Written by
Matthew Arnold |
I ask not that my bed of death
From bands of greedy heirs be free;
For these besiege the latest breath
Of fortune's favoured sons, not me.
I ask not each kind soul to keep
Tearless, when of my death he hears;
Let those who will, if any, weep!
There are worse plagues on earth than tears.
I ask but that my death may find
The freedom to my life denied;
Ask but the folly of mankind,
Then, at last, to quit my side.
Spare me the whispering, crowded room,
The friends who come, and gape, and go;
The ceremonious air of gloom—
All which makes death a hideous show!
Nor bring, to see me cease to live,
Some doctor full of phrase and fame,
To shake his sapient head and give
The ill he cannot cure a name.
Nor fetch, to take the accustomed toll
Of the poor sinner bound for death,
His brother doctor of the soul,
To canvass with official breath
The future and its viewless things—
That undiscovered mystery
Which one who feels death's winnowing wings
Must need read clearer, sure, than he!
Bring none of these; but let me be,
While all around in silence lies,
Moved to the window near, and see
Once more before my dying eyes
Bathed in the sacred dew of morn
The wide aerial landscape spread—
The world which was ere I was born,
The world which lasts when I am dead.
Which never was the friend of one,
Nor promised love it could not give,
But lit for all its generous sun,
And lived itself, and made us live.
There let me gaze, till I become
In soul with what I gaze on wed!
To feel the universe my home;
To have before my mind -instead
Of the sick-room, the mortal strife,
The turmoil for a little breath—
The pure eternal course of life,
Not human combatings with death.
Thus feeling, gazing, let me grow
Composed, refreshed, ennobled, clear;
Then willing let my spirit go
To work or wait elsewhere or here!
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Written by
Johann Wolfgang von Goethe |
[Prefixed to the second edition.]
EV'RY youth for love's sweet portion sighs,
Ev'ry maiden sighs to win man's love;
Why, alas! should bitter pain arise
From the noblest passion that we prove?
Thou, kind soul, bewailest, lov'st him well,
From disgrace his memory's saved by thee;
Lo, his spirit signs from out its cell:
BE A MAN, NOR SEEK TO FOLLOW ME.
1775.
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Written by
William Topaz McGonagall |
Mr. Smiggs was a gentleman,
And he lived in London town;
His wife she was a good kind soul,
And seldom known to frown.
'Twas on Christmas eve,
And Smiggs and his wife lay cosy in bed,
When the thought of buying a goose
Came into his head.
So the next morning,
Just as the sun rose,
He jump'd out of bed,
And he donn'd his clothes,
Saying, "Peggy, my dear.
You need not frown,
For I'll buy you the best goose
In all London town."
So away to the poultry shop he goes,
And bought the goose, as he did propose,
And for it he paid one crown,
The finest, he thought, in London town.
When Smiggs bought the goose
He suspected no harm,
But a naughty boy stole it
From under his arm.
Then Smiggs he cried, "Stop, thief!
Come back with my goose!"
But the naughty boy laugh'd at him,
And gave him much abuse.
But a policeman captur'd the naughty boy,
And gave the goose to Smiggs,
And said he was greatly bother'd
By a set of juvenile prigs.
So the naughty boy was put in prison
For stealing the goose.,
And got ten days' confinement
Before he got loose.
So Smiggs ran home to his dear Peggy,
Saying, "Hurry, and get this fat goose ready,
That I have bought for one crown;
So, my darling, you need not frown."
"Dear Mr Smiggs, I will not frown:
I'm sure 'tis cheap for one crown,
Especially at Christmas time --
Oh! Mr Smiggs, it's really fine."
"Peggy. it is Christmas time,
So let us drive dull care away,
For we have got a Christmas goose,
So cook it well, I pray.
"No matter how the poor are clothed,
Or if they starve at home,
We'll drink our wine, and eat our goose,
Aye, and pick it to the bone."
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Written by
William Topaz McGonagall |
Success to James Scrymgeour,
He's a very good man,
And to gainsay it,
There's few people can;
Because he makes the hearts
Of the poor o'erjoyed
By trying to find work for them
When they're unemployed.
And to their complaints
He has always an attentive ear,
And ever ready to help them
When unto him they draw near.
And no matter what your occupation is.
Or what is your creed.
He will try to help you
In the time of need;
Because he has the fear
Of God within his heart,
And the man that fears God
Always takes the poor's part.
And blessed is the man
That is kind to the poor;
For his reward in heaven,
'Tis said in the Scripture, is sure.
And I hope heaven will be
Mr James Sctymgeour's reward;
For his struggles on behalf of the poor
Are really vexatious and hard.
For he is to be seen daily
Walking along our streets,
With a Christian-looking countenance,
And a kind word to all he meets.
Besides, he is void of all pride,
And wouldn't feel ashamed
To be seen with a beggar
Or a tinker walking by his side.
Fellow-citizens of Dundee,
Isn't it really very nice
To think of James Scrymgeour trying
To rescue fallen creatures from the paths of vice?
And in the winter he tries to provide
Hot dinners for the poor children of Dundee,
Who are starving with hunger no doubt,
And in the most abject poverty.
He is a little deaf, no doubt,
But not deaf to the cries of hungry men,
No! he always tries to do his best
To procure bread for them.
And at the Sabbath-morning free-breakfasts
He is often seen there,
Administering to the wants of the hungry,
And joining in prayer.
He is a man of noble principles,
As far as 1 can think,
And the noblest principle he has got
Is, he abhors the demon drink.
And, in my opinion, he is right
As far as I can see,
And I hereby proclaim that such a man
Is an honour to Dundee:
Because he is always working
For the poor people's good.
Kind soul, trying hard
To procure for them clothing and food
Success to him and his family.
And may God them defend:
Why? fellow citizens of Dundee,
Because he is the poor man's friend.
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