Ii

Tho’ sorrows darkly veiled At all men’s tables (nor The guests make question, paled, Nor children hush before

Those presences of grief) Sit, yet to all men due Due rights; the sweet relief Of home; the friendship true;

The dying word; to feel Their country in their keep; To heave along the wheel, And push against the steep.

But in this wilderness, Wed to a rock or two, What joys have we to bless? Far, far, our friends and few;

And thou, O happy Land, We dream of thee in vain— One moment see, then stand Within this waste again.

The great earth in her zones Matureth day by day; But we, like waiting stones, Know time but by decay.

Grief hath a shadow, shame; And manhood, meanly tost In woes without a name And sorrows that are lost,

Look’d at, when in the streets True sorrow, seal’d with sores And wrap’d in rags, entreats A charity from ours,

Manhood can best control; But this dark exile hath Worse wounds, and of the soul— A misery and a wrath.

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