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The progress in Iraq is still fragile. And it could still be reversed. Iraq still faces innumerable challenges, and they will be evident during what will likely be a difficult process as the newly elected Council of Representatives selects the next prime minister, president, and speaker of the council.

quote by David Petraeus
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How Frail Fragile And Vulnerable We All Are

HOW FRAIL FRAGILE AND VULNERABLE WE ALL ARE

How frail fragile and vulnerable we all are
How in an instant we can be destroyed –

Who knows where when how
The next Disaster will come?
Who knows who the next victims will be?

We pray it will not be us –

How frail fragile and vulnerable we all are
And who knows where when how
The next Disaster will come?

poem by Shalom Freedman
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For All The Poets

FOR ALL THE POETS

This is a poem for all the poets who have no name,
For all those who have written and failed,
And for those who have not written,
And failed.

This is a poem for all the poets who dreamed themselves poets,
And were never, and will be known as poets
To the world.

This a poem for all those
Who after years of effort
Still live in an oblivion
They will die in.

This is a poem for all those
Who whether they have poetry in them or not,
Will never be heard or read,
For what their hearts must tell
Someone else.

This is a poem for all the silent poets
Those who live in silence
And whose silence is eternal
For all those whose only poetry
is the poem they have lived within themselves.

This is a poem for all those who would- be poets
And a poem for those
Who despite their efforts
Did not make their poem known.

This is a poem which may be for you,
And I know is for me
A confession
To make us less alone.

poem by Shalom Freedman
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Do not disturb the cemetery guard

Do not disturb the cemetery guard
He is in charge of your after life chart
Just lie down, silent and deep in your grave below
And do not yell, stir or ask for a furlough

I know how much you yearn
To know what has become
While you were in your coffin forgotten for some
Or see your relatives and the neighbors
And check their toils, hardship or labors
But you are new in eternity, so much to observe and learn

I know how much you earnestly crave
To burst out to the air from this grave
To you it will be a sense of human generous just
To leave behind, if for a moment all this decay and dust

A repeat may be just for one more time
Grab your books bag in a child prime
And rush in fresh air morning without homework to school
And be rebuked by your teacher 'You dammed fool'

Oh, lie down in your gloom and let wise Nature work her will
And on your clay tomb her darnel will grow
In first years your relatives will visit you when days are bright and still
At your blemished headstone they will bow and whisper low
And tell you of their life, and events you have missed in the show

We all as humans of any color or faith
Hold common scorn and defame to eternal death
The creaking sound of cords lowering us down
As earth returns back to earth with no rising dawn

Copy rights 2010
All rights reserved

poem by Isaac Ziv
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The Backwards Boy in the Backwards World

In the early morning, she is lying on the floor. He kneels and whispers, 'I love you.' And whishes he was sorry. He doesn't want to move, so he stays, dreaming about what they could have had if she would have only listened to him. He shakes his head, floating between dreaming and waking, knowing that they're coming to take him away from her forever.

He stares down at her. She is pale and covered with blood and bruises. She doesn't look like a real person. Everything seems strange, like a dream. Like a nightmare in which you lose everything. Light shines through the bloody windows, like an enchanted forest, the dappled shadow of the red leaves rippled on her silent body. He peers through the door, waiting, and thinking of years ago when he first met her. First loved her. First controled her. But years is only the day before yesterday. He is still trying to believe that they will never take her body. but the house is cracking open, because last night, he made her perfect. He made her his.

That's all there is to it. And for no reason, other than his love. He soon realizes that everything feels strange, like dreams that he stays in forever.

But also, he feels ordinary, as if the world has always been this way, and he knows that she wanted this, too, because she loved him. He puts his lips to her ear and says, 'This is how it is when someone loves you, ' and smiles. He makes her lips smile back and remembers all over again all the wishes she whispered and it hurst his heart. He brushes her long hair back. 'It's a shame it took this for you to be perfect. Today, you'll find out what perfection is, ' he whispers. He closes her eyes and holds her hand. 'So pretty when you sleep.' Finally, he opens her eyes and kisses her. She tastes like home. Her round blue eyes are glazed over with Death and Fear, but he likes them, and leaves them open so he can look at them.

When they come, he decides, he will hide behind his face. It's a good trick to have. You turn your face into a mask and then you are safe behind it, especially when they try to take what is yours.

poem by Zoe Guillory
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They Will All Wear Out Like Cloth, The Moth Will Eat Them Up.

The Lord is my Help
i have said my pieces
in my daily trances
there are angry men
who shall not forget me

but shall i worry then
if sometime i fall and
then they will tread upon
me with their furious feet

i shall not be destroyed
for the Lord is with me.

