Songs of Labor and Other Poems Part 4

Gloomy thoughts in me awaken, And with fear my breast is shaken, Thinking: O thou black abyss; All the toil and thrift of life, All the struggle and the strife, Shall it come at last to this?

With the grave shall be requited Good and evil, and united Ne'er to separate again?

What the light hath parted purely, Shall the darkness join more surely?-- Was the vict'ry won in vain?

O mute and infinite extension, O time beyond our comprehension, Shall thought and deed ungarnered fall?

Ev'rything dost take and slay, Ev'rything dost bear away, Silent Nothing, silent All!...

The Canary

The free canary warbles In leafy forest dell: Who feels what rapture thrills her, And who her joy can tell?

The sweet canary warbles Where wealth and splendor dwell: Who knows what sorrow moves her, And who her pain can tell?

Want And I

Who's there? who's there? who was it tried To force the entrance I've denied?

An 'twere a friend, I'd gladly borne it, But no--'twas Want! I could have sworn it.

I heard thy voice, old witch, I know thee!

Avaunt, thou evil hag, beshrew thee!

G.o.d's curse! why seekest thou to find me?

Away to all black years behind me!

To torture me was thine endeavor, My body from my soul to sever, Of pride and courage to deprive me, And into beggary to drive me.

Begone, where thousand devils burn-- Begone, nor evermore return!

Begone, most wretched thou of creatures, And hide for aye thine hateful features!

--Beloved, ope the door in pity!

No friend have I in all the city Save thee, then open to my call!

The night is bleak, the snowflakes fall.

Thine own, old Want am I, believe me!

Ah, what delight, wilt thou receive me?

I found, when I from thee had parted, No friend but he was fickle-hearted!

Away, old hag! Thou liest, lo, Thou harbinger of pain and woe!

Away--am I thine only friend?

Thy lovers pale, they have no end!

Thou vile one, may the devil take thee!

Begone and no more visits make me!

For--Yiddish writers not to mention-- Men hold thee no such rare invention.

--'Tis true! yet those must wait my leisure.

To be with thee is now my pleasure.

I love thy black and curling hair, I love thy wounded heart's despair, I love thy sighs, I love to swallow Thy tears and all thy songs to follow.

Oh great indeed, might I but show it, My love for thee, my pale-faced poet!

Away, I've heard all that before, And am a writer, mark, no more.

Instead of verses, wares I tell, And candy and tobacco sell.

My life is sweet, my life is bitter.

I'm ready and a prompt acquitter.

Oh, smarter traders there are many, Yet live I well and turn a penny.

--A dealer then wilt thou remain, Forever from the pen abstain?

Good resolutions time disperses: Thou yet shalt hunger o'er thy verses, But vainly seeking to excuse thee Because thou dost, tonight, refuse me.

Then open, fool, I tell thee plain, That we perforce shall meet again.

Begone the way that I direct thee!

I've millionaires now to protect me; No need to beg, no need to borrow, Nor fear a penniless tomorrow, Nor walk with face of blackest omen To thrill the hearts of stupid foemen, Who fain my pride to earth would bring, Because, forsooth, I sweetly sing!

--Ho ho! ere thou art grown much older, Thy millionaires will all grow colder.

Thou soon shalt be forgotten by them-- They've other things to occupy them!

Just now with thee they're playing kindly, But fortune's wheel is turning blindly To grind thy pleasures ere thou know it-- And thou art left to me, my poet!

The Phantom Vessel

Now the last, long rays of sunset To the tree-tops are ascending, And the ash-gray evening shadows Weave themselves around the earth.

On the crest of yonder mountain, Now are seen from out the distance Slowly fading crimson traces; Footprints of the dying day.

Blood-stained banners, torn and tattered, Hanging in the western corner, Dip their parched and burning edges In the cooling ocean wave.

Smoothly roll the crystal wavelets Through the dusky veils of twilight, That are trembling down from heaven O'er the bosom of the sea.

Soft a little wind is blowing O'er the gently rippling waters-- What they whisper, what they murmur, Who is wise enough to say?

Broad her snow-white sails outspreading 'Gainst the quiet sky of evening, Flies a s.h.i.+p without a sailor, Flies--and whither, who can tell?

As by magic moves the rudder; Borne upon her snowy pinions Flies the s.h.i.+p--as tho' a spirit Drove her onward at its will!

Empty is she, and deserted, Only close beside the mainmast Stands a lonely child, heartbroken, Sobbing loud and bitterly.

Long and golden curls are falling Down his neck and o'er his shoulders; Now he glances backward sighing, And the silent s.h.i.+p flies on!

With a little, s.h.i.+ning kerchief, Fluttering upon the breezes, Unto me he sends a greeting, From afar he waves farewell.

And my heart is throbbing wildly, I am weeping--tell me wherefore?

G.o.d! that lovely child, I know him!