 | Fantasy and Passion |  |
159
III.
SONNETS.
161
ART.
I saw in dreams a shape of mightiest mold,
Wrought from stern bronze and towering in midair;
A grand similitude of some goddess, fair
With a beauty radiant yet supremely cold.
She seemed invisible distance to behold,
Nor ever drooped her languorous look to where,
Down-broadening from her pedestal, a stair
Of ample depth imperially outrolled.
Wrought from stern bronze and towering in midair;
A grand similitude of some goddess, fair
With a beauty radiant yet supremely cold.
She seemed invisible distance to behold,
Nor ever drooped her languorous look to where,
Down-broadening from her pedestal, a stair
Of ample depth imperially outrolled.
And on these haughty steps, crouched suppliantwise,
I saw, at differing intervals apart,
Sad men who seemed to adore, lament, entreat;
And one, a poet, with anguish in his eyes,
Tore from a wound his own red quivering heart
And flung it against the statue's brazen feet!
I saw, at differing intervals apart,
Sad men who seemed to adore, lament, entreat;
And one, a poet, with anguish in his eyes,
Tore from a wound his own red quivering heart
And flung it against the statue's brazen feet!
162
GENIUS.
As haughty Artemis, virgin without stain,
Once drooped, in passionate grace, her mouth's warm flower
To young Endymion's lips amid the bower
Where tired on shady turf the boy had lain,
Even thus, at moments rare, some youth will gain
The kiss of another goddess, great in power,—
And all his spirit is troubled, from that hour,
Perpetually by sweet unearthly pain!
Once drooped, in passionate grace, her mouth's warm flower
To young Endymion's lips amid the bower
Where tired on shady turf the boy had lain,
Even thus, at moments rare, some youth will gain
The kiss of another goddess, great in power,—
And all his spirit is troubled, from that hour,
Perpetually by sweet unearthly pain!
Either among the future's visitant dreams,
Pale Sculpture's calm ideals his soul entrance,
Or round him Painting's heavens of color rise,
Or through his thought strange eloquent Music streams,
Or Poesy lures him with her velvet glance
And white limbs lovelier than the Lorelei's!
Pale Sculpture's calm ideals his soul entrance,
Or round him Painting's heavens of color rise,
Or through his thought strange eloquent Music streams,
Or Poesy lures him with her velvet glance
And white limbs lovelier than the Lorelei's!
163
SLEEP.
(For a Picture.)
A yellow sunset, soft and dreamy of dye,
Met sharply by black fluctuant lines of grass;
A river, glimmering like illumined glass,
And narrowing till it ends in distant sky;
Pale scattered pools of luminous rain, that lie
In shadowy amplitudes of green morass;
A crescent that the old moon, as moments pass.
Has turned to a silver acorn hung on high!
Met sharply by black fluctuant lines of grass;
A river, glimmering like illumined glass,
And narrowing till it ends in distant sky;
Pale scattered pools of luminous rain, that lie
In shadowy amplitudes of green morass;
A crescent that the old moon, as moments pass.
Has turned to a silver acorn hung on high!
Now through this melancholy and silent land
Sleep walks, diaphanous-vestured, vaguely fair.
Within her vaporous robe and one dim hand
Much asphodel and lotus doth she bear,
Going lovely and low-lidded, with a band
Of dull-red poppies amid her dull-gold hair!
Sleep walks, diaphanous-vestured, vaguely fair.
Within her vaporous robe and one dim hand
Much asphodel and lotus doth she bear,
Going lovely and low-lidded, with a band
Of dull-red poppies amid her dull-gold hair!
164
TO ---.
(On receiving a Volume of his Poems.)
It is not only that your poesy shows
Exquisite elegance and daintiest care,
But through its melody, as a grace more rare,
The protean soul of Nature moves and glows.
Now gayly, like some radiant brook, it flows,
Now with a violet's fragrance perfumes air,
And now its tropic luxury seems to wear
The balmy crimson of an opening rose!
Exquisite elegance and daintiest care,
But through its melody, as a grace more rare,
The protean soul of Nature moves and glows.
Now gayly, like some radiant brook, it flows,
Now with a violet's fragrance perfumes air,
And now its tropic luxury seems to wear
The balmy crimson of an opening rose!
I think that if your kindlier fate had been
To have lived when lover-minstrels were not mute,
You might have sung, reclined at languorous ease,
Amid some tapestried chamber's gold and green,
To some fair damosel, on some ribboned lute,
Such delicate and delicious songs as these!