His moths are ready
to eat them all
rags to his face
rotten clothes
inside canals

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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A Walk In The Park

On a wintry morn, just for a lark,
I went for a morning walk.
All of a sudden I spotted roses bloom.
I stood spellbound watching the hues
And had my daily talk with God,
And said out aloud, Lord
How do you do it?
While we hassled, sit
And moan about life being dreary
At the end of the day when we are weary.

As I walked past flower beds,
In colors- pink, white, violet and red.
Poppy, Calendula, Pansy, Flox
Their smiling upturned faces seem to mock.
They will die in a day or two,
I thought as I saw the petals covered with dew.
They just bloom unaware of their beauty,
Has God sent them to fulfill a duty?

I wonder why we pluck flowers,
And put them in vases.
They belong here
In the flower beds, where
All can bask in their beauty
And forget about their chores and duty.

poem by Mamta Agarwal
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The drums of Africa still beat in my heart. They will not let me rest while there is a single Negro boy or girl without a chance to prove his worth.

quote by Mary McLeod Bethune
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And They Will

There are some people
who can fit in wherever they go.
They look at everyone
under one gaze,
never separating anyone
because of the colour of their skin
or how much money they have.
As far as they are concerned,
everyone is equal
under the eyes of God.

These people walk through this world
making friends of everyone they meet.
Their thinking is
love thy neighbour
no matter who they are
or what colour they are.
Love them like
a brother or sister
and they will do
the same to thee.

3 March 2008

poem by David Harris
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Yeah! I Can See How It All Relates

Why are the children unsupervised?
And finding it easy to commit so much crime?
Not to mention the lack of discipline,
Even their parents are finding it excusable...
To allow and permit their vacant minds.

'Sssshhh!
Will you stop with that.
There are still many asleep in denial.
They will use the customary defense,
Your point of view neglects to mention...
All the positive aspects,
Of their time spent in the newer prisons...
Offering updated rehabilitation programs,
To broaden their values...
Society then approves as accepted common sense.'

Yeah! You're right.
I see now how it all relates.
I have been too harsh with my assessments.
Thank you for reminding me of how much I've aged.

'No problem.
It took me time to adjust too.'

Yeah! I can see how it all relates.

poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Discover your divine root

Discover your divine root

We make certain claims
Based on the fact we are sons of soil
But really speaking
We are on the earth through the soil
And not in fact from it
We have our root
Up there in heavens
And it is all divine
Our belief that we are from the soil
And our root is stuck there
Makes us put in efforts to
Accumulate, assess, account
Ascertain earthly things
We take pride with things we possess
We justify our move in that direction
As we consider these things add to comfort
And that these only form the scales
For others to decide the level of our success
But, instead of giving us the comfort we foresaw
They add to our worries, anxieties and what not
They even steal the peace we had earlier without their being there
They threaten our harmonious co-existence
With people and things around
We spend time and energy in keeping them under our hold
If your turn your interest on to the discovery
Of your divine root
You have a chance to stay balanced ever
Not that this effort towards discerning your divine root
Is going to hold you back from worldly things
You still be accumulating earthly things
They will flow into your life
You will also enjoy the comforts they offer
But, since you maintain a touch with divine
Your attachment to these will be loose
Your will not mind their presence or absence
And enjoy a well balanced mind set
With all your abilities to perform worldly acts in tact
Stay in touch with your divine root
And have a great living ever

poem by Bashyam Narayanan
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Sell It And They Will Come

