10 Best Famous Fervently Poems

Here is a collection of the top 10 all-time best famous Fervently poems. This is a select list of the best famous Fervently poetry. Reading, writing, and enjoying famous Fervently poetry (as well as classical and contemporary poems) is a great past time. These top poems are the best examples of fervently poems.

• All Famous Fervently Poems

 Of all who hail thy presence as the morning-
Of all to whom thine absence is the night-
The blotting utterly from out high heaven
The sacred sun- of all who, weeping, bless thee
Hourly for hope- for life- ah! above all,
For the resurrection of deep-buried faith
In Truth- in Virtue- in Humanity-
Of all who, on Despair's unhallowed bed
Lying down to die, have suddenly arisen
At thy soft-murmured words, "Let there be light!"
At the soft-murmured words that were fulfilled
In the seraphic glancing of thine eyes-
Of all who owe thee most- whose gratitude
Nearest resembles worship- oh, remember
The truest- the most fervently devoted,
And think that these weak lines are written by him-
By him who, as he pens them, thrills to think
His spirit is communing with an angel's.

 professor piebald
(the oldest man in the home) was meek
at the same time ribald
he clothed his matter (so to speak)
in latin and (was it) greek
it caused no great offence
to nobody did it make sense
to make a rude joke
in languages nobody spoke

once he'd changed the word agenda
at a home's committee meeting to pudenda
this sort of thing was tolerated by the other
inmates (except his younger brother -
a dustman all his life
who'd robbed the professor of his wife
and treated him now with disdainful anger
but to everyone piebald was a stranger)
well agenda/pudenda hardly ranked as humour
but there was rumour
piebald was said to have his eye on
nelly (frail and pretty in a feathery fashion
the sort perhaps to rouse a meek man's passion)
she wouldn't talk to him without a tie on

one such occasion burst the bubble
he spoke (no tie on) she demurred
refusing one further word
and so the trouble
piebald went white all over
muttered about being her lover
then shouted in a rage
(nelly whispered be your age)
i - two headed janus -
now pingo your anus
(less janus - i should have thought - than mars)
and pinched the dear frail lady on the ****
who died a second then exploded
swung a punch so loaded
poor old piebald eared it to the floor
the other old ones in the room
(more excited now than when the flowers came out in bloom)
were rushing pushing to the door

the brother stood across the fallen man
in total icy disdain
you academic lily-livered piss of a gnat
he hissed - and spat
into the piebald twitching face
drew back a pace
when wham - a seething body like a flung cat
lifted upwards into space

the younger brother was butted in the belly
(who staggered back hit head and made a dying fall
leaving a small red zigzag down the wall)
then this sizzling flesh-ball
fell on fluttering nelly
tore at her skirt
ripped other clothes apart
began kissing her fervently on her agenda
te amo te amo te amo te amo
(repeating it as though
it was the finest latin phrase he'd learned by heart)
crying abasing himself to her most wanted gender

she more dazed than hurt
clutching the virgin fragments of her skirt
a simpering victim in the rising clamour
old people now outraged beyond controlling
through the swing doors pushing tumbling rolling
armed with saucepans pokers knives
playing the greatest game in all their lives
attacked without compunction
the frenzied lover at his unction
a poker struck him once across the head
and professor piebald
once meek but ribald
dropped down undoubtedly dead

and even when the horror had subsided
and the arms of justice with their maker were abided
nelly stood rocking in her room
weeping for the heart-ache in her womb
that till then had hardly ever fluttered
and (only occasionally) muttered
if you have your eye on
me - my dear man - put your tie on

the home itself was closed a few days after
the house is riddled still by ribald laughter

AND thou art dead as young and fair 
As aught of mortal birth; 
And form so soft and charms so rare 
Too soon return'd to Earth! 
Though Earth received them in her bed 5 
And o'er the spot the crowd may tread 
In carelessness or mirth  
There is an eye which could not brook 
A moment on that grave to look. 

I will not ask where thou liest low 10 
Nor gaze upon the spot; 
There flowers or weeds at will may grow  
So I behold them not: 
It is enough for me to prove 
That what I loved and long must love 15 
Like common earth can rot; 
To me there needs no stone to tell 
'Tis Nothing that I loved so well. 