To have lived when lover-minstrels were not mute,
You might have sung, reclined at languorous ease,
Amid some tapestried chamber's gold and green,
To some fair damosel, on some ribboned lute,
Such delicate and delicious songs as these!
165
THE CITY.
When night is on the city and silence reigns,
How all its dark tranquillity, bathed in sleep,
Is like that quietude of the ocean's deep
Remotely above whose realm the surge complains!
For even as monsters that o'er weird domains
Of cold subaqueous dimness dart and creep,
Within the vague metropolis wakeful keep
Those hideous vices that its heart retains!
How all its dark tranquillity, bathed in sleep,
Is like that quietude of the ocean's deep
Remotely above whose realm the surge complains!
For even as monsters that o'er weird domains
Of cold subaqueous dimness dart and creep,
Within the vague metropolis wakeful keep
Those hideous vices that its heart retains!
In fancy I watch black crimes like sea-growths loom;
In fancy I view large hopes, once fair and whole,
Grown wrecks where memory's mosses now unfurl.
Yet here and there, amid the encircling gloom,
I know that some serene exceptional soul
Dwells in its lovely purity, like a pearl!
In fancy I view large hopes, once fair and whole,
Grown wrecks where memory's mosses now unfurl.
Yet here and there, amid the encircling gloom,
I know that some serene exceptional soul
Dwells in its lovely purity, like a pearl!
166
KINDLINESS.
Far more than many a lawless life may guess,
Pure kindliness hath a spell they only know
Whose hearts, however assailed by care and woe,
Have cause its sweet talismanic worth to bless!
It looks at first a power of feeble stress,
Yet fights with dauntless fortitude blow for blow,
Until some towering human fault lies low,
Beneath this delicate spell of kindliness!
Pure kindliness hath a spell they only know
Whose hearts, however assailed by care and woe,
Have cause its sweet talismanic worth to bless!
It looks at first a power of feeble stress,
Yet fights with dauntless fortitude blow for blow,
Until some towering human fault lies low,
Beneath this delicate spell of kindliness!
Thus, when the radiant spear of Perseus leapt
Against that wallowing bulk of scaly hide,
It seemed like a reed by contrast, and as firm ...
But when with gradual surge the sea had crept
About Andromeda's rock, its falling tide
Bore slowly off the monstrous, massacred worm!
Against that wallowing bulk of scaly hide,
It seemed like a reed by contrast, and as firm ...
But when with gradual surge the sea had crept
About Andromeda's rock, its falling tide
Bore slowly off the monstrous, massacred worm!
167
COMMONPLACES.
Troubled in spirit at the unvaried ways
Wherewith perpetually I seemed to view,
In regular and familiar retinue,
Coming and going, the processional days,
I yearned to mark with many a novel phase
This round of dull monotonies that I knew,
And treat life's commonplaces, dreary of hue,
As phantoms that the intellect sternly lays!
Wherewith perpetually I seemed to view,
In regular and familiar retinue,
Coming and going, the processional days,
I yearned to mark with many a novel phase
This round of dull monotonies that I knew,
And treat life's commonplaces, dreary of hue,
As phantoms that the intellect sternly lays!
But wheresoe'er my wandering feet might be,
Like some persistent word that memory saith,
Or like a ship's own shadow on wastes of sea,
Or the very wind's inevitable breath,
I found, among all changes, following me
The dark ubiquitous commonplace of death!
Like some persistent word that memory saith,
Or like a ship's own shadow on wastes of sea,
Or the very wind's inevitable breath,
I found, among all changes, following me
The dark ubiquitous commonplace of death!
168
CITY WINDOWS.
Through many an evening, while my spirit gains,
Amid the populous city's ebb and flow,
A keener sense of solitude than they know
Who dwell on desolate hills or houseless plains,
I roam long streets where dubious dimness reigns,
Where bright inscrutable windows calmly glow,
And with mysterious pleasure, as I go,
Shape weird conjectures from the illumined panes!
Amid the populous city's ebb and flow,
A keener sense of solitude than they know
Who dwell on desolate hills or houseless plains,
I roam long streets where dubious dimness reigns,
Where bright inscrutable windows calmly glow,
And with mysterious pleasure, as I go,
Shape weird conjectures from the illumined panes!
In yonder room two amorous hearts may thrill;
Some fiery quarrel, here, may grow apace;
There may some vigilant mother, pale and still,
Bend in deep agony o'er a wasting face;
And here a murderess by some bed may spill
The deadly colorless drop that leaves no trace!