I fell asleep on the couch last night, woke up with the tv on.
There was a woman in tight cotton exercise shorts
And a big plastic machine she was climbing on.
She said "the abacycle guarantees ten inches off your waist,
And 50 pounds in just 3 minutes a day."
I went to bed knowing the revolution had been postponed
And everything was ok.
You can buy it, you can try it, go right ahead.
But dont be fooled folks, theres only one.
I forget the guys name but I know somebody must have said
Sell it and they will come boys, sell it and they will come.
I switched the channels and there was evel knievel, I thought that he was
Dead.
I found myself sitting there quietly, hanging on every word he said.
"now folks, the stimulator removes all pain from your life.
And the best day of your life will be when you try this little thing out."
The camera moved in as he said, "now let me tell you ladies and gentlemen,
Pain is something old evel knows a little about"
You can buy it, you can try it, thats what I said.
But dont be fooled folks, theres only one.
I forget that guys name but I know somebody must have said
Sell it and they will come boys, sell it and they will come.
And a fellow comes on shouting "free haircuts for life!",
Somehow you cut your hair with a vacuum cleaner.
And then I switched the channels and there was dionne warwick, communing
With her psychic friends.
I watched for hours, taking warmth, comfort,
And pleasure in the things that I despise.
Touched by how much they needed me, and that gleeful desperation in their
Eyes.
You can buy it, you can try it, itll help you in bed.
But dont be fooled folks, theres only one.
I forget that guys name but I know somebody said
Sell it and they will come boys, sell it and they will come.
So dionne, cher, and all my late-night friends, I drink to your health.
And tony little, americas personal trainer, please kill yourself.
Now Ive sold a few things myself in my time, and by the way folks,
Theres some t-shirts on your way outside.
Well last night I dreamed of lipstick and tight little cotton shorts
"harder, faster", she breathed.
"one, two, three, four, five"
Ride, sally ride, girl, ride sally ride.
You can buy it, you can try it, itll help you in bed.
But dont be fooled folks, theres only one.
I forget that guys name but somebody said
Sell it and they will come boys, sell it and they will come.

song performed by Bruce Springsteen
Added by Lucian Velea
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Lost and Given Over

A Mermaid’s not a human thing,
An’ courtin’ such is folly;
Of flesh an’ blood I’d rather sing,
What ain’t so melancholy.
Oh, Berta! Loo! Jaunita! Sue!
Here’s good luck to me and you—
Sing rally! ri-a-rally!
The seas is deep; the seas is wide;
But this I’ll prove whate’er betide,
I’m bully in the alley!
I’m bull-ee in our al-lee!

The Hooghli gal’er face is brown;
The Hilo gal is lazy;
The gal that lives by ’Obart town
She’d drive a dead man crazy;
Come, wet your lip, and let it slip!
The Gretna Green’s a tidy ship—
Sing rally!
The seas is deep; the seas is blue;
But ’ere’s good ’ealth to me and you,
Ho, rally!

The Lord may drop us off our pins
To feed ’is bloomin’ fishes;
But Lord forgive us for our sins—
Our sins is most delicious!
Come, drink it up and fill yer cup!
The world it owes us bite and sup,
And Mimi, Ju-Ju, Sally;
The seas is long; the winds is strong;
The best of men they will go wrong—
Hi, rally! ri-a-rally!

The Bowery gal she knows ’er know;
The Frisco gal is silly;
The Hayti gal ain’t white as snow—
They’re whiter down in Chili.
Now what’s the use to shun the booze?
They’ll flop your bones among the ooze
Sou’-west-by-Sou’ the galley.
The seas is green; the seas is cold;
The best of men they must grow old—
Sing rally! ri-a-rally!

All round the world where’er I roam,
This lesson I am learnin’:
If you’ve got sense you’ll stop at home
And save the bit yer earnin’.
So hang the odds! It’s little odds,
When every ’eathen ’as ’is gods,
And neither two will tally:
When black and white drink, wimmin, fight—
In these three things they’re all alright—
Sing rally! ri-a-rally!

When double bunks, Fo’castle end,
Is all the kind that’s carried,
Our manners they will likely mend—
Most likely we’ll be married.
But till sich time as that be done,
We’ll take our fun as we’ve begun—
Sing rally!
The flesh is weak; the world is wide;
The dead man ’e goes overside—
Sing rally! rally!

We’re given and lost to the girls that wait
From Trinity to Whitsund’y,
From Sunda Strait to the Golden Gate
An’ back to the Bay o’ Fundy;
Oh, it’s Mabel, Loo, an’ it’s Nancy-Poo,
An’ ’ere’s good luck, an’ I love you—
Sing rally!
Oh, it’s cents an’ dollars an’ somebody hollers—
The sun comes up an’ the mornin’ follers—
Sing rally!

We’re given an’ lost to the octoroon,
The Portugee cruiser painty,
The Chinkie gal with ’er eyes ’arf-moon,
An’ the Japanee darlin’ dainty.
Oh, it’s Tokio-town when the sun goes down,
It’s ’arf-a-pint and it’s ’arf-a-crown—
Sing rally!
’Er spars may lift an’ ’er keel can shift,
When a man is done ’e ’s got to drift—
Sing rally! Ho, rally!

