The poetical works of John Townsend Trowbridge

The day went down, beneath an amber sky,
On all the wonders of that magic land:
There, an old crater's burnt-out Cyclops eye:
Here, Virgil paced in thought the curving strand.

On shores and cities glowed the late, low sun;
On plumed Vesuvius mirrored in the wave;
And faintly flushed the wan-ribbed skeleton,
Pompeii standing in her open grave.

On plume and peak the parting sunset flame
Lingered, diffused, an upward-fading gleam.
Capri, remote on the rimmed sea, became
A roseate mist and melted into dream.

The soft sirocco, from hot Afric sands
Blowing all day across the Midland Deep,
Sank with the sun upon the empurpled lands,
With all its Libyan languors lulled asleep.

II

I stood at evening on a terraced height
And viewed the wondrous world, city and sea,
Sails softly wafted on pale bands of light,
Or to still moorings drifting dreamily.

The goat-bells' tinkling ceased upon the air;
The human tide's interminable roar
Rose, a dull murmur, to my terrace stair,
The sullen thunder of a lone, low shore.

Garden and villa and curved parapet
Darkened around me; myriad-roofed, far down
The mountain-slopes, where coast and mountain met,
Gloomy and vast and slumberous, spread the town.

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III

As night drew on, unnumbered gleams appeared;
Where lanterned ships on lanterned shadows lay;
By distant coasts; and where Vesuvius reared
His tawny torch above the clouded Bay;

The lighthouse bursting into sudden blaze,
Flashing its spear of beams across the sea;
The broad Riviera's constellated rays;
And all the city's starred immensity.

By day unseen, the crater's spectral light
Increased and reddened, far aloof and lone;
The vulture cloud abroad on the still night
Spread balanced wings, perched on the flickering cone.

Unseen by day, that dull portentous glow,
A pulsing core of fire that climbed and fell,
Illumed the murk,—mysterious, veiled, and slow,—
Dim flashes from the throbbing throat of hell.

The upheaved cloud, with windless folds wide flung,
Huge as the mountain's double, piled in space,
Poised peak on peak miraculously hung,
Burying the stars in its inverted base.

IV

Anon from the snow-muffled Apennines,
Fitful at first, a rushing wind came forth
And whirled about me, clashing boughs and vines,
Keen as a gust from my own native North.

Over the city roofs and courts it played;
With wafts of most delicious coolness blessed
The stifled streets; and, swelling seaward, swayed
The pillared cloud on the volcano's crest.

As if a bodiless power with wings of air
Closed with the phantom, scattered and dislimned
The towering shape, and swept the Orient bare,
With all its ancient lustrous orbs undimmed:

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Ranging the heavens forever, the Hyades,
Like starry waterfowl in arrowy flight;
The Bull's bright horns, the Pleiads' golden bees;
And there, most glorious of the hosts of night,—

Emerging from the crater's flying reek
Back from that gorge of Chaos wildly blown,
One conquering knee above the red-lipped peak,—
Orion with his sword and blazing zone!

CUBA

'T is the island of the orange, of the yucca and the palm,
Where the white-armed, laughing beaches lave in coves of foam-edged calm,
And the shy flamingo rises like a wingèd oriflamme.

'T is the home of endless summer, by cool trade-winds overblown;
'T is the Eden of the Ocean lying lovely and alone,
But trailed over by the serpent, and with sin and ruin sown.

'T is the island of the mango, the banana and the cane;
'T is the land of beauty blighted by the spoiler's cruel reign;
'T is the haunt of vultures flocking to the devastated plain.

'T is the isle of birds and blossoms, sea-girt realm of bloom and song;
Land of yet unconquered freemen who have striven and suffered long;
Land awaiting its redemption from four centuries of wrong!

May, 1898.

A LITTLE CHILD

Unconscious childhood's tiny grasp
Draws us from business, books, and art;
Mightier than all the world, the clasp
Of one small hand upon the heart!

Of late, with lids that mimicked death,
In fever flames our darling lay;
While we who watched her fluttering breath
Could only wait, and hope, and pray.

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Pale gliding shapes and whispered words
Haunted the hushed and shadowy room,
Till the first twitter of the birds
Awoke, and daybreak edged the gloom.

On vacant chairs and silent walls,
Where lonely watchers of the night
Grow old, how strange, how spectral, falls
The mockery of the morning light!

As in a trance of fear we moved:
Peril to one we cannot save,
Peril and pain to one beloved,
Make trembling cowards of the brave.

The dawn rose, pitilessly bright;
The sunshine wore an alien hue;
There was not any more delight
In song of bird or spark of dew.

How idle seemed the task that claimed
A cold, accustomed service still!
Each worldly wish was quelled and shamed;
Alike were tidings good and ill.

The golden fields and azure skies
Were veiled in sorrowful eclipse,
Till beamed again those darkened eyes,
Till smiled once more those childish lips.

Another night: all night she slept.
She woke: O joy! was ever dawn
So heavenly sweet as that which swept
With drizzling showers the trees and lawn!

The hillside frowned, by lowering brows
Of gloomy thickets overhung;
But in the dripping chestnut boughs
A cheerful robin perched and sung.

