
Lift her with care;
Fashioned so slenderly,
Young and so fair!
Ere her limbs frigidly
Stiffen too rigidly,
Decently, kindly,-
Smoothe and compose them;
And her eyes, close them
Staring so blindly!
Dreadfully staring
Through muddy impurity
As when with the daring
Last look of despairing
Fixed on futurity.
Perishing gloomily,
Spurred by contúmely,
Cold inhumanity,
Burning insanity,
Into her rest.
Cross her hands humbly,
As if praying dumbly,
Over her breast!
Owning her weakness,
Her evil behaviour,
And leaving, with meekness,
Her sins to her Saviour!
I KNOW that all beneath the moon decays,
And what by mortals in this world is brought
In Time's great periods shall return to nought;
That fairest states have fatal nights and days.
I know that all the Muses' heavenly lays,
With toil of spirit which are so dearly bought,
As idle sounds, of few or none are sought;
That there is nothing lighter than vain praise.
I know frail beauty's like the purple flower
To which one morn oft birth and death affords ;
That Love a jarring is of mind's accords,
Where Sense and Will bring under Reason's power,
Know what I list, this all cannot me move
But that, alas! I both must write and love.
Sweet Soul!1 which in the April of thy years
So to enrich the Heaven mad'st poor this round,
And now with golden rays of glory crowned
Most blest abid'st above the sphere of spheres :
If heavenly laws, alas! have thee not bound
From looking to this globe that all upbears,
If ruth and pity there above be found,
O deign to lend a look unto these tears!
Do not disdain, dear Ghost! this sacrifice;
And, though I raise not pillars to thy praise,
Mine offerings take! Let this for me suffice:
My heart a living pyramid I raise;
1 Mary Cunningham, his betrothed wife, who died on the eve of their marriage.
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