Some fiery quarrel, here, may grow apace;
There may some vigilant mother, pale and still,
Bend in deep agony o'er a wasting face;
And here a murderess by some bed may spill
The deadly colorless drop that leaves no trace!
169
A THISTLE.
O roseate thistle, blooming by a rock,
With fragrant silkiness in prickly thrall,
How darkly, while I watch you, does it fall
That o'er me such disconsolate fancies flock?
I see calamitous battles, feel the shock
Of treachery and intrigue, revolt and brawl;
I see (oh, saddest picture of them all!)
Pale Mary cowering by the ghastly block!
With fragrant silkiness in prickly thrall,
How darkly, while I watch you, does it fall
That o'er me such disconsolate fancies flock?
I see calamitous battles, feel the shock
Of treachery and intrigue, revolt and brawl;
I see (oh, saddest picture of them all!)
Pale Mary cowering by the ghastly block!
Ah, wherefore think such bitter thoughts as these,
While sweet auroral freshness charms and cheers?
Why mar the morning's brilliance and its breeze
With weary memories of those crimeful years?
Why tell this poor flower in what blood and tears
They have bathed its Scottish kindred overseas!
While sweet auroral freshness charms and cheers?
Why mar the morning's brilliance and its breeze
With weary memories of those crimeful years?
Why tell this poor flower in what blood and tears
They have bathed its Scottish kindred overseas!
170
MAPLES.
Amid this maple-avenue, on the browOf this cool hill, while summer suns were bold,
No gaudier coloring could I then behold
Than the deep green of many a breezy bough;
But up the foliaged vista gazing now,
Where Autumn's halcyon brilliancies unfold
And opulent scarlet blends with dazzling gold,
I feel my wandering fancy dream of how,
In some old haughty city, centuries since,
Before the coming of some conqueror-prince
Back from famed fights with all his war-worn bands,
While jubilant bells in tower and steeple swung,
Down over sculptured balconies were hung
Great gorgeous tapestries out of Eastern lands!
171
A COBWEB.
Lover devout of many a lonely place,
Mute gossamer guest of dimness and repose,
As loyally as lily or balmy rose
Obey the sunshine, does your delicate lace
Hang sombre filaments where the stealthy pace
Of time's disfeaturing footstep vaguely goes,—
From shelves that bear old ponderous folios,
To some poor yellowing portrait's dusty face!
Mute gossamer guest of dimness and repose,
As loyally as lily or balmy rose
Obey the sunshine, does your delicate lace
Hang sombre filaments where the stealthy pace
Of time's disfeaturing footstep vaguely goes,—
From shelves that bear old ponderous folios,
To some poor yellowing portrait's dusty face!
Yet though in solemn nooks you rightly reign,
Here, woven across the green of this fresh vine,
The dignity of your wonted state you lose;
For now the halcyon morning on your skein,
As though to merrily challenge its dark sign,
Strings the warm splendors of her jewelling dews!
Here, woven across the green of this fresh vine,
The dignity of your wonted state you lose;
For now the halcyon morning on your skein,
As though to merrily challenge its dark sign,
Strings the warm splendors of her jewelling dews!
172
AN OCTOBER DAY.
The emergent sun looks forth on sparkling grass,
Filmed with the frost's pale gossamer of snow.
And now long resonant breezes wake and blow
The empurpled mists from meadow and morass.
The withering aster shivers; dry leaves pass;
Red sumachs burn; the yellowing birches glow;
And on the elastic air, in many a mass,
Rolling through pale-blue heaven, the great clouds go!
Filmed with the frost's pale gossamer of snow.
And now long resonant breezes wake and blow
The empurpled mists from meadow and morass.
The withering aster shivers; dry leaves pass;
Red sumachs burn; the yellowing birches glow;
And on the elastic air, in many a mass,
Rolling through pale-blue heaven, the great clouds go!
In the afternoon all windy sounds are still:
From wooded ways the cricket's chirp takes flight,
And the dreamy Autumn hours lapse on until ...
See! the sweet evening-star, that night by night
Drops luminous, like an ever-falling tear,
Down dying twilights of the dying year!
From wooded ways the cricket's chirp takes flight,
And the dreamy Autumn hours lapse on until ...
See! the sweet evening-star, that night by night
Drops luminous, like an ever-falling tear,
Down dying twilights of the dying year!
