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MANDY'S

RELIGION

Rocking like a lifted boat
On lazy tropic seas afloat,

Swing low, sweet chariot, swing low.

Delphy, when my mother died,
Taught me wisdom, curbed my pride,
Swing low, sweet chariot, swing low;
And when she laid her body down,
It shone, a jewel, in His crown,
Swing low, sweet chariot, swing low.

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BETSY'S BOY

I'se got religion an' I doan care

Who knows that God an' I are square,

I wuz carryin' home my mistis' wash

When God came an' spoke to me out'n de hush.

An' I th'ew de wash up inter de air,
An' I climbed a tree to de golden stair;
Ef it hadn't a been fur Mistah Wright
I'd had ter stayed dere all de night!

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Betsy's boy could shuffle and clog,

Though you couldn't get him to saw a log,

Laziest boy about the place

Till he started to dance-and you saw his face!

It was all lit up like a mask of bronze
Set in a niche between temple gongs-
For he would dance and never stop

Till he fell on the floor like a spun-out top.
His feet hung loose from his supple waist,
He danced without stopping, he danced with-
out haste.

Like Shiva the Hindu his feet were bound
In the rhythm of stars and of streams under-
ground:

Banjo playin' and de sanded floor,
Fiddle cryin', always callin' more,

Can't help dancin' though de preacher says
Can't git to heaven doin' no sich ways,
Can't help dancin' though de devil stan's
With a pitch-fork waitin' in his brimstone
han's;

Got-ter-keep-dancin',-can't-stop

now

Got-ter-keep-dancin',-I-doan-know

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Banjo playin' and de sanded floor,
Fiddle cryin', always callin' more,
People's faces lookin' scared an' white,
Hands a clappin' an' eyes starin' bright.
Can't help dancin' though de candle's dyin',
Can't help dancin' while de fiddle's cryin';
Got-ter-keep-dancin',-can't-stop-

now,

Got-ter-keep-dancin',—I—doan-know

-how!

THE OLD
NEGRO ALONE

Who dat droppin' froo de crumblin' roof?—
Mah soul am ole, I done sinned mah sin;
I'se waitin' fo' de Lawd to let me in:
Doan you dare show no debbil's hoof
Drappin' on down froo de hole in de roof!

Who dat croakin' on de winder-sill?————
I'll tek dis poker in mah han'
An' mek you join de joyless ban'
Ob dem dat's crossed de holy will

Ef yo' doan stop croakin' on de winder-sill!

O Lawd, hab mussy! Mah soul am ole,
I'se heahed de cock crowin' an' de bayin' houn';
Hit's still an' dark in de undergroun',

I doan wan' ter lie in de rain an' de cole:
Lawd, hab mussy, an' save mah soul!

LOVE ME AT LAST

Love me at last, or if you will not,

Leave me;

Hard words could never, as these half-words,

Grieve me:

Love me at last-or leave me.

Love me at last, or let the last word uttered

Be but your own;

Love me or leave me-as a cloud, a vapor,

Or a bird flown.

Love me at last-I am but sliding water
Over a stone.

Lola Ridge was born in Dublin, Ireland, leaving there in infancy and spending her childhood in Sydney, Australia. After living some years in New Zealand, she returned to Australia to study art. In 1907, she came to the United States, supporting herself for three years by writing fiction for the popular magazines. She stopped this work only, as she says, “because I found I would have to do so if I wished to survive as an artist." For several years she earned her living in a variety of ways-as organizer for an educational movement, as advertisement writer, as illustrator, artist's model, factory-worker, etc. In 1918, The New Republic published her long poem, The Ghetto, and Miss Ridge, until then totally unknown, became the "discovery" of the year.

Her volume, The Ghetto and Other Poems (1918), contains one poem that is brilliant, several that are powerful and none that is mediocre. Her title-poem is its pinnacle; in it Miss Ridge. touches strange heights. It is essentially a poem of the city, of its sodden brutalities, its sudden beauties. Swift figures shine from these lines, like barbaric colors leaping out of darkness; images that are surprising but never strained glow with a condensed clarity. In her other poems—especially in "The Song of Iron," "Faces" and the poignant portrait “Marie"-the same dignity is maintained, though with somewhat less magic.

Sun-Up (1920) is less integrated, more frankly experimental. But the same vibrancy and restrained power that distinguished her preceding book are manifest here. Her delineations are sensitive and subtle, her phrases vivid yet natural; she accomplishes the maximum in effects with a minimum of effort.

PASSAGES FROM "THE GHETTO”

Old Sodos no longer makes saddles.

He has forgotten how .

...

Time spins like a crazy dial in his brain,

And night by night

I see the love-gesture of his arm

In its green-greasy coat-sleeve

Circling the Book,

And the candles gleaming starkly

On the blotched-paper whiteness of his face,

Like a miswritten psalm

Night by night

I hear his lifted praise,

Like a broken whinnying

Before the Lord's shut gate.

Lights go out

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And the stark trunks of the factories

Melt into the drawn darkness,
Sheathing like a seamless garment.

And mothers take home their babies,

Waxen and delicately curled,

Like little potted flowers closed under the stars.

Lights go out

And colors rush together,

Fusing and floating away.

Pale worn gold like the settings of old jewels . . .
Mauve, exquisite, tremulous, and luminous purples,
And burning spires in aureoles of light

Like shimmering auras.

They are covering up the pushcarts

Now all have gone save an old man with mirrors-
Little oval mirrors like tiny pools.

He shuffles up a darkened street

And the moon burnishes his mirrors till they shine like phosphorus.

The moon like a skull,

Staring out of eyeless sockets at the old men trundling home the pushcarts.

A sallow dawn is in the sky
As I enter my little green room.
Without, the frail moon,

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