346

Dear omen of her blest release
From pain and the Great Dread past by!
Peace filled our souls, the light of peace
Was over all the earth and sky.

Oh, happiest day of all the year!
Each moment had its joyous thrill:
Whatever came brought hope and cheer;
Alike were tidings good and ill.

Now never more, O heart, be sad,
When cloud and tempest drench the pane,
But keep the day with thoughts as glad
As robins singing in the rain!

OWNERSHIP

Along the endlessly blockaded street
Our car moved, with a hundred starts and stops.
Two children, kneeling on the cushioned seat,
Looked out upon the gay, wide-windowed shops.

A boy and girl, both delicately fair:
He, with bright ringlets rippling down his back;
She, with a wondrous fleece of flaxen hair;
A sleek old nurse beside them, shining black.

They watched the shops, and played a pretty game
Of owning things, with eager rivalry:
Whatever each was first to choose and name
Was his or hers, as it might chance to be.

“That is my rocking-horse!” declared the boy.
And she: “The whip is mine! the yellow reins!”
So they contended, claiming every toy,
And boasting their imaginary gains.

“That is my lamp!” “I'll have the lamp-shade!” “No!
The shade goes with the lamp!” “You selfish thing!

347

You took my horse's reins! You cheat!” And so
They fell at last to downright quarrelling.

“Don't call me selfish!” “But you are!” “You dare”—
She tweaked his curls, he doubled his small fists,
And in a moment they were pulling hair,
And pounding like a pair of pugilists.

The unconcerned old negress all the while
Showed her white teeth and laughed with cynic lip,
As I suppose dark angels sometimes smile
At men's mad strife for transient ownership.

A BIRTHDAY WISH

TO A YOUNG VIOLINIST

When you take up your violin, how soon
The lax, discordant strings are touched in tune
To the sweet sequence of enchanting sounds;
Heaven's golden ladder of melodious rounds!

So, on this birthday, take up life anew,
Dear girl! and with resolves so firm and true,
Master its chords, that all the year shall be
Attuned to soul-uplifting harmony!

OUT IN THE WORLD

The inevitable day
Of their parting sweetly rose:
Day of dread to them that stay,
Day of hope to him who goes.

When the rumbling coach-and-four
Round the shady porch appears,
They dismiss him from the door
With their blessings and their tears.

348

Something bright his eyelash hides:
On the coach's topmost seat
Bravely smiling forth he rides,
In the Maytime fresh and sweet.

Joy with him has fled away;
And a strange funereal gloom
Falls upon the vacant day,
Fills his empty, silent room.

Youth is thoughtless, not unkind:
Ah, dear boy, if he but knew
What deep solace they will find
In his letters, all too few!

They await each hour that brings
Tidings of his fair career,
With what anxious questionings,
With what faith, and with what fear!

Faith, that ever in the sight
Of protecting seraphim
He will follow truth and right,
Letting fortune follow him.

Will he, in a world where wrong
Sways the many, right the few,
Tread with instincts pure and strong,
Shun the false and choose the true?

He the while, with hope elate,
As if life were always May,
Journeys onward, to what fate
He divines no more than they.

Is it health and happiness?
Is it soul-consuming care?
Is it honor and success?
Is it failure and despair?

349

Enterprise and wit and skill,
Haughty, tender, brave and just,
Shall his future not fulfil
His bright promise, their great trust?

Vain the question: well, may be,
That beyond the azure brim
Of each day no man can see
What the wide world holds for him.

Learn this truth and leave the rest:
Each, whatever his estate,
In his own unconscious breast
Bears the talisman of fate.

Who has strength, with self-control,
Love and faith and rectitude,
Fortune fails not, for his soul
Is the lodestar of all good.

IN A CORRIDOR

Scene.—The National Capitol

We two alone in the corridor,
As I live! and meeting face to face!
Will he turn back? or must I give place?
Or, here on the marble floor,
Shall we settle our little score?

Head high, with its long lank Indian hair,
Nose straight before and eyes askew,
He stalks right on, and sweeps me through
With a cold, unconscious stare,
As if I were made of air!

He had always just that insolent way,
With his Southern blood and his cavalier scorn.
Joe Belter, old boy, look here! You 've sworn
To shoot me at sight, they say,
Here I am! Now shoot away!

350

In self-defence you will fight? That 's cool,
After all the terrible threats I 've heard.
I thought Joe Belter a man of his word;
You were never a coward or fool
When we were together at school.

You sneer—Have I anything else to say?
Well, yes! 'T was curious, but, somehow,
I could n't but think, as you passed just now,
Of the look you gave old Pray—
Do you remember the day?

For the silly lampoon we had posted, I
Had been just expelled. Up towered a head:
“If he goes, I go too!” you said;
And swept him, as you marched by,
With just that look of the eye.

We went, as free as the winds that blew,
To the woods, and lived in our hut by the lake,
Till you were recalled, and I for your sake.
Then, only to be with you,
Was the sweetest pleasure I knew!

