III. THE HOPE OF THEIR RELIGION A good old negro in the slums of the town And some had visions, as they stood on chairs, And slammed with their hymn books till they shook the room With "Glory, glory, glory," And "Boom, boom, Booм." THEN I SAW THE CONGO, CREEPING THROUGH THE BLACK, CUTTING THROUGH THE JUNGLE WITH A GOLDEN TRACK. And the gray sky opened like a new-rent veil And showed the Apostles with their coats of mail. In bright white steel they were seated round And their fire-eyes watched where the Congo wound. And the twelve Apostles, from their thrones on high, Thrilled all the forest with their heavenly "Mumbo-Jumbo will die in the jungle; Heavy bass. Exactly as in the first section. Begin with terror and power, end with joy. Never again will he hoo-doo you, Then along that river, a thousand miles, For a Congo paradise, for babes at play, And silken pennants that the sun shone 'Twas a land transfigured, 'twas a new creation, Oh, a singing wind swept the negro nation; And on through the backwoods clearing flew: "Mumbo-Jumbo is dead in the jungle. Never again will he hoo-doo you. Never again will he hoo-doo you." Redeemed were the forests, the beasts and the men, And only the vulture dared again By the far, lone mountains of the moon Sung to the tune of Hark, ten thousand harps and voices. With growing deliberation and joy. In a rather high key-as delicately as possible. To the tune of Dying off into a penetrating, terrified whisper - Vachel Lindsay THE DUNGEON FROM Osorio, Act V And this place our forefathers made for man! His energies roll back upon his heart, And stagnate and corrupt, till, chang'd to poison, They break out on him, like a loathsome plague-spot! Then we call in our pamper'd mountebanks — And this is their best cure! uncomforted And friendless solitude, groaning and tears, Seen through the steams and vapor of his dungeon, With other ministrations thou, O Nature! Thy sunny hues, fair forms, and breathing sweets, To be a jarring and a dissonant thing His angry spirit heal'd and harmoniz'd By the benignant touch of love and beauty. Samuel Taylor Coleridge WHAT CONSTITUTES A STATE? FROM An Ode in Imitation of Alcaus What constitutes a State? Not high-raised battlement or labored mound, Not cities proud with spires and turrets crowned; Where, laughing at the storm, rich navies ride; Where low-browed baseness wafts perfume to pride; Men who their duties know, But know their rights, and knowing, dare maintain, Prevent the long-aimed blow, And crush the tyrant while they rend the chain: These constitute a State. ... - William Jones EACH AND ALL Little thinks, in the field, yon red-cloaked clown The heifer that lows in the upland farm, Stops his horse, and lists with delight, Whilst his files sweep round yon Alpine height; Thy life to thy neighbor's creed has lent. I thought the sparrow's note from heaven, The delicate shells lay on the shore; Had left their beauty on the shore With the sun and the sand and the wild uproar. The lover watched his graceful maid, As 'mid the virgin train she strayed, Nor knew her beauty's best attire Was woven still by the snow-white choir. At last she came to his hermitage, Like the bird from the woodlands to the cage; The gay enchantment was undone, A gentle wife, but fairy none. |