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# The Times/1943/Obituary/George Stead Veitch

Source: The Times (London, England), Thursday, Jun 24, 1943; pg. 7; Issue 49580. — Obituary.
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Professor G. S. Veitch
Professor George Stead Veitch, LL.D., Andrew Geddes and John Rankin Professor of Modern History at Liverpool University, died at Liverpool yesterday.
Born at Rochdale on November 22, 1885, son of the late Rev. R. Veitch, hew was educated at Liverpool Institute High School, at Liverpool University, and at the Sorbonne. At Liverpool he obtained first class honours in Modern History in 1906, was Charles Beard Research Fellow 1906-7, was University Fellow 1907-8, and after begin assistant lecturer, lecturer, senior lecturer, and in charge of the Department of Modern History, he was elected to the Chair in 1923. His numerous publications included "History of the British People (1815-1914)." He was a member of the Joint Matriculation Board for the Northern Universities, and had been external examiner at various times for the universities of Oxford, Birmingham, Reading and London. In 1919, he married Dr. Janet Inches, Ph.D.
This work is anonymous or pseudonymous, and is in the public domain in the United States because it was first published outside the United States (and not published in the U.S. within 30 days), and it was first published before 1989 without complying with U.S. copyright formalities (renewal and/or copyright notice) and it was in the public domain in its home country on the URAA date (January 1, 1996 for most countries). It is also in the public domain in other countries and areas where the copyright terms of anonymous or pseudonymous works are 80 years or less since publication.
This work may be in the public domain in countries and areas with longer native copyright terms that apply the rule of the shorter term to foreign works.
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# The Thousandth Man

One man in a thousand, Solomon says, Will stick more close than a brother. And it’s worth while seeking him half your days If you find him before the other. Nine nundred and ninety-nine depend On what the world sees in you, But the Thousandth man will stand your friend With the whole round world agin you.
'Tis neither promise nor prayer nor show Will settle the finding for 'ee. Nine hundred and ninety-nine of 'em go By your looks, or your acts, or your glory. But if he finds you and you find him. The rest of the world don’t matter; For the Thousandth Man will sink or swim With you in any water.
You can use his purse with no more talk Than he uses yours for his spendings, And laugh and meet in your daily walk As though there had been no lendings. Nine hundred and ninety-nine of 'em call For silver and gold in their dealings; But the Thousandth Man h’s worth 'em all, Because you can show him your feelings.
His wrong’s your wrong, and his right’s your right, In season or out of season. Stand up and back it in all men’s sight — With that for your only reason! Nine hundred and ninety-nine can’t bide The shame or mocking or laughter, But the Thousandth Man will stand by your side To the gallows-foot — and after!
# The Thread of Life

This work was published before January 1, 1929, and is in the public domain worldwide because the author died at least 100 years ago.
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I
The irresponsive silence of the land, The irresponsive sounding of the sea, Speak both one message of one sense to me: — Aloof, aloof, we stand aloof, so stand Thou too aloof bound with the flawless band Of inner solitude; we bind not thee; But who from thy self-chain shall set thee free? What heart shall touch thy heart? what hand thy hand? — And I am sometimes proud and sometimes meek, And sometimes I remember days of old When fellowship seemed not so far to seek And all the world and I seemed much less cold, And at the rainbow's foot lay surely gold, And hope felt strong and life itself not weak.
II
Thus am I mine own prison. Everything Around me free and sunny and at ease: Or if in shadow, in a shade of trees Which the sun kisses, where the gay birds sing And where all winds make various murmuring; Where bees are found, with honey for the bees; Where sounds are music, and where silences Are music of an unlike fashioning. Then gaze I at the merrymaking crew, And smile a moment and a moment sigh Thinking: Why can I not rejoice with you? But soon I put the foolish fancy by: I am not what I have nor what I do; But what I was I am, I am even I.
III
Therefore myself is that one only thing I hold to use or waste, to keep or give; My sole possession every day I live, And still mine own despite Time's winnowing. Ever mine own, while moons and seasons bring From crudeness ripeness mellow and sanitive; Ever mine own, till Death shall ply his sieve; And still mine own, when saints break grave and sing. And this myself as king unto my King I give, to Him Who gave Himself for me; Who gives Himself to me, and bids me sing A sweet new song of His redeemed set free; he bids me sing: O death, where is thy sting? And sing: O grave, where is thy victory?
# The Thousand Nights and a Night (poem)