The Hooghli gal ’er face is brown,
The Hilo gal’s a daisy,
The gal that lives by ’Obart town
She’d drive a dead man crazy.
So, pretty an’ plain, it’s Sarah Jane
’Uggin’ an’ kissin’ an’ ‘Come again!’
Sing rally! ri-a-rally!
The seas is deep; the seas is wide;
But this I’ll prove what else betide,
I’m bully in the alley,
Ho! Bullee in the Al-lee!

poem by Edwin James Brady
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Hello & Goodbye

Today youre their best friend
But believe me tomorrow
They dont even know your name
Friendship is a word that has lost its meaning
And making friends a funny game
Tell me why, tell me why
Its always been the same
Tell me why, tell me why
Hello and goodbye
They came without warning
They wont leave when you want it
You wish you could beam em away
But when you really need them
They will never appear
And if you ask them they will never stay
Tell me why, tell me why
Its always been the same
Tell me why, tell me why
Hello and goodbye
Hello and goodbye
Its always been the same
Its always been the same
I can see by your eyes
You thought theyll never go
But tell me please where are they now
Remember me boy cause I told you so
But believe me youll get through somehow

song performed by Fury In The Slaughterhouse
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To someone special

Every road we walk upon has a turning point,
Taken by most to find someone special,
From children to parent, we’re all different,
God has made one blood of streams without equal.

To another person, we fill the heart with bliss,
By our personality, our character, and intrigue,
And no one else has your art of creativeness,
And if dreams come true, your unique point of view.

To tell the thrill of passion to someone special,
For those wonderful times spent together,
To miss them when you’re awake, and stumble,
Quietly to find they were the best times share.

With what matters most, your touch and your smile,
Nobody else is like you, if friend or foe could realize,
You paint a lovely picture of someone special
They will embrace your attributes and ideas.

poem by Gerry Legister
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Life In A Day

Life in a day
The price that you pay
For time that you spent
Its such a fatal event
Take a look at your watch
There is no time to wait
Take a look deep inside
Theres no escape from this day
Life in a day
Life in a day
Take a look around you
Is it true what they say
Life in a day
Life in a day
Is there no place to hide
Could there be some other way
Can you see how they run
Do you believe what they say
Theyll soon be looking for you
For sure theyll get you away
The premonition came true
Look all around and youll see
Some say it takes two to know
Or could it all just be me
Life in a day
Life in a day
I love to see how they run
They came a running this way
Life in a day
Life in a day
No sence in looking for you
Theyre going to get you one day
Life in a day
Life in a day
Lyrics : j kerr music : burchill/kerr (c) emi publishing ltd reproduced without permission

song performed by Simple Minds
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Lord Lundy II - Second Canto

It happened to Lord Lundy then,
As happens to so many men:
Towards the age of twenty-six,
They shoved him into politics;
In which profession he commanded
The Income that his rank demanded
In turn as Secretary for
India, the Colonies, and War.
But very soon his friends began
To doubt is he were quite the man:
Thus if a member rose to say
(As members do from day to day),
'Arising out of that reply . . .!'
Lord Lundy would begin to cry.
A Hint at harmless little jobs
Would shake him with convulsive sobs.
While as for Revelations, these
Would simply bring him to his knees,
And leave him whimpering like a child.
It drove his colleagues raving wild!
They let him sink from Post to Post,
From fifteen hundred at the most
To eight, and barely six-and then
To be Curator of Big Ben!. . .
And finally there came a Threat
To oust him from the Cabinet!

The Duke - his aged grand-sire - bore
The shame till he could bear no more.
He rallied his declining powers,
Summoned the youth to Brackley Towers,
And bitterly addressed him thus-
'Sir! you have disappointed us!
We had intended you to be
The next Prime Minister but three:
The stocks were sold; the Press was squared:
The Middle Class was quite prepared.
But as it is! . . . My language fails!
Go out and govern New South Wales!'

The Aged Patriot groaned and died:
And gracious! how Lord Lundy cried!

poem by Hilaire Belloc
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Sentimental fool

Most intelligent people are considered as sentimental fool
Think too much from different angle and don’t take it cool
Boys or girls are judged best from their initial days in school
Come together at different level but drawn from same pool

Is this so because God has made us little intelligent
Do we consider ourselves as super human or agent?
Why do we take everything from different prospective?
Put extra efforts in solving the problem by being too active

Animals too have mind but not that of human being
They do act, react and behave in no manner like thing
Here it comes to act as difference with fertile mind
Some fine blend of people act funny to look unkind

Mind goes in a direction which is totally unwarranted
Don’t think it positive when actually required and wanted
They find themselves in awkward position and shunted
They remain confined and their move is always blunted

After all it is human being tendency to act or behave
They will think at length difference between have-not’s and have
Unnecessary conclusions and prolonged debate
Simple bogey raised and novel methods to combat