Yet did I love thee to the last  
As fervently as thou 20 
Who didst not change through all the past  
And canst not alter now. 
The love where Death has set his seal 
Nor age can chill nor rival steal  
Nor falsehood disavow; 25 
And what were worse thou canst not see 
Or wrong or change or fault in me. 

The better days of life were ours  
The worst can be but mine; 
The sun that cheers the storm that lours 30 
Shall never more be thine. 
The silence of that dreamless sleep 
I envy now too much to weep; 
Nor need I to repine 
That all those charms have pass'd away 35 
I might have watch'd through long decay. 

The flower in ripen'd bloom unmatch'd 
Must fall the earliest prey; 
Though by no hand untimely snatch'd. 
The leaves must drop away. 40 
And yet it were a greater grief 
To watch it withering leaf by leaf  
Than see it pluck'd to-day; 
Since earthly eye but ill can bear 
To trace the change to foul from fair. 45 

I know not if I could have borne 
To see thy beauties fade; 
The night that follow'd such a morn 
Had worn a deeper shade. 
Thy day without a cloud hath pass'd 50 
And thou wert lovely to the last  
Extinguish'd not decay'd; 
As stars that shoot along the sky 
Shine brightest as they fall from high. 

As once I wept if I could weep 55 
My tears might well be shed 
To think I was not near to keep 
One vigil o'er thy bed¡ª 
To gaze how fondly! on thy face  
To fold thee in a faint embrace 60 
Uphold thy drooping head  
And show that love however vain  
Nor thou nor I can feel again. 

Yet how much less it were to gain  
Though thou hast left me free 65 
The loveliest things that still remain 
Than thus remember thee! 
The all of thine that cannot die 
Through dark and dread eternity 
Returns again to me 70 
And more thy buried love endears 
Than aught except its living years. 

 And thou art dead, as young and fair 
As aught of mortal birth;
And form so soft, and charms so rare,
Too soon return'd to Earth!
Though Earth receiv'd them in her bed,
And o'er the spot the crowd may tread
In carelessness or mirth,
There is an eye which could not brook
A moment on that grave to look.

I will not ask where thou liest low,
Nor gaze upon the spot;
There flowers or weeds at will may grow,
So I behold them not:
It is enough for me to prove
That what I lov'd, and long must love,
Like common earth can rot;
To me there needs no stone to tell,
'T is Nothing that I lov'd so well.

Yet did I love thee to the last
As fervently as thou,
Who didst not change through all the past,
And canst not alter now.
The love where Death has set his seal,
Nor age can chill, nor rival steal,
Nor falsehood disavow:
And, what were worse, thou canst not see
Or wrong, or change, or fault in me.

The better days of life were ours;
The worst can be but mine:
The sun that cheers, the storm that lowers,
Shall never more be thine.
The silence of that dreamless sleep
I envy now too much to weep;
Nor need I to repine
That all those charms have pass'd away,
I might have watch'd through long decay.

The flower in ripen'd bloom unmatch'd
Must fall the earliest prey;
Though by no hand untimely snatch'd,
The leaves must drop away:
And yet it were a greater grief
To watch it withering, leaf by leaf,
Than see it pluck'd to-day;
Since earthly eye but ill can bear
To trace the change to foul from fair.

I know not if I could have borne
To see thy beauties fade;
The night that follow'd such a morn
Had worn a deeper shade:
Thy day without a cloud hath pass'd,
And thou wert lovely to the last,
Extinguish'd, not decay'd;
As stars that shoot along the sky
Shine brightest as they fall from high.

As once I wept, if I could weep,
My tears might well be shed,
To think I was not near to keep
One vigil o'er thy bed;
To gaze, how fondly! on thy face,
To fold thee in a faint embrace,
Uphold thy drooping head;
And show that love, however vain,
Nor thou nor I can feel again.

Yet how much less it were to gain,
Though thou hast left me free,
The loveliest things that still remain,
Than thus remember thee!
The all of thine that cannot die
Through dark and dread Eternity
Returns again to me,
And more thy buried love endears
Than aught except its living years.

