Thou art sensual, Babylon!

Thou art sotted, Babylon!

Sotted, sensual, Babylon!

History this tale will tell, To the righteous all is well; Daniel rose, Belshazzar fell, Babylon!

Thou art b.l.o.o.d.y, Babylon!

Thou art cruel, Babylon!

Cruel, b.l.o.o.d.y, Babylon!

Cain's curse on your brow is set, Bloodstains G.o.d will not forget, And His curse pursues you yet, Babylon!

Thou art crumbled, Babylon!

Thou art humbled, Babylon!

Humbled, crumbled, Babylon!

Vengeance leaves no gated wall, Vengeance leaves no gilded hall, Vengeance blasts and buries all, Babylon!

THE BRITISH GYP.

That luscious lip, the British Gyp, I leave to rove, a reckless ranger, To seek a life, with War for wife, Defying Death, despising danger; Yet while I speed from field to field, Enamored of the stranger's daughter, I know the best that earth can yield Are nested by the British water.

Her lithe, blithe form outbraves the storm That spreads disaster in its shadow, And when it clears, her form appears A flower upon the greening meadow; And if, for fame, you'll have me name The land of most bewitching daughters, My heart replies, with softening sighs, The land begirt by British waters.

Her starry eye lets arrows fly, That pierce the ice of arctic reason; The kiss that thrills, the glance that kills, Make wild the wise and laugh at Treason; And when, a soldier on parade, Beyond the bourne of British waters, My eyes are on the stranger maid, My heart is with the English daughters.

DEATH SONG OF THE ENFANTS PERDUS.

'Tis here we invade the valley, Away from the realms of breath, And, in most successful sally, We enter the gates of death; So, stand in the last line steady, 'Tis here our true glory lies; Hurrah for the dead already!

Three cheers for the next who dies!

Though here, the wet eyes of woman Will fill with the falling tear, Yet, facing old Death, our foeman, We shout our reviving cheer.

Though high beat the hearts we cherish, The dead we most highly prize: Hurrah for the first to perish!

Three cheers for the next who dies!

The earth we now leave behind us, The heavens now beckon before, Though dust of the dead may blind us, We march for the shining sh.o.r.e; No more can our Hope deceive us, Our heart to it now replies, Hurrah for the first to leave us!

Three cheers for the next who dies!

FARE THEE WELL, O LOVE OF WOMAN!

Fare thee well, O Love of Woman!

Lip of Beauty, fare thee well!

Thy soft heart, divinely human, Holds me by a magic spell.

All that grieves me now to perish Is the loss of one bright eye, And I still the vision cherish While I lay me down to die.

At my headstone, kindly kneeling, May I beg a votive tear?

Woman, with her pure appealing, Is my angel at the bier.

Let me have but one such linger, Praying Christ to help and save, Let me have but one dear finger Place a chaplet on my grave.

Though the soldier dies in dying, The true lover never dies; Upward, from his embers flying, He transfigures in the skies.

Heaven is rare, but Love is rarer, Whether it be blest or crost; Heaven blooms fair, but Love blooms fairer, But, O G.o.d, at what a cost!

Fare thee well, O Love of Woman!

Lip of Beauty, fare thee well!

Thy soft heart, divinely human, Holds me by a magic spell.

All that grieves me now to perish Is the loss of one bright eye, And I still the vision cherish While I lay me down to die.

EVER TO BE.

Ever to be Land of the free, Hold up your banner of light to the eye, High! High!

Let its folds fly, Blessing the earth and rejoicing the sky.

Ever to be Flag of the free, Long as the earth shows the sight of a slave, Wave! Wave!

Mighty to save, Fronting the fight in the eye of the brave.

Ever to be Light of the free, Lashed to the palm tree or nailed to the pine, Shine! Shine!

Liberty's sign, Lighting the human to find the Divine.

JOCK AND JEAN.

JOCK.

O'er the deep wi' me, la.s.sie, Will you, will you?

Sail the sounding sea, la.s.sie, Will you, will you?

Where the Sacramento flows, 'Twixt the peaks of sifted snows, Past the fadeless Southron rose, Sweeter than the heather-blows, La.s.sie, la.s.sie?

JEAN.

O'er the deep wi' thee, laddie, Will I, will I, Sail the sounding sea, laddie, Will I, will I, Whether rivers fail or flow, Whether roses blanch or blow, Where thou goest, I will go, As your loving Jean, my Jo, Laddie, laddie!