This doesn’t find favor with common people or man
They too have common sense and all capacity as human
Nothing prevents them from being turning into lukewarm
Intelligentsia loose the sympathy and relation doesn’t remain warm

They have their own novel ideas which doesn’t attract
They remain aloof and don’t come into contact or react
It is secluded environment for then which forbade to interact
This is how they have come into being and is simple fact

May be it is possible they have super human mind too
Many ordinary people may not have vision to look through
They will find it extremely difficult to grasp the views
To some it will be simply unbearable and find favor with only few

Their contribution in some of the fields have been unique
They have suffered so much from their own critics
It is strong resolve on their part to sail through with wisdom
Anything could have been nightmare and result of course seldom

Scientists, doctors and researchers fall in this special category
They have different approach and goal to pursue with philosophy
It is their natural talent that has brought us to the new era
Definitely they deserve our sympathy little care extra

Let us be not be that selfish to term them sentimental fool
They are powerful instrument, medium or tool
It is, however, we are all in the same boat
It is fine oratory, example or beautiful quote

poem by Hasmukh Amathalal
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Lord Lundy

Who was too Freely Moved to Tears, and thereby ruined his Political Career

Lord Lundy from his earliest years
Was far too freely moved to Tears.
For instance if his Mother said,
"Lundy! It's time to go to Bed!"
He bellowed like a Little Turk.
Or if his father Lord Dunquerque
Said "Hi!" in a Commanding Tone,
"Hi, Lundy! Leave the Cat alone!"
Lord Lundy, letting go its tail,
Would raise so terrible a wail
As moved His Grandpapa the Duke
To utter the severe rebuke:
"When I, Sir! was a little Boy,
An Animal was not a Toy!"

His father's Elder Sister, who
Was married to a Parvenoo,
Confided to Her Husband, Drat!
The Miserable, Peevish Brat!
Why don't they drown the Little Beast?"
Suggestions which, to say the least,
Are not what we expect to hear
From Daughters of an English Peer.
His Grandmamma, His Mother's Mother,
Who had some dignity or other,
The Garter, or no matter what,
I can't remember all the Lot!
Said "Oh! That I were Brisk and Spry
To give him that for which to cry!"
(An empty wish, alas! For she
Was Blind and nearly ninety-three).

The Dear Old Butler thought-but there!
I really neither know nor care
For what the Dear Old Butler thought!
In my opinion, Butlers ought
To know their place, and not to play
The Old Retainer night and day.
I'm getting tired and so are you,
Let's cut the poem into two!

Second Part

It happened to Lord Lundy then,
As happens to so many men:
Towards the age of twenty-six,
They shoved him into politics;
In which profession he commanded
The Income that his rank demanded
In turn as Secretary for
India, the Colonies, and War.
But very soon his friends began
To doubt is he were quite the man:
Thus if a member rose to say
(As members do from day to day),
"Arising out of that reply . . .!"
Lord Lundy would begin to cry.
A Hint at harmless little jobs
Would shake him with convulsive sobs.
While as for Revelations, these
Would simply bring him to his knees,
And leave him whimpering like a child.
It drove his colleagues raving wild!
They let him sink from Post to Post,
From fifteen hundred at the most
To eight, and barely six--and then
To be Curator of Big Ben!. . .
And finally there came a Threat
To oust him from the Cabinet!

The Duke -- his aged grand-sire -- bore
The shame till he could bear no more.
He rallied his declining powers,
Summoned the youth to Brackley Towers,
And bitterly addressed him thus--
"Sir! you have disappointed us!
We had intended you to be
The next Prime Minister but three:
The stocks were sold; the Press was squared:
The Middle Class was quite prepared.
But as it is! . . . My language fails!
Go out and govern New South Wales!"

The Aged Patriot groaned and died:
And gracious! how Lord Lundy cried!

poem by Hilaire Belloc
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The Island: Canto I.

