She said that neither king, nor prince, nor lord could live aright, Until their puissance they did prove, their manhood, and their might, When manhood shall be matched so, that fear can take no place, Then weary works make warriors each other to embrace, And leave their force that failèd them; which did consume the rout That might before have lived their time, their strength and nature out. Then did she sing, as one that thought no man could her reprove, The falling out of faithful friends, renewing is of love. She said she saw no fish, nor fowl, nor beast within her haunt That met a stranger in their kind, but could give it a taunt. Since flesh might not endure, but rest must wrath succeed, And force the fight to fall to play, in pasture where they feed, So noble Nature can well end the work she hath begun; And bridle well that will not cease her tragedy in some. Thus in her song she oft rehearsed, as did her well behove, The falling out of faithful friends, renewing is of love. "I marvel much, pardy," quoth she, "for to behold the rout, To see man, woman, boy, and beast, to toss the world about; Some kneel, some crouch, some beck, some check, and some can smoothly smile, And some embrace others in arms, and there think many a wile. Some stand aloof at cap and knee, some humble, and some stout, Yet are they never friends in deed, until they once fall out." Thus ended she her song, and said before she did remove, "The falling out of faithful friends, renewing is of love." Richard Edwards [1523?-1566] QUA CURSUM VENTUS As ships, becalmed at eve, that lay Are scarce long leagues apart descried; When fell the night, upsprung the breeze, E'en so-but why the tale reveal Of those, whom year by year unchanged, Brief absence joined anew to feel, Astounded, soul from soul estranged? At dead of night their sails were filled, Or wist, what first with dawn appeared! To veer, how vain! On, onward strain, But O blithe breeze! and O great seas, One port, methought, alike they sought, O bounding breeze, O rushing seas! Arthur Hugh Clough [1819-1861] "FOR A' THAT AND A' THAT" Is there, for honest Poverty, That hangs his head, and a' that! Our toil's obscure, and a' that; What though on hamely fare we dine, For a' that, and a' that, Their tinsel show, and a' that; The honest man, though e'er sae poor, Is king o' men for a' that. Ye see yon birkie, ca'd a lord, Wha struts, and stares, and a' that; Though hundreds worship at his word, He's but a coof for a' that; For a' that, and a' that, His ribbon, star, and a' that; The man o' independent mind, He looks and laughs at a' that. A prince can mak a belted knight, For a' that, and a' that, Their dignities, and a' that, The pith o' sense, and pride o' worth, Are higher rank than a' that. Then let us pray that come it may,— As come it will for a' that,— That Sense and Worth, o'er a' the earth, May bear the gree, and a' that. It's coming yet, for a' that, That Man to Man, the warld o'er, Shall brothers be for a' that! Robert Burns [1759-1796] "WE ARE BRETHREN A'" A HAPPY bit hame this auld world would be If men, when they're here, could make shift to agree, An' ilk said to his neebor, in cottage an' ha', "Come, gi'e me your hand, we are brethren a'." I ken na why ane wi' anither should fight, When to 'gree would make a' body cosie an' right, My coat is a coarse ane, an' yours may be fine, The knave ye would scorn, the unfaithfu' deride; Ye would stand like a rock, wi' the truth on your side; Sae would I, an' naught else would I value a straw: -we are brethren a'. Then gi'e me your hand,— Ye would scorn to do fausely by woman or man; We are ane in our joys, our affections, an' a': Your mother has lo'ed you as mithers can lo'e; We love the same simmer day, sunny an' fair; Hame! oh, how we love it, an' a' that are there! Frae the pure air o' heaven the same life we draw: Come, gi'e me your hand, we are brethren a'. Frail shakin' auld age will soon come o'er us baith, Come, gi'e me your hand,— —we are brethren a'. FRATERNITY I KNOW not but in every leaf The wind that whispered to the earth, Ay, but for fellowship with these I had not been-nay, might not be; Nor they but vagrant melodies Till harmonized by me. John Banister Tabb [1845-1909] SONNET MOST men know love but as a part of life; |