173
A WILLOW-TREE.
Pale sorrower, in whose listless grace one sees
Not any shadow of joy while summer beams,
Looking, as all your foliage earthward streams,
The inconsolable Niobe of trees,
For me, if some appropriate mood shall please
To have led me where your leafy languor gleams,
Then through my heart, a band of glimmering dreams,
Float these, or lovelier memories than these:
Not any shadow of joy while summer beams,
Looking, as all your foliage earthward streams,
The inconsolable Niobe of trees,
For me, if some appropriate mood shall please
To have led me where your leafy languor gleams,
Then through my heart, a band of glimmering dreams,
Float these, or lovelier memories than these:
A white shape, framed in jealous passion's gloom,
Meek Desdemona doth her sad song raise;
Or mad Ophelia, just before her doom,
Hangs on your treacherous branch her wildwood sprays;
Or yet, this hour, you shade De Musset's tomb,
Among the sculpturings of old Père la Chaise!
Meek Desdemona doth her sad song raise;
Or mad Ophelia, just before her doom,
Hangs on your treacherous branch her wildwood sprays;
Or yet, this hour, you shade De Musset's tomb,
Among the sculpturings of old Père la Chaise!
174
THISTLEDOWN.
Through summer's gradual death, how sweet a sight
The flowering thistle's tardy gleam appears,
Her thorny boughs like intricate chandeliers
When lit for festival with soft rosy light!
Yet closelier watching her, to left and right
You see the odorous beauty that she rears
Girt on all sides with countless emerald spears,
Eager the invading hand to pierce or smite!
The flowering thistle's tardy gleam appears,
Her thorny boughs like intricate chandeliers
When lit for festival with soft rosy light!
Yet closelier watching her, to left and right
You see the odorous beauty that she rears
Girt on all sides with countless emerald spears,
Eager the invading hand to pierce or smite!
But when the autumnal trees in ruin glow,
You meet her white ghost wandering to and fro
Aerially upon the fitful blast,
As though the spirit of this proud blossom came
To haunt the world in expiatory shame,
Repentant of her cold imperious past!
You meet her white ghost wandering to and fro
Aerially upon the fitful blast,
As though the spirit of this proud blossom came
To haunt the world in expiatory shame,
Repentant of her cold imperious past!
175
FABRICS.
I. VELVET.
Here fittingly is the one most regal dress,
For in the manner its full round folds divide
We see superb calm and imperial pride
With soft alluring luxury acquiesce.
Now we behold it utterly lustreless,
Now mellow glimmerings in its depths abide,
Where masses of rich varying shadow hide,
Close-wedded to its sumptuous heaviness.
For in the manner its full round folds divide
We see superb calm and imperial pride
With soft alluring luxury acquiesce.
Now we behold it utterly lustreless,
Now mellow glimmerings in its depths abide,
Where masses of rich varying shadow hide,
Close-wedded to its sumptuous heaviness.
Always it shows me some traditional scene
Of thrones, ambassadors and the pomp of rule,
Great marriages, princely promises held cheap,
The pampered favorite, the neglected queen,
The reckless insolence of the gaudy fool,
The fawning courtier, and the assassin's leap!
Of thrones, ambassadors and the pomp of rule,
Great marriages, princely promises held cheap,
The pampered favorite, the neglected queen,
The reckless insolence of the gaudy fool,
The fawning courtier, and the assassin's leap!
176
II. SATIN.
No moonlit pool is lovelier than the glow
Of this bright sensitive texture, nor the sheen
On sunny wings that wandering sea-birds preen;
And sweet, of all fair draperies that I know,
To mark the smooth tranquillity of its flow,
Where shades of tremulous dimness intervene,
Shine out with mutable splendors, mild, serene,
In some voluminous raiment white as snow.
Of this bright sensitive texture, nor the sheen
On sunny wings that wandering sea-birds preen;
And sweet, of all fair draperies that I know,
To mark the smooth tranquillity of its flow,
Where shades of tremulous dimness intervene,
Shine out with mutable splendors, mild, serene,
In some voluminous raiment white as snow.
For then I feel impetuous fancy drawn
Forth at some faint and half-mysterious call,
Even like a bird that breaks from clasping bars;
And lighted vaguely by the Italian dawn,
I see rash Romeo scale the garden-wall,
While Juliet dreams below the dying stars!
