Hope Abandoned

 

The drinking man maybe hath gold, and then

Ofttimes he vomits food before starved men:

But one I met had seedy clothes which shone,

So many suns had poured their fires upon.

 

Man! king of that strange world where none bend knee,

Whose subjects pay mock reverence to thee-

The Shadows, Coloured Imps, Fantastic Crews

Swarming a hulk condemned that rolls in boose:

 

Enchanter Drink! the world's half, small and great,

Mock Death by lying fearless in Death's state;

They pawn their finest tools: they know not what

In life there is to make, why they should not.

 

Thou leering Imp, create of flame and fume,

Who quenched such hopes as did yon mind illume,

Now, like a babe, he is near blind again,

And sees but from one corner of his brain.

 

The light of Love, though it from Heaven came,

It cannot now outburn Lust's fiercer flame;

This man would do a shameful deed at once,

Were he not saved from it by blessed Chance.

 

Now, as the cuckoo, where he holds no right,

Attempts to put the lawful young to flight,

So I with my own reason would essay

That mind, to scatter its own thoughts away.

 

And so began: "Canst thou, O man, find naught

Above in Heaven or under worth thy thought?

Why waste Life's flower, and leave behind no seed,

When such sweet joy is in pure thought and deed?

 

Thou canst not know life as a pleasant thing,

Though much to practise sham manoeuvring;

Or know of Nature with her glint and peep

Of flowers and dewy fields, and brooks that leap.

 

Thou canst escape these slums in half a mile

For works of Art, and Music to beguile:

See hoary buildings with Time's frosted towers,

Midst spaces green and young in summer hours.

 

There's beauty in our streets, and beauty seen

From river's banks that are no longer green

Barges half sunk with bales of golden hay,

Or coals that sparkle more in sunny ray.

 

I passed a carved porch in yonder street,

To hear a woman's voice half-timid, sweet;

Then heard a wondrous chorus burst to end,

When, confident in numbers, many blend.

 

There's music in the leaves, the shaken tree;

Aye, in the ocean, cruel though it be-

That will not leave the poor drowned boy unmoved,

But cuts with rocks that face his mother loved.

 

The waves that splash the sides of iron ships,

When the lone watch at night with whistling lips

Paces the deck in tune; and in the tones

Of rills, for ever polishing their stones.

 

To hear the larks when higher than yon cloud,

A gale of music's blowing in heaven loud;

Or hear the mavis when the bees' time come

At eve to take their bags of honey home.

 

'Tis music takes from toiler's sweat the burn,

Carries the labourer's load; there's music stern

When clouds do thunder in the mountain's caves

Sounds heard by trembling vales below, and waves.

 

Hear how the axes make melodious ring

In winter, and the woodmen stir in spring,

When cracks the ice so loud, and flood-time floats

Vast forests down to fill the deep-sea boats.

 

As light is first to take the infant's eyes,

So Music brings his ears their first surprise,

Who then in sport will toss his toes and bounce,

And would outleap the mother's arms at once.

 

Nay, why say more? with all these charms around,

Scenes for thine eyes, and for thine ears such sound

Yet dost thou blind those precious orbs from choice,

And into gibberish turn that human voice.

 

I know thy fall: those sins we grow to love

Were only done at first that Youth might prove

Courage to follow Age; which now at last

Are sinful habits that have bound him fast,

 

So came thy sins at first, and made thee bound,

Till Death shall surely find thee-as he found

The clammy thing that hid its life away,

Hutched in a hollowed rock from day to day.

 

A bite of food, a pot of ale or stout,

A murder every day to talk about-

And though the sun with crimson fills the sky

Thou wilt not raise thine eyes to him on high."

 

Said he: "Are they more wise who sigh and weep,

To hear the drunkard laugh, and see him sleep?

Drink frees a mortal from the Future's dread,

And lays the Past of all its ghostly dead.

 

There live some spirits made so fine and frail,

Who strive for joy and all their efforts fail.

Must steep their minds in some dark deadening stain

Be mad awhile, or else till Death insane.

 

Give to the child a faded flower to be

From home to school its only company,

'Tis well content-though once or twice is heard

That simple voice cry wonder to a bird.

 

The urchin in his fancy slays galore

To keep his mouth in sweetmeats every hour:

And such is Childhood, that clear well to drink,

Ere Wisdom's toad hath chanced upon its brink.

 

When Age complains the year is weeping leaves,

They're tossed to give him sport-a child believes;

Who sees a sparkle warm on ice and snow,

And thinks Jack Frost the merriest wight to know.

 

Youth comes with all his hopes; the loss of few

Makes others left more spirited to do:

As one at war sees comrades stricken down,

And feels their spirits work to help his own.

 

The hopeful youth believes to rap until

He'll make the world give answer to his will:

As Woodpecker makes the oak's heart to fear,

And cry aloud for all the woods to hear.