I.
The morning watch was come; the vessel lay
Her course, and gently made her liquid way;
The cloven billow flashed from off her prow
In furrows formed by that majestic plough;
The waters with their world were all before;
Behind, the South Sea's many an islet shore.
The quiet night, now dappling, 'gan to wane,
Dividing darkness from the dawning main;
The dolphins, not unconscious of the day,
Swam high, as eager of the coming ray;
The stars from broader beams began to creep,
And lift their shining eyelids from the deep;
The sail resumed its lately shadowed white,
And the wind fluttered with a freshening flight;
The purpling Ocean owns the coming Sun,
But ere he break- a deed is to be done.
e
II.
The gallant Chief within his cabin slept,
Secure in those by whom the watch was kept:
His dreams were of Old England's welcome shore,
Of toils rewarded, and of dangers o'er;
His name was added to the glorious roll
Of those who search the storm-surrounded Pole.
The worst was over, and the rest seemed sure,
And why should not his slumber be secure?
Alas! his deck was trod by unwilling feet,
And wilder hands would hold the vessel's sheet;
Young hearts, which languished for some sunny isle,
Where summer years and summer women smile;
Men without country, who, too long estranged,
Had found no native home, or found it changed,
And, half uncivilised, preferred the cave
Of some soft savage to the uncertain wave-
The gushing fruits that nature gave untilled;
The wood without a path- but where they willed;
The field o'er which promiscuous Plenty poured
Her horn; the equal land without a lord;
The wish- which ages have not yet subdued
In man- to have no master save his mood
The earth, whose mine was on its face, unsold,
The glowing sun and produce all its gold;
The Freedom which can call each grot a home;
The general garden, where all steps may roam,
Where Nature owns a nation as her child,
Exulting in the enjoyment of the wild
Their shells, their fruits, the only wealth they know,
Their unexploring navy, the canoe
Their sport, the dashing breakers and the chase;
Their strangest sight, an European face
Such was the country which these strangers yearned
To see again- a sight they dearly earned.

III.
Awake, bold Bligh! the foe is at the gate!
Awake! awake!- Alas! it is too late!
Fiercely beside thy cot the mutineer
Stands, and proclaims the reign of rage and fear.
Thy limbs are bound, the bayonet at thy breast;
The hands, which trembled at thy voice, arrest;
Dragged o'er the deck, no more at thy command
The obedient helm shall veer, the sail expand;
That savage Spirit, which would lull by wrath
Its desperate escape from Duty's path,
Glares round thee, in the scarce believing eyes
Of those who fear the Chief they sacrifice:
For ne'er can Man his conscience all assuage,
Unless he drain the wine of Passion- Rage.

IV.
In vain, not silenced by the eye of Death,
Thou call'st the loyal with thy menaced breath
They come not; they are few, and, overawed,
Must acquiesce, while sterner hearts applaud.
In vain thou dost demand the cause: a curse
Is all the answer, with the threat of worse.
Full in thine eyes is waved the glittering blade,
Close to thy throat the pointed bayonet laid.
The levelled muskets circle round thy breast
In hands as steeled to do the deadly rest.
Thou dar'st them to their worst, exclaiming- 'Fire!'
But they who pitied not could yet admire;
Some lurking remnant of their former awe
Restrained them longer than their broken law;
They would not dip their souls at once in blood,
But left thee to the mercies of the flood.

V.
'Hoist out the boat!' was now the leader's cry;
And who dare answer 'No!' to Mutiny,
In the first dawning of the drunken hour,
The Saturnalia of unhoped-for power?
The boat is lowered with all the haste of hate,
With its slight plank between thee and thy fate;
Her only cargo such a scant supply
As promises the death their hands deny;
And just enough of water and of bread
To keep, some days, the dying from the dead:
Some cordage, canvass, sails, and lines, and twine,
But treasures all to hermits of the brine,
Were added after, to the earnest prayer
Of those who saw no hope, save sea and air;
And last, that trembling vassal of the Pole-
The feeling compass- Navigation's soul.

VI.
And now the self-elected Chief finds time
To stun the first sensation of his crime,
And raise it in his followers- ' Ho! the bowl!'
Lest passion should return to reason's shoal.
'Brandy for heroes!' Burke could once exclaim-
No doubt a liquid path to Epic fame;
And such the new-born heroes found it here,
And drained the draught with an applauding cheer,
'Huzza! for Otaheite!' was the cry.
How strange such shouts from sons of Mutiny!
The gentle island, and the genial soil,
The friendly hearts, the feasts without a toil,
The courteous manners but from nature caught,
The wealth unhoarded, and the love unbought; sic
Could these have charms for rudest sea-boys, driven
Before the mast by every wind of heaven?
And now, even now prepared with others' woes
To earn mild Virtue's vain desire, repose?
Alas! such is our nature! all but aim
At the same end by pathways not the same;
Our means- our birth- our nation, and our name,
Our fortune- temper- even our outward frame,
Are far more potent o'er our yielding clay
Than aught we know beyond our little day.
Yet still there whispers the small voice within,
Heard through Gain's silence, and o'er Glory's din:
Whatever creed be taught, or land be trod,
Man's conscience is the Oracle of God.