Forth at some faint and half-mysterious call,
Even like a bird that breaks from clasping bars;
And lighted vaguely by the Italian dawn,
I see rash Romeo scale the garden-wall,
While Juliet dreams below the dying stars!
177
III. BROCADE.
When, in the festal glory of grand events,
This pale-flowered silk some stately form ensheathes,
Wrought intricately with pearly sprays and wreaths,
Arabesques and scrolls and leaflike ornaments,
What memories of old majesties intense
To the present its elaborate woof bequeathes,
Whose very rustle and sweep augustly breathes
Of leisure and wealth and grave magnificence.
This pale-flowered silk some stately form ensheathes,
Wrought intricately with pearly sprays and wreaths,
Arabesques and scrolls and leaflike ornaments,
What memories of old majesties intense
To the present its elaborate woof bequeathes,
Whose very rustle and sweep augustly breathes
Of leisure and wealth and grave magnificence.
For when I watch it, amber, yellow or rose,
As though some delicate wand were waved in air
By some invisible wondersmith, I gaze
On courtly gentlemen with embroidered hose
And radiant ladies with high powdered hair,
Stepping through minuets in colonial days!
As though some delicate wand were waved in air
By some invisible wondersmith, I gaze
On courtly gentlemen with embroidered hose
And radiant ladies with high powdered hair,
Stepping through minuets in colonial days!
178
THE OLD MIRROR.
In yonder homestead, wreathed with bounteous vines,
A lonely woman dwells, whose wandering feet
Pause often amid one chamber's calm retreat,
Where an old mirror from its quaint frame shines.
And here, soft-wrought in memory's vague designs,
Dim semblances her wistful gaze will greet
Of lost ones that in thrall phantasmally sweet
The mirror's luminous quietude enshrines.
A lonely woman dwells, whose wandering feet
Pause often amid one chamber's calm retreat,
Where an old mirror from its quaint frame shines.
And here, soft-wrought in memory's vague designs,
Dim semblances her wistful gaze will greet
Of lost ones that in thrall phantasmally sweet
The mirror's luminous quietude enshrines.
But unto her these dubious forms that pass
With shadowy majesty or dreamy grace,
Wear nothing of ghostliness in mien or guise.
The only ghost that haunts this glimmering glass
Carries the sad reality in its face
Of her own haggard cheeks and desolate eyes!
With shadowy majesty or dreamy grace,
Wear nothing of ghostliness in mien or guise.
The only ghost that haunts this glimmering glass
Carries the sad reality in its face
Of her own haggard cheeks and desolate eyes!
179
EARTHQUAKE.
A giant of awful strength, he dumbly lies
Far-prisoned among the solemn deeps of earth;
The sinewy grandeurs of his captive girth,—
His great-thewed breast, colossally-molded thighs,
And arms thick-roped with muscle of mighty size,
Repose in a slumber where no dream gives birth
For months, even years, to any grief or mirth;
A slumber of tranquil lips, calm-lidded eyes!
Far-prisoned among the solemn deeps of earth;
The sinewy grandeurs of his captive girth,—
His great-thewed breast, colossally-molded thighs,
And arms thick-roped with muscle of mighty size,
Repose in a slumber where no dream gives birth
For months, even years, to any grief or mirth;
A slumber of tranquil lips, calm-lidded eyes!
Yet sometimes to his spirit a dream will creep
Of the old glad past when clothed in dauntless pride
He walked the world, unchained by tyrannous powers;
And then, while he tosses restlessly in sleep,
Dark terrible graves for living shapes yawn wide,
Or a city shrieks among her tottering towers!
Of the old glad past when clothed in dauntless pride
He walked the world, unchained by tyrannous powers;
And then, while he tosses restlessly in sleep,
Dark terrible graves for living shapes yawn wide,
Or a city shrieks among her tottering towers!
180
TO F. S. S.
“C'était un démon se tordant sous un ange,
Un enfer sous un ciel.”
Théophile Gautier.
Un enfer sous un ciel.”
Théophile Gautier.
Seeing thy face, with all thy fluctuant hair
Falling in dull-gold opulence from thy brow,
Watching thy light-blue eyes, now fired or now.
Laughterful, or now dim as with despair,
I wonder, friend, that it should be God's care
To have made at all, what matter when or how,
A being so sadly, desolately rare,
So beautifully incomplete as thou!
Falling in dull-gold opulence from thy brow,
Watching thy light-blue eyes, now fired or now.
Laughterful, or now dim as with despair,
I wonder, friend, that it should be God's care
To have made at all, what matter when or how,
A being so sadly, desolately rare,
So beautifully incomplete as thou!