You may scoff at it now; but I tell you, Joe,
I could never forget some things that have been.
How first did our wretched feud begin?
For, I vow, I hardly know,
It happened so long ago!

The worst that ever made fools contend:
The long revenge of a love reversed!
No foe so bitter as he who, first
Having loved too much, in the end
Has turned against his friend.

I ruined your railroad scheme? And so
You threatened my life! Of course I knew
I might have been Governor but for you;
And I merely returned the blow
Of a couple of years ago.

351

So the game goes on. But in spite of all,
There are things, as I said, that I can't forget;
And when, after all these years, we met
The other night at the ball,
And throughout that glittering hall,—

In the great gay world assembled there,—
No strangers passed each other by
So strange to each other as you and I,
And I saw the gray in your hair,
And your look of age and care;

Then all of a sudden it all took flight,—
The buzzing crowd, the wavering dance,
The flowers, the jewels, the butterfly fans,
The beauty and blaze of light,—
And we were alone in the night!

Alone by the moonlit lake once more,
Stretched side by side on the soft warm sand;
The ripples ran glistening up the strand,
A wind from the woodland bore
Fresh odors along the shore.

A whippoorwill sang near by in the wood,
And his voice, so lonely, so wild and shrill,
With answering voices seemed to fill
The forest,—far-off, subdued,
In the heart of the solitude.

We talked of the years to come, and then
Of our love over all, like the moon on the lake,
Whose pathway of light no storm should break,
As we vowed again and again,
When we should be men among men.

We talked till our hearts were filled with tears.
Then a cloud blew up, and the lake grew black—
And a peal of the orchestra brass brought back
The intervening years,
And the blaze of the chandeliers:

352

The unclean hand in the dainty glove,
Hate in the heart and a smile on the face,
And heat, and glitter, and glare, in place
Of the perfect faith and love,
And the stars through the boughs above!

Then I said, “Whatever revenge he may take,
I will let it pass, and remember still
That moon and the voice of the whippoorwill,
And forgive him all for the sake
Of those lonely hours by the lake.”

Resentment is swift, and pride is strong,
But the same old love lies under all.
Our leaves are fading, and soon must fall,
And I grieve to think how long
We have treasured wrath and wrong.

What, tears? you too!—I did not know
That your boy was dead! And you are alone?
Ah, life has sorrows enough of its own
Without the aid of a foe!
Give me your fist, old Joe!

THE WINNOWER

Somewhere, nowhere,—in some vague realm or clime,—
I saw a mighty-statured Phantom stand;
His feet were on this threshing-floor of Time,
A fan was in his hand.

He smote with it, and all things streamed and whirled
Before the blast of its tempestuous beat;
The ancient institutions of the world
Became as chaff and wheat.

Fear pierced my soul, but soon a thrilling joy
Flowered from that root, and my numbed lips grew brave.
O dread Conserver that must yet destroy!
Destroyer that will save!

353

Strong Winnower of the things of death and life,
I know you now, I cried. Smite with your fan!
Winnow the earth of enmity and strife!
Winnow the heart of man!

A thousand sophistries perplex the ray
Of the world's dawning freedom: Seraph, smite!
Winnow the clouds that dim the newborn day!
Winnow the morning light!

There 's naught so true in science and in creeds,
And naught so good in governments and states,
But something truer evermore succeeds,
And better still awaits.

With bristling hosts and battlemented walls
Kings menace kings, and nations groan therefor:
Winnow the armaments and arsenals,
The iron husks of war!

Toil without end, to fill a few white hands
Of idle lords, gaunt millions still endure:
Winnow the unsunned hoards and unshared lands,
Estranging rich and poor!

Riches bear rule till Labor turns in hate,
And tyrant Wealth confronts the despot, Work:
Winnow the world's oppressors, small and great!
Winnow the Tsar and Turk!

Pale anarchists conspire, mad to possess,
Or to pull down, what sober thrift has built:
Winnow alike the haunts of Lawlessness,
The gilded halls of Guilt!

Our politics are false and infidel,
Our trusted chiefs bend to the baser cause:
Smite with your fan! O Winnower, winnow well
The makers of our laws!

354

All barriers built by avarice, pride, and wrong,
Dividing men,—unbuild them with the breath
And buffet of your mighty fan, O strong
Angel of change and death!

Winnow this anxious life of pain and care!
But gently, winnow gently! Hear our cries!
To love at least be merciful! Oh, spare
Our tender human ties!—

But cries are vain; nor cries nor prayers avail
To hasten or delay the Winnower's hand;
Nothing so huge and firm, so fine or frail,
But it at last is fanned,—

Empires, beliefs, the things of art and fame,
The broad-based pyramids, the poet's page;
To his eternal patience 't is the same,
A moment or an age.

Before his fan the mountains form and flee,
Continents pass; and in its rhythmic beat
The flying stars and whirling nebulæ
Are but as chaff and wheat.

Does naught, of all that Time and Nature yield,
Does naught, at last, but thought and spirit remain?
Nature and Time the changeful harvest field,
Souls the immortal grain!

University of Virginia Library

NEWLY GATHERED LEAVES

EVENING AT NAPLES

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