 On Western plains, where shade is not, 
'Neath summer skies of cloudless blue, 
Where all is dry and all is hot, 
There stands the town of Dandaloo -- 
A township where life's total sum 
Is sleep, diversified with rum. 
Its grass-grown streets with dust are deep; 
'Twere vain endeavour to express 
The dreamless silence of its sleep, 
Its wide, expansive drunkenness. 
The yearly races mostly drew 
A lively crowd at Dandaloo. 

There came a sportsman from the East, 
The eastern land where sportsmen blow, 
And brought with him a speedy beast -- 
A speedy beast as horses go. 
He came afar in hope to "do" 
The little town of Dandaloo. 

Now this was weak of him, I wot -- 
Exceeding weak, it seemed to me -- 
For we in Dandaloo were not 
The Jugginses we seemed to be; 
In fact, we rather thought we knew 
Our book by heart in Dandaloo. 

We held a meeting at the bar, 
And met the question fair and square -- 
"We've stumped the country near and far 
To raise the cash for races here; 
We've got a hundred pounds or two -- 
Not half so bad for Dandaloo. 

"And now, it seems we have to be 
Cleaned out by this here Sydney bloke, 
With his imported horse; and he 
Will scoop the pool and leave us broke. 
Shall we sit still, and make no fuss 
While this chap climbs all over us?" 

* 

The races came to Dandaloo, 
And all the cornstalks from the West 
On every kind of moke and screw 
Come forth in all their glory drest. 
The stranger's horse, as hard as nails, 
Look'd fit to run for New South Wales. 

He won the race by half a length -- 
Quite half a length, it seemed to me -- 
But Dandaloo, with all its strength, 
Roared out "Dead heat!" most fervently; 
And, sfter hesitation meet, 
The judge's verdict was "Dead heat!" 

And many men there were could tell 
What gave the verdict extra force. 
The stewards -- and the judge as well -- 
They all had backed the second horse. 
For things like this they sometimes do 
In larger towns than Dandaloo. 

They ran it off, the stranger won, 
Hands down, by near a hundred yards. 
He smiled to think his troubles done; 
But Dandaloo held all the cards. 
They went to scale and -- cruel fate -- 
His jockey turned out under weight. 

Perhaps they's tampered with the scale! 
I cannot tell. I only know 
It weighed him out all right. I fail 
To paint that Sydney sportsman's woe. 
He said the stewards were a crew 
Of low-lived thieves in Dandaloo. 

He lifted up his voice, irate, 
And swore till all the air was blue; 
So then we rose to vindicate 
The dignity of Dandaloo. 
"Look here," said we, "you must not poke 
Such oaths at us poor country folk." 

We rode him softly on a rail, 
We shied at him, in careless glee, 
Some large tomatoes, rank and stale, 
And eggs of great antiquity -- 
Their wild, unholy fregrance flew 
About the town of Dandaloo. 

He left the town at break of day, 
He led his racehorse through the streets, 
And now he tells the tale, they say, 
To every racing man he meets. 
And Sydney sportsmen all eschew 
The atmosphere of Dandaloo.

 That some day, emerging at last from the terrifying vision
I may burst into jubilant praise to assenting angels!
That of the clear-struck keys of the heart not one may fail
to sound because of a loose, doubtful or broken string!
That my streaming countenance may make me more resplendent
That my humble weeping change into blossoms.
Oh, how will you then, nights of suffering, be remembered
with love. Why did I not kneel more fervently, disconsolate
sisters, more bendingly kneel to receive you, more loosely
surrender myself to your loosened hair? We, squanderers of
gazing beyond them to judge the end of their duration.
They are only our winter's foliage, our sombre evergreen,
one of the seasons of our interior year, -not only season,
but place, settlement, camp, soil and dwelling.

