: The Poems and Verses of Charles Dickens by Dickens Charles Kitton Frederic George Editor - English poetry 19th century; England Social life and customs 19th century Poetry

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TO WESTLAND MARSTON'S PLAY 'THE PATRICIAN'S DAUGHTER'

TO 'THE PATRICIAN'S DAUGHTER'

TO 'THE PATRICIAN'S DAUGHTER'

No tale of streaming plumes and harness bright Dwells on the poet's maiden harp to-night; No trumpet's clamour and no battle's fire Breathes in the trembling accents of his lyre; Enough for him, if in his lowly strain He wakes one household echo not in vain; Enough for him, if in his boldest word The beating heart of MAN be dimly heard.

Its solemn music which, like strains that sigh Through charm?d gardens, all who hearing die; Its solemn music he does not pursue To distant ages out of human view; Nor listen to its wild and mournful chime In the dead caverns on the shore of Time; But musing with a calm and steady gaze Before the crackling flames of living days, He hears it whisper through the busy roar Of what shall be and what has been before. Awake the Present! Shall no scene display The tragic passion of the passing day? Is it with Man, as with some meaner things, That out of death his single purpose springs? Can his eventful life no moral teach Until he be, for aye, beyond its reach? Obscurely shall he suffer, act, and fade, Dubb'd noble only by the sexton's spade? Awake the Present! Though the steel-clad age Find life alone within its storied page, Iron is worn, at heart, by many still-- The tyrant Custom binds the serf-like will; If the sharp rack, and screw, and chain be gone, These later days have tortures of their own; The guiltless writhe, while Guilt is stretch'd in sleep, And Virtue lies, too often, dungeon deep. Awake the Present! what the Past has sown Be in its harvest garner'd, reap'd, and grown!

How pride breeds pride, and wrong engenders wrong, Read in the volume Truth has held so long, Assured that where life's flowers freshest blow, The sharpest thorns and keenest briars grow, How social usage has the pow'r to change Good thoughts to evil; in its highest range To cramp the noble soul, and turn to ruth The kindling impulse of our glorious youth, Crushing the spirit in its house of clay, Learn from the lessons of the present day. Not light its import and not poor its mien; Yourselves the actors, and your homes the scene.

A WORD IN SEASON FROM THE 'KEEPSAKE'

A WORD IN SEASON

A WORD IN SEASON

They have a superstition in the East, That ALLAH, written on a piece of paper, Is better unction than can come of priest, Of rolling incense, and of lighted taper: Holding, that any scrap which bears that name, In any characters, its front imprest on, Shall help the finder through the purging flame, And give his toasted feet a place to rest on.

Accordingly, they make a mighty fuss With ev'ry wretched tract and fierce oration, And hoard the leaves--for they are not, like us, A highly civilized and thinking nation: And, always stooping in the miry ways, To look for matter of this earthy leaven, They seldom, in their dust-exploring days, Have any leisure to look up to Heaven.

So have I known a country on the earth, Where darkness sat upon the living waters, And brutal ignorance, and toil, and dearth Were the hard portion of its sons and daughters: And yet, where they who should have ope'd the door Of charity and light, for all men's finding, Squabbled for words upon the altar-floor, And rent the Book, in struggles for the binding.

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