O rank black pool, with one star's imaged form!
O sweet rich-hearted rose, with rot at core!
O summer heaven, half purpled by stern storm!
O lily, with one white leaf dipt in gore!
O angel-shape, whereover curves and clings
The awful imminence of a devil's wings!
O sweet rich-hearted rose, with rot at core!
O summer heaven, half purpled by stern storm!
O lily, with one white leaf dipt in gore!
O angel-shape, whereover curves and clings
The awful imminence of a devil's wings!
181
MEDUSA.
(For a Picture.)
A face in whose voluptuous bloom there lies
Olympian faultlessness of mold and hue;
Lips that a god were worthy alone to woo;
Round chin, and nostrils curved in the old Greek wise.
But there is no clear pallor of arctic skies,
Fathom on crystal fathom of livid blue,
So bleakly cold that one might liken it to
The pitiless icy splendors of her eyes!
Olympian faultlessness of mold and hue;
Lips that a god were worthy alone to woo;
Round chin, and nostrils curved in the old Greek wise.
But there is no clear pallor of arctic skies,
Fathom on crystal fathom of livid blue,
So bleakly cold that one might liken it to
The pitiless icy splendors of her eyes!
Her bound hair, colored lovelier than the sweet
Rich halcyon yellow of tall harvest wheat,
Over chaste brows a glimmering tumult sheds;
But through the abundance of its warm soft gold,
Coils of lean horror peer from many a fold,
With sharp tongues flickering in flat clammy heads!
Rich halcyon yellow of tall harvest wheat,
Over chaste brows a glimmering tumult sheds;
But through the abundance of its warm soft gold,
Coils of lean horror peer from many a fold,
With sharp tongues flickering in flat clammy heads!
182
ANTIPODES.
I. POE.
He loved all shadowy spots, all seasons drear;
All ways of darkness lured his ghastly whim;
Strange fellowships he held with goblins grim,
At whose demoniac eyes he felt no fear.
On midnights through dense darkness he would peer,
To watch the pale ghoul feed, by tombstones dim.
The appalling forms of phantoms walked with him,
And murder breathed its red guilt in his ear!
All ways of darkness lured his ghastly whim;
Strange fellowships he held with goblins grim,
At whose demoniac eyes he felt no fear.
On midnights through dense darkness he would peer,
To watch the pale ghoul feed, by tombstones dim.
The appalling forms of phantoms walked with him,
And murder breathed its red guilt in his ear!
By desolate paths of dream, where fancy's owl
Sent long lugubrious hoots through sombre air,
Amid thought's gloomiest caves he went to prowl,
And met delirium in her awful lair,
And mingled with cold shapes that writhe or scowl,
Serpents of horror, black bats of despair!
Sent long lugubrious hoots through sombre air,
Amid thought's gloomiest caves he went to prowl,
And met delirium in her awful lair,
And mingled with cold shapes that writhe or scowl,
Serpents of horror, black bats of despair!
183
II. WHITTIER.
Fresh as on breezy seas the ascendant day,
And bright as on thick dew its radiant trace;
Pure as the smile on some babe's dreaming face;
Hopeful as meadows at the breath of May,
One loftiest aim his melodies obey,
Like dawnward larks in roseate deeps of space—
While that large reverent love for all his race
Makes him a man in manhood's lordlier way!
And bright as on thick dew its radiant trace;
Pure as the smile on some babe's dreaming face;
Hopeful as meadows at the breath of May,
One loftiest aim his melodies obey,
Like dawnward larks in roseate deeps of space—
While that large reverent love for all his race
Makes him a man in manhood's lordlier way!
His words like pearls are luminous yet strong;
His duteous thought ennobles while it calms;
We seem to have felt the falling, in his song,
Of benedictions and of sacred balms;
To have seen the aureoled angels group and throng
In heavenly valleylands, by shining palms!
His duteous thought ennobles while it calms;
We seem to have felt the falling, in his song,
Of benedictions and of sacred balms;
To have seen the aureoled angels group and throng
In heavenly valleylands, by shining palms!
184
CAMEOS.
I. THACKERAY.
With satire's poignant spear he loved to fight,
And flocks of scampering falsehoods to disband,
So sinewy were the savage blows he planned,
So sweeping yet so accurate his keen sight!
Than he no man more loyally loved the right,
No man could wrong more valiantly withstand,
Who shook the old human web with such fierce hand
That half fraud's ambushed vermin swarmed to light!
