Part 8 (1/2)

O chatter, chatter, chatter, when to speak is misery, When silence lies around your heart-and night is on the sea.

So tired of little fas.h.i.+ons that are root of all our strife, Of all the petty pa.s.sions that upset the calm of life.

The law of G.o.d upon the land s.h.i.+nes steady for all time; The laws confused that man has made, have reason not nor rhyme.

O bird that fights the heavens, and is blown beyond the sh.o.r.e, Would you leave your flight and danger for a cage to fight no more?

No more the cold of winter, or the hunger of the snow, Nor the winds that blow you backward from the path you wish to go?

Would you leave your world of pa.s.sion for a home that knows no riot?

Would I change my vagrant longings for a heart more full of quiet?

No!-for all its dangers, there is joy in danger too: On, bird, and fight your tempests, and this nomad heart with you!

The seas that shake and thunder will close our mouths one day, The storms that shriek and whistle will blow our breaths away.

The dust that flies and whitens will mark not where we trod.

What matters then our judging? we are face to face with G.o.d.

WHEN YOU ARE ON THE SEA

How can I laugh or dance as others do, Or ply my rock or reel?

My heart will still return to dreams of you Beside my spinning-wheel.

My little dog he cried out in the dark, He would not whisht for me: I took him to my side-why did he bark When you were on the sea?

I fear the red c.o.c.k-if he crow to-night- I keep him close and warm, 'Twere ill with me, if he should wake in fright And you out in the storm.

I dare not smile for fear my laugh would ring Across your dying ears; O, if you, drifting, drowned, should hear me sing And think I had not tears.

I never thought the sea could wake such waves, Nor that such winds could be; I never wept when other eyes grew blind For some one on the sea.

But now I fear and pray all things for you, How many dangers be!

I set my wheel aside, what can I do When you are on the sea?

MY NEIGHBOUR'S GARDEN

Why in my neighbour's garden Are the flowers more sweet than mine?

I had never such bloom of roses, Such yellow and pink woodbine.

Why in my neighbour's garden Are the fruits all red and gold, While here the grapes are bitter That hang for my fingers' hold?

Why in my neighbour's garden Do the birds all fly to sing?