TO RICHARD FRANCIS BURTON.
Athwart the welkin slant the snows and pile On sill and balcony, their feathery feet Trip o'er the landscape, and pursuing sleet Earth's brow beglooming, robs the skies of smile: Lies in her mourning-shroud our Northern Isle And bitter winds in battle o'er her meet. Her world is death-like, when behold! we greet Light-gleams from morning-land in welcome while.
A light of golden mine and orient pearl-- Vistas of fairy-land, where Beauty reigns And Valiance revels; cloudless moon, fierce sun, The wold, the palm-tree; cities; hosts; a whirl Of life in tents and palaces and fanes: The light that streams from THOUSAND NIGHTS AND ONE.
Isabel Burton,
Tangier, Marocco: Feb. 19, 1886.
# The Threat to the Labor Movement

The Threat to the Labor Movement
The Conspiracy Against the Trade Unions
Efficiency Unions for the Bosses
or
Effective Unions for the Workers
By WILLIAM F. DUNNE
* Introduction
* Evidences of a New Offensive.
* Role of Right Wing in the Strike.
* Right Wing Leaders Hold Conference.
* The Right Wing Press.
* National Character of Right Wing Drive.
* Background of Present Struggle.
* Growing Influence of Left Wing.
* Right Wing Treachery Towards Sacco and Vanzetti.
* The United Front of Reaction—The Official Socialist Press.
* The Official Trade Union Press.
* Capitalist Press Supports Right Wing.
* Lying About Passaic.
* "Selling" a Dangerous Doctrine to the Workers.
* Evidences of Degeneration of Labor Movement.
* Leading Capitalist Organ in Full Accord.
* Unity of Bosses, Government and Trade Union Officials.
* Strikes—the Achievements of Right and Left Wings Compared.
* The Fight Is on the Right to Strike.
* Political Parties and Trade Unions.
* The Role of the Socialist Party Officialdom.
* Further Steps Toward Unity of Reaction.
* The Rise of the Needle Trades Left Wing.
* S. P. Bureaucrats and the S. P. Press.
* Difference on Policy in S. P.
* Pure Reaction Is Official S. P. Policy.
* Basing a Policy on Betrayal of Masses.
* No Program for Present.
* Accept Policy of Trade Union Officialdom.
* "Destroying" Trade Unions.
* "Uninterrupted and Increased Production"—Slogan of American Imperialism.
* Labor Agents of Imperialism.
* Incomes of Labor Officials.
* Lenin's Views on Official Corruption.
* Proof of Guilt from Official Statements.
* Goal and Methods of Left Wing.
* The Communist Position.
* Insert
* Corrections
This work is in the public domain in the United States because it was published before January 1, 1929.
The longest-living author of this work died in 1953, so this work is in the public domain in countries and areas where the copyright term is the author's life plus 70 years or less. This work may be in the public domain in countries and areas with longer native copyright terms that apply the rule of the shorter term to foreign works.
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# The Unconquered Air, and Other Poems (1912)/Dawn

DAWN
In Orient mystery Thou veilest thee, Pale daughter of the never-quenchéd Light, Who from the couch of Night By swift-ascending steeds to heaven art borne Ere yet thy sister, Morn, Awaiting, dons her wondrous vesture bright.
Like to a handmaid lowly, day by day Thou dost prepare her way; But when soft-trailing saffron and warm rose Half hide and half disclose Her glowing beauty rare,— When living things her sweet breath quaff, And lift their heads for joy of her, and laugh, Thou art no longer there.
Yet, ah, there moments be, Child of Hyperion, sacred to thee, That dearer gifts confer; When mortals lay before thy sun-lit shrine A thankfulness of worship more divine Than any offered her:
When, after night distressful spent— Night sleepless and intolerably long, ​Comes—unexpected, eloquent— A tentative, faint note of song! And the o'erwearied watcher sighs, And lying still, with tear-wet eyes, Hearkens the most celestial lays Earth knows; and sees Night's curtains drawn Slowly aside, and whispers: "Dawn!"— Yearning beholds the tender gleam Of Hope's pale star, where it doth beam Eternal on thy brow, And in its ray composed and blest, Sinks into rest.
# The Unconquered Air, and Other Poems (1912)/Divination