 

Now count those small mechanics where they toil

To show above the sea their coral isle:

As well count them as count youth's many schemes

To thwart Old Age, who frowns on his young dreams.

 

When our young days are o'er, Life's sad in sooth:

To change his place with that poor homeless youth

Whose chattering teeth can sing away the cold

The grey-haired millionaire would give his gold.

 

Those days are gone: think of those winters told,

When Youth's warm blood did ne'er complain of cold;

And dost thou make new friends the present day.

'Tis but to talk of old friends passed away.

 

Had I not hopes to feed one fond Desire,

Till Dark Despair gave me a torch of fire-

Intoxication-bade me burn my brain

And body up, for joy to kill my pain?

 

I heard the voice of Fame, and I did come

To these loud parts, where ever is her home;

And day and night sought those sweet favours she

Conferred on one less worthy scorning me.

 

For one drop's sake to scent Time's robe, I sought:

Distilled a hundred flowers and one of Thought;

And still to fail, though they who set the word

In hopes a thought would venture in were heard.

 

Life, like that berg from Polar seas, doth show

A smiling top, with horrors hid below;

A virgin soil to mine, and it appears

Fools find the gold and wise men stones for tears.

 

A thing of beauty shall created be,

Methought, and I will then sit quietly,

And  n 0 d age enjoy its sound: of course,

Necessity prevents that deed by force.

 

And still I struggled, struggled still to fail

Deep thinking night and day without avail

Until I came to herd with hopeless men,

To drink with them through lost ambition then.

 

And oft when Inspiration came from Heaven free,

I let the scared fire die out of me,

Since dribbling drunkards came and hemmed me in,

And sober men as bad who laughed at sin.

 

And then my soul with wonder ceased to burn,

Nor sweet surprises startled me each turn:

Age early found me; Fancy hid her stores;

Self dared my Thoughts to venture out of doors.

 

I have gone past my hunger now for joy,

The pleasantries of other men annoy;

I envy them the shining of their lives,

And mope in darkness as a bird that grieves.

 

As that vexed Owl, on top of his dark tree,

Seeing the moon above, looks down to see

The Hunter dares to burn night fires- will shout

Till morn, and hoot till both their fires are out.

 

Here in these slums to sleep and wake again,

Fretted at night by brutal cries of pain,

Year after year: I who alone had hours

With Nature to share woods and fields of flowers.

 

In this strange world of little spaces, where

The millions starve, and die for want of air;

Yet mighty wastes that have for ages lain

Silent to hear the step of man in vain.

 

Here in these crowded marts where reeks the stain

On bloody stalls of creatures newly slain;

On those red lumps the starvers stare with might,

And well-fed people wish no fairer sight.

 

Hear how the brook will cease to shout and rave,

Passing the willow's deep and teary grave;

Who soon forgets to make his little moans,

To find more shallows wait with heaps of stones.

 

But all Life's play and game is left behind,

I out of this sad pool no way can find;

Though hunger doth not make a man his prey,

Foul air will never leave him night or day.

 

Sweet Nature hath her slums, where crowds of flowers

Can thrive, and not make short each other's hours;

Where swarmed birds can for their young provide,

And no life pales, save pallor be its pride.

 

Whilst wooing Fame in this her native town,

Death stripped my home, and struck my dear ones down;

Death hath his duty, and it would not fail

Though all the infants in the world did wail.

 

When young thou dost delay returning home,

Thinking the greater joy at last to come;

But never more will come those moments dear

Of kinder eyes and voices sweet to hear.

 

The farther Life goes on more clear his eye

To probe the past and glean Time's mystery:

But Time will never tell what Death hath done-

We can but guess-with thy beloved one.

 

When she who gave thee birth lies cold and dead,

And thou hast found no hand or voice instead-

No hand to lay that gentle spirit down,

No voice to answer for thy cheerless own:

 

Old age brings then no twilight hour for thee,

Remembrances as stars to Memory;

And now thou knowest where Death's sting can be,

And how the grave hath made its victory.

 

'Tis true great spirits are by Sorrow taught,

With intervals to make their feelings thought.

The world, indifferent to the man, would know-

So true that happy spirits feign such woe.

 

What time the vine's roots reached the sewer's drains,

There grew more grapes than grew in former reigns;

The flower that lives most in the shade, and leaf

Grow large, as doth a human mind in grief.

 

But rain without a break succeeding rain,

Will wash the buried seed out, rot the grain,

Make genius blind whose mind is with the lark

To see the dawn while others are in dark.

 

The man doth choose his star, and if he fail

Inhabit that, what shall to him avail

A thousand others that would give him home?

Give him his star, or let the darkness come!"

 

He ceased: he who had fallen in the strife,

And might have sucked some honey out of life

And lodged it in the world's hive to its joy-

But failed, since none would give his brain employ.