How woeful, strange, are the alleys of the City of Pain,
where in the false silence created from too much noise,
a thing cast out from the mold of emptiness
swaggers that gilded hubbub, the bursting memorial.
Oh, how completely an angel would stamp out their market
of solace, bounded by the church, bought ready for use:
as clean, disappointing and closed as a post office on Sunday.
Farther out, though, there are always the rippling edges
of the fair. Seasaws of freedom! High-divers and jugglers of zeal!
And the shooting-gallery's targets of bedizened happiness:
targets tumbling in tinny contortions whenever some better
marksman happens to hit one. From cheers to chance he goes
staggering on, as booths that can please the most curious tastes
are drumming and bawling. For adults ony there is something
special to see: how money multiplies. Anatomy made amusing!
Money's organs on view! Nothing concealed! Instructive,
and guaranteed to increase fertility!...

 Oh, and then outside,
behind the farthest billboard, pasted with posters for 'Deathless,'
that bitter beer tasting quite sweet to drinkers,
if they chew fresh diversions with it..
Behind the billboard, just in back of it, life is real.
Children play, and lovers hold each other, -aside,
earnestly, in the trampled grass, and dogs respond to nature.
The youth continues onward; perhaps he is in love with
a young Lament....he follows her into the meadows.
She says: the way is long. We live out there....
 Where? And the youth
follows. He is touched by her gentle bearing. The shoulders,
the neck, -perhaps she is of noble ancestry? 
Yet he leaves her, turns around, looks back and waves...
What could come of it? She is a Lament.

Only those who died young, in their first state of
timeless serenity, while they are being weaned,
follow her lovingly. She waits for girls
and befriends them. Gently she shows them
what she is wearing. Pearls of grief
and the fine-spun veils of patience.-
With youths she walks in silence.

But there, where they live, in the valley,
an elderly Lament responds to the youth as he asks:-
We were once, she says, a great race, we Laments.
Our fathers worked the mines up there in the mountains;
sometimes among men you will find a piece of polished
primeval pain, or a petrified slag from an ancient volcano.
Yes, that came from there. Once we were rich.-

And she leads him gently through the vast landscape
of Lamentation, shows him the columns of temples,
the ruins of strongholds from which long ago
the princes of Lament wisely governed the country.
Shows him the tall trees of tears,
the fields of flowering sadness,
(the living know them only as softest foliage);
show him the beasts of mourning, grazing-
and sometimes a startled bird, flying straight through
their field of vision, far away traces the image of its
solitary cry.-
At evening she leads him to the graves of elders
of the race of Lamentation, the sybils and prophets.
With night approaching, they move more softly,
and soon there looms ahead, bathed in moonlight,
the sepulcher, that all-guarding ancient stone,
Twin-brother to that on the Nile, the lofty Sphinx-:
the silent chamber's countenance.
They marvel at the regal head that has, forever silent,
laid the features of manking upon the scales of the stars.
His sight, still blinded by his early death,
cannot grasp it. But the Sphinx's gaze
frightens an owl from the rim of the double-crown.
The bird, with slow down-strokes, brushes
along the cheek, that with the roundest curve, 
and faintly inscribes on the new death-born hearing,
as though on the double page of an opened book,
the indescribable outline.

And higher up, the stars. New ones. Stars
of the land of pain. Slowly she names them:
"There, look: the Rider ,the Staff,and that 
crowded constellation they call the the Garland of Fruit.
Then farther up toward the Pole:
Cradle, Way, the Burning Book, Doll, Window.
And in the Southern sky, pure as lines
on the palm of a blessed hand, the clear sparkling M,
standing for Mothers....."

Yet the dead youth must go on alone.
In silence the elder Lament brings him
as far as the gorge where it shimmers in the moonlight:
The Foutainhead of Joy. With reverance she names it,
saying: "In the world of mankind it is a life-bearing stream."

They reach the foothills of the mountain,
and there she embraces him, weeping.

Alone, he climbs the mountains of primeval pain.
Not even his footsteps ring from this soundless fate.

But were these timeless dead to awaken an image for us,
see, they might be pointing to th catkins, hanging
from the leafless hazels, or else they might mean
the rain that falls upon the dark earth in early Spring.

And we, who always think
of happiness as rising feel the emotion
that almost overwhelms us
whenever a happy thing falls.

