 | In Classic Shades and other poems |  |
7
JUANITA.
You will come my bird, bonnita?
Come! For I by steep and stone
Have built such nest for you, Juanita,
As not eagle bird hath known.
Come! For I by steep and stone
Have built such nest for you, Juanita,
As not eagle bird hath known.
Rugged! Rugged as Parnassus!
Rude, as all roads I have trod—
Yet are steeps and stone-strown passes
Smooth o'er head, and nearest God.
Rude, as all roads I have trod—
Yet are steeps and stone-strown passes
Smooth o'er head, and nearest God.
Here black thunders of my canyon
Shake its walls in Titan wars!
Here white sea-born clouds companion
With such peaks as know the stars!
Shake its walls in Titan wars!
Here white sea-born clouds companion
With such peaks as know the stars!
Here madrona, manzineta—
Here the snarling chaparral
House and hang o'er steeps, Juanita,
Where the gaunt wolf loved to dwell!
Here the snarling chaparral
House and hang o'er steeps, Juanita,
Where the gaunt wolf loved to dwell!
8
Dear, I took these trackless masses
Fresh from Him who fashioned them;
Wrought in rock, and hewed fair passes,
Flower set, as sets a gem.
Fresh from Him who fashioned them;
Wrought in rock, and hewed fair passes,
Flower set, as sets a gem.
Aye, I built in woe. God willed it;
Woe that passeth ghosts of guilt.
Yet I built as His birds builded—
Builded singing as I built.
Woe that passeth ghosts of guilt.
Yet I built as His birds builded—
Builded singing as I built.
All is finished! Roads of flowers
Wait your loyal little feet.
All completed? Nay, the hours
Till you come are incomplete.
Wait your loyal little feet.
All completed? Nay, the hours
Till you come are incomplete.
Steep below me lies the valley,
Deep below me lies the town,
Where great sea-ships ride and rally,
And the world walks up and down.
Deep below me lies the town,
Where great sea-ships ride and rally,
And the world walks up and down.
O, the sea of lights for streaming
When the thousand flags are furled—
When the gleaming bay lies dreaming
As it duplicates the world!
When the thousand flags are furled—
When the gleaming bay lies dreaming
As it duplicates the world!
9
You will come my dearest, truest?
Come my sovereign queen of ten;
My blue skies will then be bluest;
My white rose be whitest then:
Come my sovereign queen of ten;
My blue skies will then be bluest;
My white rose be whitest then:
Then the song! Ah, then the sabre
Flashing up the walls of night!
Hate of wrong and love of neighbor—
Rhymes of battle for the Right!
Flashing up the walls of night!
Hate of wrong and love of neighbor—
Rhymes of battle for the Right!
52
CUSTER.
Oh, it were better dying thereOn glory's front, with trumpets' blare,
And battle's shout blent wild about—
The sense of sacrifice, the roar
Of war! The soul might well leap out—
The brave, white soul leap boldly out
The door of wounds, and up the stair
Of heaven to God's open door,
While yet the knees were bent in prayer.
55
LA EXPOSICION.
NEW ORLEANS.
The banners! The bells! The red banners!
The rainbows of banners! The chimes!
The music of stars! The sweet manners
Of peace in old pastoral times!
The rainbows of banners! The chimes!
The music of stars! The sweet manners
Of peace in old pastoral times!
The coming of nations! Kings bringing
Rich gifts to Republics! The trees
Of paradise, and birds singing
By the side of De Soto's swift seas!
Rich gifts to Republics! The trees
Of paradise, and birds singing
By the side of De Soto's swift seas!
61
MANITOBA.
O neighbors, neighbors, rouse you! Quick!
My hearth is empty and forlorn,
My heart is empty, faint and sick,
For John came dragging home at morn
Two frozen limbs, and oh! and oh!
My boy left buried in the snow!
My hearth is empty and forlorn,
My heart is empty, faint and sick,
For John came dragging home at morn
Two frozen limbs, and oh! and oh!
My boy left buried in the snow!
Nay, blame not John. The day was wild
With driving snow that drowned his face.
The hidden sleigh now holds my child,
The horse stands frozen in his place.
Come, neighbors, quick! Be not so slow!