DIVINATION
How do you know the Spring is nigh, Heart, my heart? Is it a something in the sky? Is it a perfume wafted by? Or is it your own longing's cry— Heart, my heart?
Oh, yes, I know you 've ways to tell, Heart, my heart, When Spring released from Winter's spell Sows amaranth and asphodel: Ways tender and impalpable, Heart, my heart:
Signs that have never yet betrayed, Heart, my heart:— The bluebird's note in a leafless glade, An answering rapture, half afraid, The dream-filled eyes of a shy, sweet maid,— Heart, my heart!
# The Unconquered Air, and Other Poems (1912)/Dream the Great Dream

DREAM THE GREAT DREAM
Dream the Great Dream, though you should dream—you, only, And friendless follow in the lofty quest. Though the dream lead you to a desert lonely, Or drive you, like the tempest, without rest, Yet, toiling upward to the highest altar, There lay before the gods your gift supreme,— A human heart whose courage did not falter Though distant as Arcturus shone the Gleam.
The Gleam?—Ah, question not if others see it, Who nor the yearning nor the passion share; Grieve not if children of the earth decree it— The earth, itself,—their goddess, only fair! The soul has need of prophet and redeemer: Her outstretched wings against her prisoning bars, She waits for truth; and truth is with the dreamer,— Persistent as the myriad light of stars!
# The Unconquered Air, and Other Poems (1912)/Exaltation—After the French of Victor Hugo

EXALTATION
After the French of Victor Hugo.
Alone by the waves, on a starlight night, No mist on the sea, not a cloud in sight, My eyes pierced further than earth's desires; And nature—all nature, the hills, and the woods, Seemed to question, with murmur of myriad moods, The waves of the sea and the heavenly fires.
And the infinite legion of golden stars Replied in a chant of harmonious bars, Their scintillant crowns seeming earthward to nod; And the waves, which no puissance can rule or arrest, Made answer, while curbing the foam of each crest: —It is God! it is God! it is God!
# The Unconquered Air, and Other Poems (1912)/Cupid and the Muses

CUPID AND THE MUSES
"Revetior illas, mater; nam venerandae sunt, et semper quiddam commeditantur. . ."—Lucian.
Once lovely Venus to her wayward boy— Her wilful torment and her keen delight— Spake chidingly:—"Why must you me annoy With your capricious wiles by day and night? Perplexing child, display your arts elsewhere: Turn you to those whom idly now you spare! Cold in content, and armored in their pride, Behold the Muses!—let them claim your care!" To whom the laughing Cupid:—"Nay, I've tried What ways I know, to move those ladies fair; But, ah, my mother, they're so occupied!"
# The Unconquered Air, and Other Poems (1912)/Deathless Death

DEATHLESS DEATH
IN MEMORY OF RICHARD WATSON GILDER
We who have seen the seed fall without sound Into the lifeless ground, Through wintry days are tempted to forget How Spring will come with the first violet In her dark hair, Fresh and more fair Than we remembered her, a glad surprise In the veiled azure of her shadowy eyes.
Fear doth the heart deceive, And still we grieve Where we should lift the voice In triumph, and rejoice Amid our sorrow, Because of what the past Has given that is beauteous and shall last— A heritage of blessing for the morrow.
Lo, in what perfect trust Nature confides her darlings to the dust! The rose, the crocus, the narcissus sweet, She lays to rest, undoubting, at her feet ​Who from the meadows bright Was snatched away to rule in the sad light Of Hades, and to learn Its lessons stern. For Nature's faith is deep That, waking from the dark and dreamless sleep, Her flowers toward the sun shall wistful yearn, And in the fragrant breast of Proserpine return.
Ah, lover true of men, Forgive, forgive us, then, If choked by tears we falter in our praise, Remembering that we no more again Shall hold glad converse with thy spirit brave, Nor from thy lips hear words that lift and save, Through all the lengthening number of our days!
By the great Silence thou art set apart From all the restless travail of the heart That beats in us So passionate and strong— Art passed beyond the evening angelus And Memnon's morning song. ··········
Man's life on earth—how brief! Yet we with Nature hold the high belief, E'en when our hearts are breaking, That death is but the vital way, ​Darkness the shadow of the day, And sleep the door to waking!
And shall we still with tears Pay tribute sad to one whose soul endears Even the dark, dark river it hath crossed? Shall we in grief forget The sweetness and the glory of our debt, And that no good, once given, can be lost?
Distant thy dwelling seems, Poet and patriot!—but, ah, thy dreams Are living as the flame of sacrifice! Therefore love's roses now We lay amidst the laurel for thy brow, Grateful that souls like thine our earth emparadise.
# The Unconquered Air, and Other Poems (1912)/Eagles—Gibert's Battle for the Air

