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Charles Mackay

If happy I and wretched he, Perhaps the king would change with me.

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An arrow may fly through the air and leave no trace; but an ill thought leaves a trail like a serpent.

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He who has mingled in the fray of duty that the brave endure, must have made foes. If you have none, small is the work that you have done.

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Men, it has been well said, think in herds; it will be seen that they go mad in herds, while they only recover their senses slowly, and one by one.

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There is no such thing as death. In nature nothing dies. From each sad remnant of decay, some forms of life arise so shall his life be taken away before he knoweth that he hath it.

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War in men's eyes shall be A monster of iniquity In the good time coming. Nations shall not quarrel then, To prove which is the stronger; Nor slaughter men for glory's sake; - Wait a little longer.

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Money, again, has often been a cause of the delusion of the multitudes. Sober nations have all at once become desperate gamblers, and risked almost their existence upon the turn of a piece of paper.

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The Alder Tree

Alder tree, O alder tree,
Over his grave reclining;
I've braided a wreath of the fairest flowers
That ever were fed by the spring-time showers.
Or nursed by the summer shining.
Short, but lovely, their lives have been,
Like his in the damp sod sleeping,
And I strew them now on the hillock green,
Where a mournful watch I'm keeping.

Alder tree! O alder tree!
Is it a voice of sorrow
That sighs 'mong thy leaves in the silent night,
When the radiant hue of the moonshine bright
Announceth a pleasant morrow?
'Tis a voice of wailing, O alder tree,
'Tis the evening breeze that weepeth,
'Tis the nightingale singing a song like me,
O'er the grave where my loved one sleepeth!

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The Green Bay Tree

'Where is the place of their first fond meeting,
'Where, oh where, is that green bay tree,
'Under whose cover
'The maid and her lover
'Plighted their troth and their constancy?'
O the winter nights were bleak and dreary,
The storms of summer were fierce and free;
Its trunk is shattered,
Its branches are scattered,
O! withered and dead is that green bay tree!

'Where are the lovers who courted its shadow,
'Where, oh where, may those fond ones be?
'The troth which they plighted,
'How is it requited-
'Say, have they forgotten that green bay tree?'
The lover was fickle, and would not remember;
He met with another more fair than she;
For her-broken-hearted,
Her peace hath departed,

[...] Read more

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The Song Of An Emigrant

Far away! O far away,
Over the wide sea's bounding spray,
Many a league o'er the pelting foam.
We seek a country, we seek a home!
Farewell, England! our native land,
Lingering still on thy verdant strand,
We look our last on thy once-loved shore,
And vow in our hearts to return no more.

Far away! O far away!
Nothing invites us here to stay.
England, our mother, is hard as stone,
And shuts her ear to her children's moan,
And running on to destruction sure,
Pampers the rich, and grinds the poor!
Farewell, England! A last farewell!
We fly thy shores, but we wish thee well.

Far away! O far away!
We seek a world o'er the ocean spray.

[...] Read more

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