A WASTED LIFE A wasted life! This sad refrain Comes surging through my ears again; There’s no escape from thee, though fiend; Thou art borne to me on every wind – A wasted life! A wasted life! By day or night, no peace for me; Still, still before me I can see The fragments of the dear dead past, Which I (Oh! fool) from me have cast – A wasted life! A wasted life! I’ve tried to drown in lethean drain This ruthless voice; but all in vain; It comes with ten-fold force again, And brings remorse to swell and strain – A wasted life! A wasted life! From out this deep dark Stygian sea, While vainly struggling to be free, I look above, and pray that I No more may hear that awful cry – A wasted life! A wasted life! (Illawarra Mercury, April 8, 1884) MELINDA KENDALL

With Christmas approaching I present you with this January Poem.

http://nla.gov.au/nla.news-article2202164

The Sydney Gazette and… Saturday 9 January 1836,

ORIGINAL POETRY

THE DRUNKARD

”WHY Edward dids’t thou last night so late stay

While cold and comfortlesss time pass’d away
With me,poor me ! deserted and forgot ;
Cast like a noxious weed upon the spot

Where it had grown, to perish and to rot.

Tell me ! for of late, that ruddiness of health

is gone-that kindness too! which power or wealth
Of worlds could never purchase to my love-
Nor more than these I sought not, but above.
Why that dejected air, where all was gay ;
Why those dull eyes, that once with ray

Ethereal warm’d my young and happy heart,

With all that love and kindness could impart.”

Thus Mary spoke, and down her blanched cheek,
‘A tear-a trembling tear with tenderness replete,
Did slowly roll, then fell and kissed her foot.

The Drunkard spoke not ; conscious that his wife,

Thro’ him had thus dragged on a loathsome life ;
Her once gay heart, by rugged misery torn,

Bar’d by distress-and comfortless and lorn :
Her beauty stunted by the pinching hand

Of griping poverty-and the wretched band.
Oí ceaseless evils, which for o’er attend

Upon the wretch who wants in vain a friend ;

There Edward sat, haggard and worn his look.

And his whole frame in wild convulsions shook ;
A hectic blush spread redness in his cheek,

.And then anon a dreary white would creep ;

And he looked ghastlier than the dead, or they

Who spectral glide in midnight’s gloomy way. _ |
The damning draught of false and dear bought joy,

The opiates that but for awhile alloy,
Sorrows begotten o’er the cursed bowl,
That bring despair and darkness to the soul,

Lie on the table – she the wretched wife

Gently reproves him for his vicious life
He hears her not, but with unsteady hand

He grasps the bottle-she with voice so bland

Chides, but to him how useless,-now a sip,
Another, and,another, till the cup
Is empty ; again he fills-again he drinks it up, !

So on till maddened with infernal fire-

Fierce frenzy in his soul and wild desire-

He raves-he swears-he knows not of his doom,
Before his eyes the things within the room

Seem whizzing round and round his burning brain ;

He shouts-he shrieks, his madness all in vain,
His reason comes not, nor shall come again.
With him ’tis night, a long eternal night,

Where sun, nor moon, nor star, shall give their light ;
His soul is flying to the world unknown,
‘The grave is his, and scarce one dying groan!
Proclaim’d that Death had got him for his own.

W.T.

http://nla.gov.au/nla.news-article2202164

When you want to put the clock out and

you try to wind the cat;

When the pavement comes to meet you and

the lamp post lifts its hat;

When you can’t jusht findsher key hole

landing home at 1 half past three

You may take the wife’s word for it that

you’re drunk as you can be.

When a purple snake salutes you and he

wears a spotted tie:

When you’ve just one big ambition- it’s to

drink an ocean dry; 

When you can’t say conshishusion when

you think the lump’s a keg

And you try to drink the goldfish you’re

as full as any egg.

When your brains commence to rattle and

your knees begin to knock

When you argue with a ‘copper’ that the

moonsh a town hall clock:

When a purple railway signal starts to

dance a Highland fling

And you cannot find your ticket you’re as

drunk as anything.

When you lob home with a lobster that’s

been dead for half a week

And your sense of smell is sort of hors de

combat sho to shpeak;

When you tell the wife you’re (hic) as

shober ash can be

It’s a pound to half a cherry that you’re

jagging on the spree.

When your tongue is wagging freely and

your senses are awry

When your legs are unresponsive and your

feet are stepping high,

When your head is gaping open and your   

commonsense is kinked           

In the language of the classics you are

well, and truly inked

http://nla.gov.au/nla.news-article4529364

http://www.archive.org/stream/tenlecturesonal00richgoog

Don’t laugh like children! You do not understand my state.
Read a chapter from me, unfold a secret from her [the creative Force]:
I am drunk of that wine forbidden by the lawgivers;
I am drunk of the wine of oneness; I am free of color and smell.
I am oblivious to this place; my mind is elsewhere;

http://www.onelittleangel.com/wisdom/quotes/saint.asp?mc=167