EAGLES
GIBERT'S BATTLE FOR THE AIR
It rose, and swam into the sky— The man-made bird; And the great Eagle saw it fly— Saw it, and heard The whirring of its plumeless wings,— The bird that mounts and soars, but never sings!
The falcon-eyes that face the sun Blinked on the flight Of the dread creature that had won The unwelcome right To leave its native earth, and dare Intrude upon the monarch of the Air!
As moved the monoplane, the man, Strange soul of it, Sailing the sea cerulean, The whole of it Seemed his; ay, subject to his sway. Then he beheld—an Eagle in his way!
Awed, each upon the other gazed A moment's space, ​When sudden-swooping talons grazed The pale man face, As the fierce earn, there, mid the skies Struck with blind fury at his rival's eyes.
Up-fluttering, the feathered king Plunged down again. His rushing anger seemed to bring Fate nearer; then The man-bird knew the moment's strife Not for supremacy alone, but life!
With nerve that grows, in peril, great, He toward him drew A thing to strengthen him with Fate; Whence instant flew A wingéd death, and far behind Headlong the Eagle fell, the abyss to find.
Thy fight was over, glorious bird!— Thy scornful strength, Which the sky's sovereignty conferred, Subdued at length,— An autumn leaf against the wind, In conflict with a greater power—called Mind!
# The Unconquered Air, and Other Poems (1912)/Eros

EROS
I, who am Love, come clothed in mystery, As rose my beauteous mother from the Sea, Veiling my luminous wings from mortal sight— Whether at noon or in the star-strewn night— That I may pass unrecognized and free.
Ignoring them that idly seek for me, Unto mine own, from all eternity I come with heart aflame and torch alight— I who am Love!
What bring I them? Ah, draughts that sweeter be Than welling waters of Callirrhoe! What give I them? Life!—even in Death's despite; And upward still I lead them to the height Of an immortal passion's purity!— I who am Love.
# The Unconquered Air, and Other Poems (1912)/Every Night at Marathon

EVERY NIGHT AT MARATHON
"In their plains the neighing of horses is heard nightly, and men are seen fighting; and those who purposely come as hearers or spectators into these plains suffer for their curiosity; but such as are accidentally witnesses of these prodigies are not injured by the anger of the dæmons. The Marathonians highly honor those that have fallen in battle and give them the appellation of heroes."—Pausanias.
Every night at Marathon (Shepherd boy, beware!)— Every night at Marathon Sounds are in the air: Ghostly sounds, the heart dismaying, As of maddened horses neighing, Over all the plain.
Every night at Marathon (Boy, the vision fly!)— Every night at Marathon, 'Neath a darkened sky, Form with form in shadow blending, Warrior-shapes are seen contending As in conflict vain.
These are they at Marathon (Mark, O shepherd-lad!) ​Who, for freedom, to the gods Offered all they had; Who in danger, Death defying, Triumphed over Fate in dying, For our gain—our gain!
Dæmons sentinel the field; Venture thou not near,— Neither seek those forms to view, Nor those sounds to hear. This enough for thee: they perish Never!—whom the high gods cherish One with life remain.
# The Unconquered Air, and Other Poems (1912)/Fairer Than Violets Are

This poem was not included in Mrs. Coates' collected Poems (1916, in 2 vols.).
FAIRER THAN VIOLETS ARE
Fairer than violets are That blossom in the virgin Spring, More sweet than the song of birds When first of love they sing, A gift of pure and perfect worth, She came to this our darkened earth A smile of God to bring:
She came that we might lay Our griefs, submissive, 'neath the sod; She came that light might beam From every path she trod; She came that memory might confer Blessing and hope, for, knowing her, We know the love of God.
# The Thrush and the Fowler

Perry index 86
* "The Thrush and the Fowler", translated by George Fyler Townsend, in Three Hundred Æsop's Fables (1867)
* "A Fox and a Weazel", in Fables of Æsop and Other Eminent Mythologists (1692)
This work was published before January 1, 1929, and is in the public domain worldwide because the author died at least 100 years ago.
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# The Wings of the Dove (New York: Charles Scribner's Sons, 1902)/Volume 2/Book 7

BOOK SEVENTH
* Chapter 22
* Chapter 23
* Chapter 24
* Chapter 25
# The Wings of the Dove (New York: Charles Scribner's Sons, 1902)/Volume 2/Book 9