 There's little joy in life for me,
And little terror in the grave;
I've lived the parting hour to see
Of one I would have died to save.

Calmly to watch the failing breath,
Wishing each sigh might be the last;
Longing to see the shade of death
O'er those beloved features cast;

The cloud, the stillness that must part
The darling of my life from me;
And then to thank God from my heart,
To thank him well and fervently;

Although I knew that we had lost
The hope and glory of our life;
And now, benighted, tempest-tossed,
Must bear alone the weary strife.

 Wargeilah town is very small, 
There's no cathedral nor a club, 
In fact the township, all in all, 
Is just one unpretentious pub; 
And there, from all the stations round, 
The local sportsmen can be found. 

The sportsmen of Wargeilah-side 
Are very few but very fit; 
There's scarcely any sport been tried 
But they can hold their own at it; 
In fact, to search their records o'er, 
They hold their own and something more. 

The precincts of Wargeilah town 
An English new-chum did infest: 
He used to wander up and down 
In baggy English breeches drest; 
His mental aspect seemed to be 
Just stolid self-sufficiency. 

The local sportsmen vainly sought 
His tranquil calm to counteract 
By urging that he should be brought 
Within the Noxious Creatures Act. 
"Nay, harm him not," said one more wise, 
"He is a blessing in disguise! 

"You see, he wants to buy a horse, 
To ride, and hunt, and steeplechase, 
And carry ladies, too, of course, 
And pull a cart, and win a race. 
Good gracious! he must be a flat 
To think he'll get a horse like that! 

"But, since he has so little sense 
And such a lot of cash to burn, 
We'll sell him some experience 
By which alone a fool can learn. 
Suppose we let him have The Trap 
To win Wargeilah Handicap!" 

And her, I must explain to you 
That round about Wargeilah run 
There lived a very aged screw 
Whose days of brilliancy were done. 
A grand old warrior in his prime -- 
But age will beat us any time. 

A trooper's horse in seasons past 
He did his share to keep the peace, 
But took to falling, and at last 
Was cast for age from the Police. 
A publican at Conroy's Gap 
Bought him and christened him The Trap. 

When grass was good and horses dear, 
He changed his owner now and then 
At prices ranging somewhere near 
The neighbourhood of two-pound-ten: 
And manfully he earned his keep 
By yarding cows and ration sheep. 

They brought him in from off the grass 
And fed and groomed the old horse up; 
His coat began to shine like glass -- 
You'd think he'd win the Melbourne Cup. 
And when they'd got him fat and flash 
They asked the new chum -- fifty -- cash! 

And when he said the price was high, 
Their indignation knew no bounds. 
They said, "It's seldom you can buy 
A horse like that for fifty pounds! 
We'll refund twenty if The Trap 
Should fail to win the handicap!" 

The deed was done, the price was paid, 
The new-chum put the horse in train. 
The local sports were much afraid 
That he would sad experience gain 
By racing with some shearer's hack, 
Who'd beat him half-way round the track. 

So, on this guileless English spark 
They did most fervently impress 
That he must keep the matter dark, 
And not let any person guess 
That he was purchasing The Trap 
To win Wargeilah Handicap. 

They spoke of "spielers from the Bland", 
And "champions from the Castlereagh", 
And gave the youth to understand 
That all of these would stop away, 
And spoil the race, if they should hear 
That they had got The Trap to fear. 

"Keep dark! They'll muster thick as flies 
When once the news gets sent around 
We're giving such a splendid prize -- 
A Snowdon horse worth fifty pound! 
They'll come right in from Dandaloo, 
And find -- that it's a gift for you!" 

The race came on -- with no display 
Nor any calling of the card, 
But round about the pub all day 
A crowd of shearers, drinking hard, 
And using language in a strain 
'Twere flattery to call profane. 

Our hero, dressed in silk attire -- 
Blue jacket and scarlet cap -- 
With boots that shone like flames of fire, 
Now did his canter on The Trap, 
And walked him up and round about, 
Until other steeds came out. 

