Poetry Explorer- Classic Contemporary Poetry, A SONG OF CONTRDICTIONS, by SAMUEL LAMAN BLANCHARD


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Classic and Contemporary Poetry

A SONG OF CONTRDICTIONS, by                     Poet's Biography
First Line: The passions, in festival meeting
Last Line: And light in the desolate soul!
Alternate Author Name(s): Blanchard, Laman
Subject(s): Human Behavior; Conduct Of Life; Human Nature


The Passions, in festival meeting,
I saw seated round, in a dream;
And vow, by my hatred of cheating,
The Passions are not what they seem.
There's mirth under faces the gravest,
There's woe under visages droll;
There's fear in the breast of the bravest,
And light in the desolate soul.

Thus Joy, in my singular vision,
Sat sobbing and gnashing his teeth;
While Gentleness scoffed in derision,
And Hope picked the buds from his wreath.
Despair, her tight bodice unlacing,
With Laughter seemed ready to die;
And Hate, her companions embracing,
Won each with a smile or a sigh.

There Peace bellowed louder and louder,
For Freedom, sent off to the hulks;
Fear sat on a barrel of powder,
And Pleasure stood by in the sulks.
Here Dignity shoots like a rocket
Past Grace, who is rolling in fat;
There Probity's picking a pocket,
Here Pity sits skinning a cat.

Then Temperance reeling off, quite full,
Charged Friendship with drugging her draught;
She vowed it was Love that was spiteful,
While Charity, blaming all, laught;
When Rage, with the blandest expression,
And Vengeance, low-voiced like a child,
Cried, 'Mercy, forgive the transgression!'
But Mercy look'd horribly wild.

Old Wisdom was worshipping Fashion,
And Jollity dozing in gloom;
While Meekness was foaming with passion,
And Misery danced round the room.
Sweet Envy tripped off to her garret,
Bright Malice smiled worthy of trust,
Gay Want was enjoying his claret,
And Luxury gnawed a dry crust.

At Pride, as she served up the dinner,
Humility turned up her nose;
Suspicion shook hands with each sinner,
While Candour shunned all as her foes.
There's mirth under faces the gravest,
There's woe under visages droll,
There's fear in the breast of the bravest,
And light in the desolate soul!





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