My boy lies buried in the snow.
With driving snow that drowned his face.
The hidden sleigh now holds my child,
The horse stands frozen in his place.
Come, neighbors, quick! Be not so slow!
My boy lies buried in the snow.
The snow is frozen; follow me!
Like ice this gleaming sea of snow!
And far across the frozen sea
The mound where he is lying low.
Oh, like to gold his hair; his eyes
Were borrowed bits of yonder skies.
Like ice this gleaming sea of snow!
And far across the frozen sea
The mound where he is lying low.
Oh, like to gold his hair; his eyes
Were borrowed bits of yonder skies.
62
I clad my boy as best I had.
The sleigh sped ringing toward the mill.
My boy! my poor, lost farmer lad!
Oh, that I had you with me still!
Why, I would give these snowy lands
To knit two mittens for his hands!
The sleigh sped ringing toward the mill.
My boy! my poor, lost farmer lad!
Oh, that I had you with me still!
Why, I would give these snowy lands
To knit two mittens for his hands!
But, neighbors, neighbors, here! Behold
This mound of snow, this broken place!
A sweet face in a sheen of gold!
Oh! two blue eyes laughing in my face!
My boy, my boy, safe, sound and well,
Breaks like a chicken from his shell!
This mound of snow, this broken place!
A sweet face in a sheen of gold!
Oh! two blue eyes laughing in my face!
My boy, my boy, safe, sound and well,
Breaks like a chicken from his shell!
66
“LA NOTTE.”
Is it night? And sits at night your pillow?
Sits darkness about you like death?
Rolls darkness above like a billow,
As drowning men catch in their breath?
Sits darkness about you like death?
Rolls darkness above like a billow,
As drowning men catch in their breath?
Is it night, and deep night of dark errors,
Of crosses, of pitfalls and bars?
Then lift up your face from your terrors,
For heaven alone holds the stars!
Of crosses, of pitfalls and bars?
Then lift up your face from your terrors,
For heaven alone holds the stars!
Lo! shaggy-beard shepherds, the fastness—
Lorn, desolate Syrian sod;
The darkness, the midnight, the vastness—
That vast, solemn night bore a God!
Lorn, desolate Syrian sod;
The darkness, the midnight, the vastness—
That vast, solemn night bore a God!
That night brought us God! and the Savior
Lay down in a manger to rest;
A sweet cherub Babe in behavior,
So that all Baby-world might be blest.
Lay down in a manger to rest;
A sweet cherub Babe in behavior,
So that all Baby-world might be blest.
91
MY COUNTRY.
My country, what is it? A place that is dear
From holy traditions of dear baby land,
From faces long vanished, from dust we revere,
From friendships of boyhood that grew hand in hand
And merged into manhood as year knit to year.
From holy traditions of dear baby land,
From faces long vanished, from dust we revere,
From friendships of boyhood that grew hand in hand
And merged into manhood as year knit to year.
My country, where is it? The place where I knew
A dear mother's face, where God sat me down
At the first, where I gathered my strength, where I grew
To believe the fair limits that girded me round
The down-falling curtains of heaven's own blue.
A dear mother's face, where God sat me down
At the first, where I gathered my strength, where I grew
To believe the fair limits that girded me round
The down-falling curtains of heaven's own blue.
My country, where is it? The place where the soul
Takes color, takes form and expression and size;
The spot where the star-studded scroll of the skies
Proclaims my protection, that volumes the whole
Of love, of existence, of all that men prize.
Takes color, takes form and expression and size;
The spot where the star-studded scroll of the skies
Proclaims my protection, that volumes the whole
Of love, of existence, of all that men prize.
92
My country, where is it? The icy North Pole,
Or any north land, or land anywhere,
May be sacred to others, be fond or be fair:
But my own natal skies are a legible scroll
With the dear name of Mother indelibly there.
Or any north land, or land anywhere,
May be sacred to others, be fond or be fair:
But my own natal skies are a legible scroll
With the dear name of Mother indelibly there.
93
AFTER THE WAR.
Yes, bread! I want bread! You heard what I said,
Yet you stand and you stare,
As if never before came a tramp to your door
With such insolent air.