He eyed them with a haughty look, 
But saw a sight that caught his breath! 
It was Ah John! the Chinee cook! 
In boots and breeches! pale as death! 
Tied with a rope, like any sack, 
Upon a piebald pony's back! 

The next, a colt -- all mud and burrs, 
Half-broken, with a black boy up, 
Who said, "You gim'me pair o' spurs, 
I win the bloomin' Melbourne Cup!" 
These two were to oppose The Trap 
For the Wargeilah Handicap! 

They're off! The colt whipped down his head, 
And humped his back, and gave a squeal, 
And bucked into the drinking shed, 
Revolving like a Catherine wheel! 
Men ran like rats! The atmosphere 
Was filled with oaths and pints of beer! 

But up the course the bold Ah John 
Beside The Trap raced neck and neck: 
The boys had tied him firmly on, 
Which ultimately proved his wreck; 
The saddle turned, and, like a clown, 
He rode some distance upside-down. 

His legs around the horse were tied, 
His feet towards the heavens were spread, 
He swung and bumped at every stride 
And ploughed the ground up with his head! 
And when they rescued him, The Trap 
Had won Wargeilah Handicap! 

And no enquiries we could make 
Could tell by what false statements swayed 
Ah John was led to undertake 
A task so foreign to his trade! 
He only smiled and said, "Hoo Ki! 
I stop topside, I win all li'!" 

But never in Wargeilah Town 
Was heard so eloquent a cheer 
As when the President came down, 
And toasted, in Colonial beer, 
"The finest rider on the course! 
The winner of the Snowdon Horse! 

"You go and get your prize," he said; 
"He's with a wild mob, somewhere round 
The mountains near the Watershed; 
He's honestly worth fifty pound -- 
A noble horse, indeed, to win, 
But none of us can run him in! 

"We've chased him poor, we've chased him fat, 
We've run him till our horses dropped; 
But by such obstacles as that 
A man like you will not be stopped; 
You'll go and yard him any day, 
So here's your health! Hooray! Hooray!" 

The day wound up with booze and blow 
And fights till all were well content. 
But of the new-chum all I know 
Is shown by this advertisement -- 
"For sale, the well-known racehorse Trap. 
He won Wargeilah Handicap!"

 And thou art dead, as young and fair
As aught of mortal birth;
And form so soft and charm so rare
Too soon returned to Earth!
Though Earth received them in her bed,
And o'er the spot the crowd may tread
In carelessness or mirth,
There is an eye which could not brook
A moment on that grave to look.

I will not ask where thou liest low,
Nor gaze upon the spot;
There flowers or weeds at will may grow,
So I behold them not:
It is enough for me to prove
That what I loved, and long must love,
Like common earth can rot;
To me there needs no stone to tell
'Tis Nothing that I loved so well.

Yet did I love thee to the last
As fervently as thou,
Who didst not change through all the past,
And canst not alter now.
The love where Death has set his seal
Nor age can chill, nor rival steal,
Nor falsehood disavow:
And, what were worse, thou canst not see
Or wrong or change or fault in me.

The better days of life were ours;
The worst can be but mine:
The sun that cheers, the storm that lours,
Shall never more be thine.
The silence of that dreamless sleep
I envy now too much to weep;
Nor need I to repine
That all those charms have passed away
I might have watched through long decay.

The flower in ripened bloom unmatched
Must fall the earliest prey;
Though by no hand untimely snatched,
The leaves must drop away:
And yet it were a greater grief
To watct it withering, leaf by leaf,
Than see it plucked today;
Since earthly eye but ill can bear
To trace the change to foul from fair.

I know not if I could have borne
To see thy beauties fade;
The night that followed such a morn
Had worn a deeper shade:
Thy day without a cloud hath past,
And thou wert lovely to the last— 
Extinguished, not decayed,
As stars that shoot along the sky
Shine brightest as they fall from high.

As once I wept, if I could weep,
My tears might well be shed
To think I was not near to keep
One vigil o'er thy bed:
To gaze, how fondly! on thy face,
To fold thee in a faint embrace,
Uphold thy drooping head,
And show that love, however vain,
Nor thou nor I can feel again.