VII.
The launch is crowded with the faithful few
Who wait their Chief, a melancholy crew:
But some remained reluctant on the deck
Of that proud vessel- now a moral wreck-
And viewed their Captain's fate with piteous eyes;
While others scoffed his augured miseries,
Sneered at the prospect of his pigmy sail,
And the slight bark so laden and so frail.
The tender nautilus, who steers his prow,
The sea-born sailor of his shell canoe,
The ocean Mab, the fairy of the sea,
Seems far less fragile, and, alas! more free.
He, when the lightning-winged Tornados sweep
The surge, is safe- his port is in the deep-
And triumphs o'er the armadas of Mankind,
Which shake the World, yet crumble in the wind.

VIII.
When all was now prepared, the vessel clear
Which hailed her master in the mutineer,
A seaman, less obdurate than his mates,
Showed the vain pity which but irritates;
Watched his late Chieftain with exploring eye,
And told, in signs, repentant sympathy;
Held the moist shaddock to his parchéd mouth,
Which felt Exhaustion's deep and bitter drouth.
But soon observed, this guardian was withdrawn,
Nor further Mercy clouds Rebellion's dawn.
Then forward stepped the bold and froward boy
His Chief had cherished only to destroy,
And, pointing to the helpless prow beneath,
Exclaimed, 'Depart at once! delay is death!'
Yet then, even then, his feelings ceased not all:
In that last moment could a word recall
Remorse for the black deed as yet half done,
And what he hid from many showed to one:
When Bligh in stern reproach demanded where
Was now his grateful sense of former care?
Where all his hopes to see his name aspire,
And blazon Britain's thousand glories higher?
His feverish lips thus broke their gloomy spell,
''Tis that! 'Tis that! I am in hell! in hell!'
No more he said; but urging to the bark
His Chief, commits him to his fragile ark;
These the sole accents from his tongue that fell,
But volumes lurked below his fierce farewell.

IX.
The arctic Sun rose broad above the wave;
The breeze now sank, now whispered from his cave;
As on the Aeolian harp, his fitful wings
Now swelled, now fluttered o'er his Ocean strings.
With slow, despairing oar, the abandoned skiff
Ploughs its drear progress to the scarce seen cliff,
Which lifts its peak a cloud above the main:
That boat and ship shall never meet again!

But 'tis not mine to tell their tale of grief,
Their constant peril, and their scant relief;
Their days of danger, and their nights of pain;
Their manly courage even when deemed in vain;
The sapping famine, rendering scarce a son
Known to his mother in the skeleton;
The ills that lessened still their little store,
And starved even Hunger till he wrung no more;
The varying frowns and favours of the deep,
That now almost ingulfs, then leaves to creep
With crazy oar and shattered strength along
The tide that yields reluctant to the strong;
The incessant fever of that arid thirst
Which welcomes, as a well, the clouds that burst
Above their naked bones, and feels delight
In the cold drenching of the stormy night,
And from the outspread canvass gladly wrings
A drop to moisten Life's all-gasping springs;
The savage foe escaped, to seek again
More hospitable shelter from the main;
The ghastly Spectres which were doomed at last
To tell as true a tale of dangers past,
As ever the dark annals of the deep
Disclosed for man to dread or woman weep.

X.
We leave them to their fate, but not unknown
Nor unredressed. Revenge may have her own:
Roused Discipline aloud proclaims their cause,
And injured Navies urge their broken laws.
Pursue we on his track the mutineer,
Whom distant vengeance had not taught to fear.
Wide o'er the wave-away! away! away!
Once more his eyes shall hail the welcome bay;
Once more the happy shores without a law
Receive the outlaws whom they lately saw;
Nature, and Nature's goddess-Woman-woos
To lands where, save their conscience, none accuse;
Where all partake the earth without dispute,
And bread itself is gathered as a fruit;
Where none contest the fields, the woods, the streams
The goldless Age, where Gold disturbs no dreams,
Inhabits or inhabited the shore,
Till Europe taught them better than before;
Bestowed her customs, and amended theirs,
But left her vices also to their heirs.
Away with this! behold them as they were,
Do good with Nature, or with Nature err.
'Huzza! for Otaheite!' was the cry,
As stately swept the gallant vessel by.
The breeze springs up; the lately flapping sail
Extends its arch before the growing gale;
In swifter ripples stream aside the seas,
Which her bold bow flings off with dashing ease.
Thus Argo ploughed the Euxine's virgin foam,
But those she wafted still looked back to home;
These spurn their country with their rebel bark,
And fly her as the raven fled the Ark;
And yet they seek to nestle with the dove,
And tame their fiery spirits down to Love.

poem by Byron
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Progress in the Pacific

Lapp'd in blue Pacific waters lies an isle of green and gold,
A garden of enchantment such as Eden was of old;
And the innocent inhabitants, pure children of the sun,
Resembled those of Eden, too—in more respects than one.