Yet you stand and you stare,
As if never before came a tramp to your door
With such insolent air.
Would I work? Never learned.—My home it was burned;
And I have n't yet found
Any heart to plow lands and build homes for red hands
That burned mine to the ground.
And I have n't yet found
Any heart to plow lands and build homes for red hands
That burned mine to the ground.
No bread! you have said?—Then my curse on your head!
And, what shall sting worse,
On that wife at your side, on those babes in their pride,
Fall my seven-fold curse!—
And, what shall sting worse,
On that wife at your side, on those babes in their pride,
Fall my seven-fold curse!—
94
Good bye! I must l'arn to creep into your barn;
Suck your eggs; hide away;
Sneak around like a hound—light a match in your hay—
Limp away through the gray!
Suck your eggs; hide away;
Sneak around like a hound—light a match in your hay—
Limp away through the gray!
Yes, I limp—curse these stones! And then my old bones—
They were riddled with ball
Down at Shiloh. What, you? You war wounded thar, too?
Well, you beat us—that's all.
They were riddled with ball
Down at Shiloh. What, you? You war wounded thar, too?
Well, you beat us—that's all.
Yet even my heart with a stout pride will start
As I tramp. For, you see,
No matter which won, it was gallantly done,
And a glorious American victory.
As I tramp. For, you see,
No matter which won, it was gallantly done,
And a glorious American victory.
What, kind words and bread? God's smiles on your head!
On your wife on your babes!—and please, sir, I pray
You'll pardon me, sir; but that fight trenched me here,
Deep—deeper than sword-cut that day.
On your wife on your babes!—and please, sir, I pray
You'll pardon me, sir; but that fight trenched me here,
Deep—deeper than sword-cut that day.
95
Nay. I'll go. Sir, adieu! Tu Tityre
[OMITTED] You
Have Augustus for friend—
I—Yes, read and speak both Latin and Greek,
And talk slang without end.
Have Augustus for friend—
I—Yes, read and speak both Latin and Greek,
And talk slang without end.
Hey? Oxford. But, then, when the wild cry for men
Rang out through the gathering night
As a mother who cries for her first born that dies,
We two hurried home for the fight.
Rang out through the gathering night
As a mother who cries for her first born that dies,
We two hurried home for the fight.
How noble my brother, how brave—and—but there—
This tramping about somehow hurts my eyes.
At Shiloh! We stood 'neath the hill by the wood—
It 's a graveyard to-day, I surmise.
This tramping about somehow hurts my eyes.
At Shiloh! We stood 'neath the hill by the wood—
It 's a graveyard to-day, I surmise.
Yes we stood to the last! And when the strife passed
I sank down in blood at his side.
On his brow, on his breast—what need tell the rest?—
I but knew that my brother had died.
I sank down in blood at his side.
On his brow, on his breast—what need tell the rest?—
I but knew that my brother had died.
What! wounds on your breast? Your brow tells the rest?
You fought at my side and you fell?
You the brave boy that stood at my side in that wood,
On that blazing red border of hell?
You fought at my side and you fell?
You the brave boy that stood at my side in that wood,
On that blazing red border of hell?
96
My brother! My own! Never king on his throne
Knew a joy like this brought to me.
God bless you, my life; bless your brave Northern wife,
And your beautiful babes, two and three.
Knew a joy like this brought to me.
God bless you, my life; bless your brave Northern wife,
And your beautiful babes, two and three.
97
BY THE PACIFIC OCEAN.
Here room and kingly silence keep
Companionship in state austere,
The dignity of death is here,
The large, lone vastness of the deep.
Here toil has pitched his camp to rest,
The west is banked against the west.
Companionship in state austere,
The dignity of death is here,
The large, lone vastness of the deep.
Here toil has pitched his camp to rest,
The west is banked against the west.
Above yon gleaming skies of gold
One lone imperial peak is seen;
While gathered at his feet in green
Ten thousand foresters are told.
And all so still! so still the air
That duty drops the web of care.
One lone imperial peak is seen;
While gathered at his feet in green
Ten thousand foresters are told.
And all so still! so still the air
That duty drops the web of care.
Beneath the sunset's golden sheaves
The awful deep walks with the deep,
Where silent sea-doves slip and sweep,
And commerce keeps her loom and weaves.