And flocks of scampering falsehoods to disband,
So sinewy were the savage blows he planned,
So sweeping yet so accurate his keen sight!
Than he no man more loyally loved the right,
No man could wrong more valiantly withstand,
Who shook the old human web with such fierce hand
That half fraud's ambushed vermin swarmed to light!
How forcefully could he paint the proud grandee;
The skilled adventuress, with her game sly-played;
The toadying snob, in triple brass arrayed;
The dissolute fop; the callous debauchee;
And dowagers, in rouge, feathers and brocade,
Sneering at life across their cards and tea!
The skilled adventuress, with her game sly-played;
The toadying snob, in triple brass arrayed;
The dissolute fop; the callous debauchee;
And dowagers, in rouge, feathers and brocade,
Sneering at life across their cards and tea!
185
II. DICKENS.
As one who flings large hospitable doors
Wide to a world of masquers whom he has bade
Sweep hurrying onward with their paces mad,
And gaily flood the vacant chamber-floors,
Even so with him about whose form in scores
Humanity's eager passions, blithe or sad,
Rush revelling, and however strangely clad,
Are still the old rascals, bigots, fools and bores!
Wide to a world of masquers whom he has bade
Sweep hurrying onward with their paces mad,
And gaily flood the vacant chamber-floors,
Even so with him about whose form in scores
Humanity's eager passions, blithe or sad,
Rush revelling, and however strangely clad,
Are still the old rascals, bigots, fools and bores!
Ah! what a riotous witch-dance they prolong
Of avarice, hatred, hope, revenge, despair!
How right flies timorous from the clutch of wrong!
How pleasure and ease take hands with toil and care!
While humor, that wild harlequin, here and there
Dashes in spangled somersaults through the throng!
Of avarice, hatred, hope, revenge, despair!
How right flies timorous from the clutch of wrong!
How pleasure and ease take hands with toil and care!
While humor, that wild harlequin, here and there
Dashes in spangled somersaults through the throng!
186
III. KEATS.
It fell, in youthful hours, that he should stray
To some enchanted garden's magic gate,
And being elect that he should pass elate
Where long parterres of blossoming splendor lay.
But while he gathered many a fragrant spray,
In passionate rapture and in wonder great,
Death, gliding up to him with eyes like fate
And cold implacable hand, led him away!
To some enchanted garden's magic gate,
And being elect that he should pass elate
Where long parterres of blossoming splendor lay.
But while he gathered many a fragrant spray,
In passionate rapture and in wonder great,
Death, gliding up to him with eyes like fate
And cold implacable hand, led him away!
Yet later, lingering briefly among men,
He dropt before the world's feet those few flowers
Whose color and odor brave all blight of years,
And the rare radiance of whose bloom, since then,
Pathos, their sweet attendant, ever dowers
With the soft silver dews of pitying tears!
He dropt before the world's feet those few flowers
Whose color and odor brave all blight of years,
And the rare radiance of whose bloom, since then,
Pathos, their sweet attendant, ever dowers
With the soft silver dews of pitying tears!
187
IV. DUMAS, PÈRE.
Born heir-presumptive to Boccaccio's bays,
What generous genial art this man possessed,
Pillaging history's mighty treasure-chest,
Loving the most her most adventurous days;
Painting, in such adroit and happy phrase,
King, priest, cavalier, the jester with his jest,
Or D'Artagnan, big Porthos and the rest,
Who fought so valorously for Louis Treize!
What generous genial art this man possessed,
Pillaging history's mighty treasure-chest,
Loving the most her most adventurous days;
Painting, in such adroit and happy phrase,
King, priest, cavalier, the jester with his jest,
Or D'Artagnan, big Porthos and the rest,
Who fought so valorously for Louis Treize!
No morbid analyst, healthful, honest, bland,
How he adored all perilous deeds and wild!
Romance's monarch, story-teller grand,
How long he made, by halcyon spells beguiled,
Great haughty France, with head upon her hand,
Crouch at his feet and listen like a child!
How he adored all perilous deeds and wild!
Romance's monarch, story-teller grand,
How long he made, by halcyon spells beguiled,
Great haughty France, with head upon her hand,
Crouch at his feet and listen like a child!
188
V. HANS CHRISTIAN ANDERSEN.
Now that we know him dead, conjecture brings
The marvelling fancies it can ill control;
We picture in some last fair dreamy goal
Him round whose name such dreamy influence clings.
