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VOLUNTARIES

I

Low and mournful be the strain,
Haughty thought be far from me;
Tones of penitence and pain,
Moanings of the tropic sea;
Low and tender in the cell
Where a captive sits in chains,
Crooning ditties treasured well
From his Afric's torrid plains.
Sole estate his sire bequeathed,-
Hapless sire to hapless son,-
Was the wailing song he breathed,
And his chain when life was done.

What his fault, or what his crime?
Or what ill planet crossed his prime?
Heart too soft and will too weak
To front the fate that crouches near,-
Dove beneath the vulture's beak;-
Will song dissuade the thirsty spear?
Dragged from his mother's arms and
breast,

Displaced, dis furnished here,
His wistful toil to do his best
Chilled by a ribald jeer.

Great men in the Senate sate,
Sage and hero, side by side,
Building for their sons the State,
Which they shall rule with pride.
They forbore to break the chain
Which bound the dusky tribe,

Checked by the owners' fierce disdain,
Lured by "Union" as the bribe.
Destiny sat by, and said,

"Pang for pang your seed shall pay, Hide in false peace your coward head, I bring round the harvest day."

II

Freedom all winged expands,
Nor perches in a narrow place;

Her broad van seeks unplanted lands;
She loves a poor and virtuous race.
Clinging to a colder zone

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Whose dark sky sheds the snowflake

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So near is God to man,

When Duty whispers low, Thou must, The youth replies, I can.

IV

Oh, well for the fortunate soul
Which Music's wings infold,
Stealing away the memory
Of sorrows new and old!

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Yet happier he whose inward sight, Stayed on his subtile thought,

80

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Justice after as before,

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Fancy departs: no more invent;
Contract thy firmament

To compass of a tent.

There's not enough for this and that,
Make thy option which of two;
Economize the failing river,
Not the less revere the Giver,
Leave the many and hold the few.
Timely wise accept the terms,
Soften the fall with wary foot;
A little while

Still plan and smile,

And, fault of novel germs,-
Mature the unfallen fruit.
Curse, if thou wilt, thy sires,
Ead husbands of their fires,

Who, when they gave thee breath,
Failed to bequeath

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The needful sinew stark as once,
The Baresark marrow to thy bones,
But left a legacy of ebbing veins,
Inconstant heat and nerveless reins,- 30
Amid the Muses, left thee deaf and dumb,
Amid the gladiators, halt and numb."

As the bird trims her to the gale,
I trim myself to the storm of time,
I man the rudder, reef the sail,

Obey the voice at eve obeyed at prime: "Lowly faithful, banish fear,

Right onward drive unharmed;

The port, well worth the cruise, is near, And every wave is charmed."

1866.

40

Atlantic Monthly, Jan., 1867.

FRAGMENTS

The sun set, but set not his hope:Stars rose, his faith was earlier up: Fixed on the enormous galaxy. Deeper and older seemed his eye, And matched his sufferance sublime The taciturnity of Time.

1 Emerson was sixty-three years old when he wrote this poem. His powers of mind began to decline about five years later, although he lived in vigorous health for fifteen years.

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For thought, and not praise;
Thought is the wages
For which I sell days,

Will gladly sell ages

And willing grow old

Deaf and dumb and blind and cold,

Melting matter into dreams,

Panoramas which I saw

And whatever glows or seems
Into substance, into law.

Let me go where'er I will

I hear a sky-born music still:
It sounds from all things old,
It sounds from all things young,

From all that's fair, from all that's foul,
Peals out a cheerful song.

It is not only in the rose,

It is not only in the bird,

Not only where the rainbow glows,
Nor in the song of woman heard,
But in the darkest, meanest things
There alway, alway something sings.
'Tis not in the high stars alone,
Nor in the cups of budding flowers,
Nor in the redbreast's mellow tone,
Nor in the bow that smiles in showers,
But in the mud and scum of things
There alway, alway something sings.

For what need I of book or priest, Or sibyl from the mummied East, When every star is Bethlehem star? I count as many as there are Cinquefoils or violets in the grass, So many saints and saviours,

ΤΟ

10

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EDGAR ALLAN POE (1809-1849)

TAMERLANE 1

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I claim'd and won usurpingly— Hath not the same fierce heirdom given 30 Rome to the Cæsar-this to me?

The heritage of a kingly mind, And a proud spirit which hath striven Triumphantly with human kind.

1 "Tamerlane" appeared first in Tamerlane and Other Poems, 1827, but was entirely rewritten for the 1829 volume, Al Aaraf, Tamerlane, and Minor Poems. The text here used is practically that of the 1829 volume. A comparison of the two versions is valuable, as showing Poe's growth in poetic power if not in narrative strength.

As Poe conceives the story, Tamerlane is lured from his shepherd home in the mountains and from his early love by ambition. He conquers the entire Eastern world, and returns home to find that his love has died of neglect. The opening lines of the 1827 version give the setting more clearly.

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So late from Heaven-that dew-it fell
('Mid dreams of an unholy night)
Upon me with the touch of Hell,
While the red flashing of the light
From clouds that hung, like banners, o'er,
Appeared to my half-closing eye
The pageantry of monarchy,
And the deep trumpet-thunder's roar
Came hurriedly upon me, telling

Of human battle, where my voice, 50
My own voice, silly child!-was swelling
(O! how my spirit would rejoice,
And leap within me at the cry)
The battle-cry of Victory!

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My passions, from that hapless hour,
Usurp'd a tyranny which men
Have deem'd, since I have reach'd to
power,

My innate nature-be it so:
But, father, there liv'd one who, then,
Then-in my boyhood-when their fire 70
Burn'd with a still intenser glow
(For passion must, with youth, expire)
E'en then who knew this iron heart
In woman's weakness had a part.

The mountains of Belur Taglay are a branch of the Imaus, in the southern part of Independent Tartary. They are celebrated for the singu lar wildness and beauty of their valleys. (PoE, 1827.)

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