The dead red men refuse to rest;
Their ghosts illume my lurid West.
The awful deep walks with the deep,
Where silent sea-doves slip and sweep,
And commerce keeps her loom and weaves.
The dead red men refuse to rest;
Their ghosts illume my lurid West.
100
GRANT AT SHILOH.
The blue and the gray! Their work was well done!
They lay as to listen to the waters flow.
Some lay with their faces upturned to the sun,
As seeking to know what the gods might know.
Their work was well done, each soldier was true.
But what is the question that comes to you?
They lay as to listen to the waters flow.
Some lay with their faces upturned to the sun,
As seeking to know what the gods might know.
Their work was well done, each soldier was true.
But what is the question that comes to you?
For all that men do, for all that men dare,
That river still runs with its stateliest flow.
The sun and the moon I scarcely think care
A fig for the fallen, of friend or of foe.
But the moss-mantled cypress, the old soldiers say,
Still mantles in smoke of that battle day!
That river still runs with its stateliest flow.
The sun and the moon I scarcely think care
A fig for the fallen, of friend or of foe.
But the moss-mantled cypress, the old soldiers say,
Still mantles in smoke of that battle day!
These men in the dust! These pitiful dead!
The gray and the blue, the blue and the gray,
The headless trunk and the trunkless head;
The image of God in the gory clay!
And who was the bravest? Say, can you tell
If Death throws dice with a loaded shell?
The gray and the blue, the blue and the gray,
The headless trunk and the trunkless head;
The image of God in the gory clay!
And who was the bravest? Say, can you tell
If Death throws dice with a loaded shell?
104
PETER COOPER.
DIED 1883.
Give honor and love forevermore
To this great man gone to rest;
Peace on the dim Plutonian shore,
Rest in the land of the blest.
To this great man gone to rest;
Peace on the dim Plutonian shore,
Rest in the land of the blest.
I reckon him greater than any man
That ever drew sword in war;
I reckon him nobler than king or khan,
Braver and better by far.
That ever drew sword in war;
I reckon him nobler than king or khan,
Braver and better by far.
And wisest he in this whole wide land
Of hoarding till bent and gray;
For all you can hold in your cold dead hand
Is what you have given away.
Of hoarding till bent and gray;
For all you can hold in your cold dead hand
Is what you have given away.
So, whether to wander the stars or to rest
Forever hushed and dumb,
He gave with a zest and he gave his best—
Give him the best to come.
Forever hushed and dumb,
He gave with a zest and he gave his best—
Give him the best to come.
105
A. T. STEWART.
[_]
[The preceding lines are already in one of my books, but I put them here for the purpose of antithesis. I have forgotten when this last-named man died. I doubt if anybody cares to know. I doubt if anybody even knows where he is buried.
Of course I shall be abused for doing what I do. But I have my duties. And I shall stand stoutly up against the face of the world in its foolish deification of gold when I think it best.]
The gold that with the sunlight lies
In bursting heaps at dawn,
The silver spilling from the skies
At night to walk upon,
The diamonds gleaming with the dew
He never saw, he never knew.
In bursting heaps at dawn,
The silver spilling from the skies
At night to walk upon,
The diamonds gleaming with the dew
He never saw, he never knew.
He got some gold, dug from the mud,
Some silver, crushed from stones.
The gold was red with dead men's blood,
The silver black with groans.
And when he died he moaned aloud
“There'll be no pocket in my shroud!”
Some silver, crushed from stones.
The gold was red with dead men's blood,
The silver black with groans.
And when he died he moaned aloud
“There'll be no pocket in my shroud!”
115
BACK TO THE GOLDEN GATE
Yea, I have tracked the hemispheres,Have touched on fairest land that lies
This side the gates of Paradise;
Have ranged the universe for years;
Have read the book of love right on,
From title leaf to colophon.
118
SIERRA.
With vast foundations seamed and knit,And wrought and bound by golden bars,
Sierra's peaks serenely sit
And challenge heaven's sentry-stars.
QUEBEC.
She gleams above a granite throne;Her gray walls gird her ample zone;
She queens the North, supreme—alone!
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