|
Main
- books.jibble.org
My Books
- IRC Hacks
Misc. Articles
- Meaning of Jibble
- M4 Su Doku
- Computer Scrapbooking
- Setting up Java
- Bootable Java
- Cookies in Java
- Dynamic Graphs
- Social Shakespeare
External Links
- Paul Mutton
- Jibble Photo Gallery
- Jibble Forums
- Google Landmarks
- Jibble Shop
- Free Books
- Intershot Ltd
|
books.jibble.org
Previous Page
| Next Page
Page 42
The Cameo Bracelet.
By James R. Randall, of Maryland.
Eva sits on the ottoman there,
Sits by a Psyche carved in stone,
With just such a face, and just such an air,
As Esther upon her throne.
She's sifting lint for the brave who bleed,
And I watch her fingers float and flow
Over the linen, as, thread by thread,
It flakes to her lap like snow.
A bracelet clinks on her delicate wrist,
Wrought, as Cellini's were at Rome,
Out of the tears of the amethyst,
And the wan Vesuvian foam.
And full on the bauble-crest alway--
A cameo image keen and fine--
Glares thy impetuous knife, Corday,
And the lava-locks are thine!
I thought of the war-wolves on our trail,
Their gaunt fangs sluiced with gouts of blood;
Till the Past, in a dead, mesmeric veil,
Drooped with a wizard flood
Till the surly blaze through the iron bars
Shot to the hearth with a pang and cry--
And a lank howl plunged from the Champ de Mars
To the Column of July--
Till Corday sprang from the gem, I swear,
And the dove-eyed damsel I knew had flown--
For Eva was not on the ottoman there,
By the Psyche carved in stone.
She grew like a Pythoness flushed with fate,
With the incantation in her gaze,
A lip of scorn--an arm of hate--
And a dirge of the "Marseillaise!"
Eva, the vision was not wild,
When wreaked on the tyrants of the land--
For you were transfigured to Nemesis, child,
With the dagger in your hand!
Zollicoffer.
By H. L. Flash, of Alabama.
First in the fight, and first in the arms
Of the white-winged angels of glory,
With the heart of the South at the feet of God,
And his wounds to tell the story:
And the blood that flowed from his hero heart,
On the spot where he nobly perished,
Was drunk by the earth as a sacrament
In the holy cause he cherished.
In Heaven a home with the brave and blessed,
And, for his soul's sustaining,
The apocalyptic eyes of Christ--
And nothing on earth remaining,
But a handful of dust in the land of his choice,
A name in song and story,
And Fame to shout with her brazen voice,
"Died on the Field of Glory!"
Previous Page
| Next Page
|
|