In some strange land that teems with butterfly-wings,
Flower-cradled fairies, elf-shapes grimly droll,
We see his calm and incontaminate soul
Walk with delight amid miraculous things!
The marvelling fancies it can ill control;
We picture in some last fair dreamy goal
Him round whose name such dreamy influence clings.
In some strange land that teems with butterfly-wings,
Flower-cradled fairies, elf-shapes grimly droll,
We see his calm and incontaminate soul
Walk with delight amid miraculous things!
And yet, although his dear Valhalla lies
At happiest distance from all earthly harms,
We are sure he will not love its choicest charms
Unless, however opulent, these comprise
Children, with shining hair, with limpid eyes,
To enwreathe him in their balmy rosy arms!
At happiest distance from all earthly harms,
We are sure he will not love its choicest charms
Unless, however opulent, these comprise
Children, with shining hair, with limpid eyes,
To enwreathe him in their balmy rosy arms!
189
VI. HERBERT SPENCER.
A spacious-brained arch-enemy of lies,
For years he has followed, with sure pace and fleet,
The stainless robe and radiant-sandalled feet
That truth makes vaguely visible as she flies.
For years he has searched, with undiscouraged eyes,
Deep at the roots of life, eager to meet
One law beneath whose sovereignty complete
Each vast and fateful century dawns or dies!
For years he has followed, with sure pace and fleet,
The stainless robe and radiant-sandalled feet
That truth makes vaguely visible as she flies.
For years he has searched, with undiscouraged eyes,
Deep at the roots of life, eager to meet
One law beneath whose sovereignty complete
Each vast and fateful century dawns or dies!
His intellect is a palace, on whose walls
Great rich historic frescoes may be seen,
And where, in matron dignity of mien,
Meeting perpetually amid its halls
Messages from victorious generals,
Calm Science walks, like some majestic queen!
Great rich historic frescoes may be seen,
And where, in matron dignity of mien,
Meeting perpetually amid its halls
Messages from victorious generals,
Calm Science walks, like some majestic queen!
190
VII. GUSTAVE DORÉ.
How rare the audacious spirit that invokes
These shadowy grandeurs, and can bid appear
All horror's genii, awful and austere,
And paint infinity with a few strong strokes!
That steals where mortal suffering writhes and chokes,
Where sorrow has wept her last hot heavy tear,
And where, while moans of misery smite the ear,
Some great calamitous battle roars and smokes!
These shadowy grandeurs, and can bid appear
All horror's genii, awful and austere,
And paint infinity with a few strong strokes!
That steals where mortal suffering writhes and chokes,
Where sorrow has wept her last hot heavy tear,
And where, while moans of misery smite the ear,
Some great calamitous battle roars and smokes!
Now are we fain to applaud him,—and anon
To shrink from power of such uncanny spell;
We tire of death's chill touch and visage wan;
Of agony; of corruption's rank sick smell;
Of this strange soul that seems to have gazed upon
Terrific things in the red heart of hell!
To shrink from power of such uncanny spell;
We tire of death's chill touch and visage wan;
Of agony; of corruption's rank sick smell;
Of this strange soul that seems to have gazed upon
Terrific things in the red heart of hell!
191
VIII. BAUDELAIRE.
O poet of such unique fantastic rhyme,
Lover of some strange muse who bound her hair
With poisonous myrtles, grown in no Greek air
But fostered of some feverous Gothic clime;
Degenerate god, half loathsome, half sublime,
By what fatality wert thou led to fare
Through haunts that all corruption's colors wear,
Through pestilent noisome paths of woe and crime?
Lover of some strange muse who bound her hair
With poisonous myrtles, grown in no Greek air
But fostered of some feverous Gothic clime;
Degenerate god, half loathsome, half sublime,
By what fatality wert thou led to fare
Through haunts that all corruption's colors wear,
Through pestilent noisome paths of woe and crime?
For me thy poesy's morbid splendors wake
A thought of how, in close miasmatic gloom,
Deep amid some toad-haunted humid brake
That dark moss clothes or flexuous fern-leaves plume,
Some rank red fungus, dappled like a snake,
Spots the black dampness with its clammy bloom!
A thought of how, in close miasmatic gloom,
Deep amid some toad-haunted humid brake
That dark moss clothes or flexuous fern-leaves plume,
Some rank red fungus, dappled like a snake,
Spots the black dampness with its clammy bloom!
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