Yet how much less it were to gain,
Though thou hast left me free,
The loveliest things that still remain
Than thus remember thee!
The all of thine that cannot die
Through dark and dread Eternity
Returns again to me,
And more thy buried love endears
Than aught, except its living years.

 [From the Morlack.)

WHAT is yonder white thing in the forest?
Is it snow, or can it swans perchance be?
Were it snow, ere this it had been melted,
Were it swans, they all away had hastend.
Snow, in truth, it is not, swans it is not,
'Tis the shining tents of Asan Aga.
He within is lying, sorely wounded;
To him come his mother and his sister;
Bashfully his wife delays to come there.
When the torment of his wounds had lessen'd,
To his faithful wife he sent this message:
"At my court no longer dare to tarry,
At my court, or e'en amongst my people."

When the woman heard this cruel message,
Mute and full of sorrow stood that true one.
At the doors she hears the feet of horses,
And bethinks that Asan comes--her husband,
To the tower she springs, to leap thence headlong,
Her two darling daughters follow sadly,
And whilst weeping bitter tears, exclaim they:
These are not our father Asan's horses;
'Tis thy brother Pintorowich coming!"

So the wife of Asan turns to meet him,
Clasps her arms in anguish round her brother:
"See thy sister's sad disgrace, oh brother!
How I'm banish'd--mother of five children!"
Silently her brother from his wallet,
Wrapp'd in deep red-silk, and ready written,
Draweth forth the letter of divorcement,
To return home to her mother's dwelling,
Free to be another's wife thenceforward.

When the woman saw that mournful letter,
Fervently she kiss'd her two sons' foreheads,
And her two girls' cheeks with fervour kiss'd she,
But she from the suckling in the cradle
Could not tear herself, so deep her sorrow!
So she's torn thence by her fiery brother,
On his nimble steed he lifts her quickly,
And so hastens, with the heart-sad woman,
Straightway tow'rd his father's lofty dwelling.

Short the time was--seven days had pass'd not,--
Yet enough 'twas; many mighty princes
Sought the woman in her widow's-mourning.
Sought the woman,--as their wife they sought her.
And the mightiest was Imoski's Cadi,
And the woman weeping begg'd her brother:
By thy life, my brother, I entreat thee,
Let me not another's wife be ever,
Lest my heart be broken at the image
Of my poor, my dearly-cherish'd children!"

To her prayer her brother would not hearken,
Fix'd to wed her to Imoski's Cadi.
Yet the good one ceaselessly implored him:
"Send, at least a letter, oh, my brother,
With this message to Imoski's Cadi:
'The young widow sends thee friendly greeting;
Earnestly she prays thee, through this letter,
That, when thou com'st hither, with thy Suatians,
A long veil thou'lt bring me, 'neath whose shadow
I may hide, when near the house of Asan,
And not see my dearly cherish'd orphans.'"

Scarcely had the Cadi read this letter,
Than he gather'd all his Suatians round him,
And then tow'rd the bride his course directed,
And the veil she ask'd for, took he with him.

Happily they reach'd the princess' dwelling,
From the dwelling happily they led her.
But when they approach'd the house of Asan,
Lo! the children saw from high their mother,
And they shouted: "To thy halls return thou!
Eat thy supper with thy darling children!"
Mournfully the wife of Asan heard it,
Tow'rd the Suatian prince then turn'd she, saying:
"Let, I pray, the Suatians and the horses
At the loved ones' door a short time tarry,
That I may give presents to my children."

And before the loved ones' door they tarried,
And she presents gave to her poor children,
To the boys gave gold-embroider'd buskins,
To the girls gave long and costly dresses,
To the suckling, helpless in the cradle,
Gave a garment, to be worn hereafter.

This aside saw Father Asan Aga,--
Sadly cried he to his darling children:
"Hither come, ye dear unhappy infants,
For your mother's breast is turn'd to iron,
Lock'd for ever, closed to all compassion!"

When the wife of Asan heard him speak thus,
On the ground, all pale and trembling, fell she,
And her spirit fled her sorrowing bosom,
When she saw her children flying from her.

 1775.