BOOK NINTH
* Chapter 29
* Chapter 30
* Chapter 31
* Chapter 32
# The Wings of the Dove (New York: Charles Scribner's Sons, 1902)/Volume 2/Book 8

BOOK EIGHTH
* Chapter 26
* Chapter 27
* Chapter 28
# The Works of H. G. Wells (Atlantic Edition)/The Wheels of Chance

THE WHEELS OF CHANCE
A BICYCLING IDYLL
THE WHEELS OF CHANCE
This work is in the public domain in the United States because it was published before January 1, 1929.
The longest-living author of this work died in 1946, so this work is in the public domain in countries and areas where the copyright term is the author's life plus 77 years or less. This work may be in the public domain in countries and areas with longer native copyright terms that apply the rule of the shorter term to foreign works.
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# The Venetian Bracelet, The Lost Pleiad, A History of the Lyre, and Other Poems/A Summer Day

A SUMMER DAY.
Sweet valley, whose streams flow as sparkling and bright As the stars that descend in the depths of the night; Whose violets fling their rich breath on the air, Sweet spendthrifts of treasure the Spring has flung there.
My lot is not with thee, 'tis far from thine own; Nor thus, amid Summer and solitude thrown: But still it is something to gaze upon thee, And bless earth, that such peace on her bosom can be.
My heart and my steps both grow light as I bound O'er the green grass that covers thy beautiful ground; And joy o'er my thoughts, like the sun o'er the leaves, A blessing in giving and taking receives.
I have heap'd up thy flowers, the wild and the sweet, As if fresh from the touch of the night-elfin's feet; A bough from thy oak, and a sprig from thy broom,— I take them as keepsakes to tell of thy bloom.
Their green leaves may droop, and their colours may flee, As if dying with sorrow at parting from thee;
And my memory fade with them, till thou wilt but seem Like the flitting shape morning recalls of a dream.
Let them fade from their freshness, so leave they behind One trace, like faint music, impress'd on the mind; One leaf or one flower to memory will bring The light of thy beauty, the hope of thy spring.
# The Violet (L. E. L.)

* The Violet from The Literary Souvenir, 1831.
* The Violet from The Vow of the Peacock and Other Poems, 1835.
# The Violet's Love

From The Female Prose Writers of America: With Portraits, Biographical Notices, and Specimens of their Writings
the violet’s love.
Shall I tell what the violet said to the star, While she gazed through her tears on his beauty, afar? She sang, but her singing was only a sigh, And nobody heard it, but Heaven, Love, and I, A sigh, full of fragrance and beauty, it stole Through the stillness up, up, to the star’s beaming soul.
She sang—“Thou art glowing with glory and might, And I’m but a flower, frail, lowly, and light. I ask not thy pity, I seek not thy smile; I ask but to worship thy beauty awhile; To sigh to thee, sing to thee, bloom for thine eye, And when thou art weary, to bless thee and die!”
Shall I tell what the star to the violet said, While ashamed, ’neath his love-look, she hung her young head? He sang—but his singing was only a ray, And none but the flower and I heard the dear lay. How it thrilled, as it fell, in its melody clear, Through the little heart, heaving with rapture and fear!
Ah no! love! I dare not! too tender, too pure, For me to betray, were the words he said to her; But as she lay listening that low lullaby, A smile lit the tear in the timid flower’s eye; And when death had stolen her beauty and bloom, The ray came again to play over her tomb.
This work was published before January 1, 1929, and is in the public domain worldwide because the author died at least 100 years ago.
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# The Violet (Landon)

published in Improvisatrice and Other Poems, 1824. 'Fragments'
THE VIOLET.
VIOLETS!—deep-blue Violets!
April's loveliest coronets!
There are no flowers grow in the vale,
Kiss'd by the dew, woo'd by the gale,—
None by the dew of the twilight wet,
So sweet as the deep-blue Violet!
I do remember how sweet a breath
Came with the azure light of a wreath
That hung round the wild harp's golden chords,
Which rang to my dark-eyed lover's words.
I have seen that dear harp rolled
With gems of the East and bands of gold;
But it never was sweeter than when set
With leaves of the deep-blue Violet!
And when the grave shall open for me,—
I care not how soon that time may be,—
Never a rose shall grow on that tomb,
It breathes too much of hope and of bloom;—
But there be that flower's meek regret,
The bending and deep-blue Violet!
This work was published before January 1, 1929, and is in the public domain worldwide because the author died at least 100 years ago.
Public domainPublic domainfalsefalse