But included in its list of charms this peaceful isle possessed
A feature that seemed rather out of keeping with the rest;
A huge volcano frowned above palm-grove and taropatch
That ev'n for Krakatoa might have proved an equal match.

“Might have proved,” I say advisèdly,—for ages now had past
Since this passion-worn volcano in a fit had breathed its last;
Now flowery vegetation draped its shoulders like a shawl—
Only the sullen cone stood unapparelled over all.

To this happy bower of innocence, this Island of the Blest,
Came two Melbourne Presbyterians—no matter on what quest—
Leading men in Church and Market, always found within the ring,
John McTaggart, William Wallace, Agents for—for everything.

How glowed their weary hearts before the beauty of the scene,
The palm-groves, the acacia-groves, and all the varied green!
How swelled their souls with sentiment when, swarming from their huts,
Oame the simple natives wooing them with pigs and cocoa-nuts!

“Eh, man, but this is sweet!” said John, and wiped away a tear.
“It is good for us (I say with the apostle) to be here.
The islands are God's handiwork, their beauties are His own—
And, Weelyum—man, there should be lots of sulphur in that cone!

“These natives are a guileless folk, as we can well discern,
But how to make gunpowder is a thing they yet may learn.
Now, gunpowder leads to homicides, and other sinful scenes,
And I feel it is our duty to deprive them of the means.

“So lest some flagitious traders should come fossicking about,
This very day we'll purchase that volcano out and out.
Lest guilt should stain these blameless souls we'll form a Sulphur Co.”—
And, William, though a silent man, replied to him, “Juist so.”
Then they summoned their interpreter and made their wishes known,
And before the day was over that volcano was their own,
And the chiefs were paid the price in costly axes, hooks and knives,
While invaluable necklaces were showered upon their wives.

But not before McTaggart had impressed the native mind
With a solemn deed of transfer of a strictly legal kind,

Which Scripture, fraught, as was supposed, with threats and terrors dark,
Was attested by the signature of “Na-Galoo, His Mark.”

Then home they sailed, nor thought again for many and many a day
Of their potential riches in that island far away:
They had other fish to fry and other irons in the fire,
And success upon success but seemed to multiply desire.

But at length there came a season when their wealth developed wings,
And their hearts grew sad within them at the general look of things,
But most of all they sorrowed at the worldliness and pride
Of the smarter men who bested them and hustled them aside.

Said McTaggart, “Let us quit this sordid sphere, and for a while
Let us bathe our souls in innocence in yon sequestered isle;
The aims of men are vanity; life's but a fleeting show—
And the Argus says that sulphur's up.”—And William said “Juist so.”

So they raised, and raised with credit, all the necessary plant,
Nor forgot amid their haste that solemn league and covenant;
And thus and thus it came to pass ere many days had fled
That the island lay before them, and the grey cone towered o'erhead.

But where—where were the simple folk that greeted them of yore
And who were these red-shirted swells that met them on the shore,
And covered them with muskets of a fashion obsolete,
But possibly still lethal if discharged at twenty feet?

Alas, too soon they gathered from their semi-English speech
That the sixty three Kanaka bucks who blocked them on the beach
Were time-expired “Returns,” enlightened men, who not in vain
Had spent the intervening years in Queensland trashing cane.

“You come take solfa,” cried a Chief, who recognised the two,
“Flenchman Comp'ny buy him solfa. Solfa no belonga you
We sell him Comp'ny thing man call in Queensland mineral lease”—
And sixty-three Kanaka smiles broke up the evening peace.

Then McTaggart, white with godly ire, yet calm in sense of right,
Drew forth the sacred covenant and spread it to the light,—
“I bought your hill entire,” he said; “the whole volcano's mine!”
But the Chieftain took the document and read it line by line

Read it word by word and line by line, date, signature and all,
As one who fain would do the right although the heaven's should fall,
Then delivered this decision, “Hill belonga you all right.
But paper no say solfa. Flenchman buy him that. Goo' night.”

* * * * *
“Is this the land,” McTaggart cried, “where we had fondly thought

To bathe our souls in innocence and bag what we had bought!
Sawtan hath made this isle his own! Arise and let us go.
Weelyum, Progress is a curse! a curse!” And William said “Juist so.”

poem by James Brunton Stephens
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