Poetry Explorer- Classic Contemporary Poetry, SWEET AND SOUR; A PRISON SERMON, by THOMAS OSBORNE DAVIS


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Classic and Contemporary Poetry

SWEET AND SOUR; A PRISON SERMON, by                     Poet's Biography
First Line: Tis sweet to climb the mountain crest
Last Line: "oftenest from his ashes!"
Subject(s): Prisons & Prisoners; Convicts


I.

"TIS sweet to climb the mountain-crest,
And run, like deer-hound, down its breast,
'Tis sweet to snuff the taintless air,
And sweep the sea with haughty stare:
And, sad it is, when iron bars
Keep watch between you and the stars;
And sad to find your footstep stayed
By prison-wall and palisade:
But 'twere better be
A prisoner for ever,
With no destiny
To do, or to endeavour;
Better life to spend
A martyr or confessor,
Than in silence bend
To alien and oppressor.

II.

'Tis sweet to rule an ample realm,
Through weal and woe to hold the helm;
And sweet to strew, with plenteous hand,
Strength, health, and beauty, round your land:
And sad it is to be unprized,
While dotards rule, unrecognised;
And sad your little ones to see
Writhe in the gripe of poverty:
But 'twere better pine
In rags and gnawing hunger,
While around you whine
Your elder and your younger;
Better lie in pain,
And rise in pain to-morrow,
Than o'er millions reign,
While those millions sorrow.

III.

'Tis sweet to own a quiet hearth,
Begirt by constancy and mirth;
'Twere sweet to feel your dying clasp
Returned by friendship's steady grasp
And sad it is, to spend your life,
Like sea-bird in the ceaseless strife --
Your lullaby the ocean's roar,
Your resting-place a foreign shore:
But 'twere better live,
Like ship caught by Lofoden,
Than your spirit give
To be by chains corroden.
Best of all to yield
Your latest breath, when lying
On a victor field,
With the green flag flying!

IV.

Human joy and human sorrow,
Light or shade from conscience borrow;
The tyrant's crown is lined with flame,
Life never paid the coward's shame:
The miser's lock is never sure,
The traitor's home is never pure;
While seraphs guard, and cherubs tend
The good man's life and brave man's end:
But their fondest care
Is the patriot's prison,
Hymning through its air --
"Freedom hath arisen,
Oft from statesmen's strife,
Oft from battle's flashes,
Oft from hero's life,
Oftenest from his ashes!"





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