 | Minions of the Moon |  |
SONG AND STORY
77
THE VIKINGS
A Saga of Yule.
Far to the South a star,
Bright-shining over all;
And a sound of voices singing,
'Round a Babe in an ox's-stall.
Bright-shining over all;
And a sound of voices singing,
'Round a Babe in an ox's-stall.
Three Kings a-riding, riding,
With gifts of myrrh and gold,
Far, far from the wild North Ocean,
Of which this tale is told:—
With gifts of myrrh and gold,
Far, far from the wild North Ocean,
Of which this tale is told:—
By the sea, in the Hall of Beele,
Were Yule and joy and feast,
Outside was the noise of the ocean
And storm, like a howling beast.
Were Yule and joy and feast,
Outside was the noise of the ocean
And storm, like a howling beast.
The King sate at the banquet
With his Jarls and Berserks hale,
Quaffing to Thor and Odin
Huge horns of mead and ale.
With his Jarls and Berserks hale,
Quaffing to Thor and Odin
Huge horns of mead and ale.
Unheeded howled the winter
'Round the oak walls of the King,
For a mighty skald with a runic harp
Made the hall re-echoing ring.
'Round the oak walls of the King,
For a mighty skald with a runic harp
Made the hall re-echoing ring.
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Loud laughed the blonde Norse maidens
As they brimmed the barmy cup,
Where the torches flickered the war-blades
And the bucklers hanging up.
As they brimmed the barmy cup,
Where the torches flickered the war-blades
And the bucklers hanging up.
But out by the thundering North Sea
Ten shattered dragons lie,
Vessels, like great sea-monsters,
To the billows heaving high.
Ten shattered dragons lie,
Vessels, like great sea-monsters,
To the billows heaving high.
And pale and hacked with gashes,
'Mid his battered arms lies low
The red-haired Viking, Hareck,
Half-buried in the snow.
'Mid his battered arms lies low
The red-haired Viking, Hareck,
Half-buried in the snow.
And wan, where the waves beat sullen,
Lies his brother, one-eyed Hulf,
Above whose mailéd visage
Snarls the winter-famished wolf.
Lies his brother, one-eyed Hulf,
Above whose mailéd visage
Snarls the winter-famished wolf.
And where is seen the glimmer
Of arms on dune and shore,
Their warriors, fierce and long-haired,
Lie frozen in their gore.
Of arms on dune and shore,
Their warriors, fierce and long-haired,
Lie frozen in their gore.
For Hulf and red-haired Hareck
To Sogn did harrying sail,
But Beele and his Berserkers
Did give them welcome hale.
To Sogn did harrying sail,
But Beele and his Berserkers
Did give them welcome hale.
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On the shore of the wild North Ocean,
In the wild mist and the spray,
In the spindrift and the tempest
The battle clanged all day.
In the wild mist and the spray,
In the spindrift and the tempest
The battle clanged all day.
On the shore of the wild North Ocean,
When fell the wilder night,
The Vikings, Hulf and Hareck,
As the snow lay cold and white.
When fell the wilder night,
The Vikings, Hulf and Hareck,
As the snow lay cold and white.
Not for long in their shattered armor,
By the billow-booming deep,
Were left the terrible warriors
In their eternal sleep.
By the billow-booming deep,
Were left the terrible warriors
In their eternal sleep.
For Odin from Valhala
Saw the Vikings fight and fall,
And bade the Valkyrs summon
The heroes to his Hall.
Saw the Vikings fight and fall,
And bade the Valkyrs summon
The heroes to his Hall.
They came. The ghosts of the Vikings
Stood dark-browed on the field,
Moody within the tempest,
Each leaning on his shield.
Stood dark-browed on the field,
Moody within the tempest,
Each leaning on his shield.
In his great-horned helm loomed Hareck,
His face like some wild moon
That looks upon the havoc
Of a field with battle strewn.
His face like some wild moon
That looks upon the havoc
Of a field with battle strewn.
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Like a dark star, dim and misty,
Faint-seen through scud-blown air,
Hulf's face on the Maids of Odin
Shone in its wind-tossed hair.
Faint-seen through scud-blown air,
Hulf's face on the Maids of Odin
Shone in its wind-tossed hair.
And with them, lo! another,
Whose face was mild and sad—
Unarmed, no Viking warrior,
A Man in whiteness clad.
Whose face was mild and sad—
Unarmed, no Viking warrior,
A Man in whiteness clad.
Through snow and the foam of the ocean
Glittered the Valkyries,
And the sound of their trumpet voices
Was like to the stormy sea's.
Glittered the Valkyries,
And the sound of their trumpet voices
Was like to the stormy sea's.
“Behold,” they cried, “Valhala
Awaits! And Odin sent!—
The polished skulls are brimmed with mead
And ready the tournament!
Awaits! And Odin sent!—
The polished skulls are brimmed with mead
And ready the tournament!
“And Thor and Brage and Balder,
And many an Aza fair,
On the pleasant plain of Ida,
Await your coming there!”
And many an Aza fair,
On the pleasant plain of Ida,
Await your coming there!”
And they stretched their glittering gauntlets
To the Vikings standing pale,
And joy lit up their lowering brows
Like moonlight in a gale.
To the Vikings standing pale,
And joy lit up their lowering brows
Like moonlight in a gale.
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And then the other murmured,—
And His voice was soft and low,—
And a scent as of myrrh and lilies
Swept through the storm and snow:—
And His voice was soft and low,—
And a scent as of myrrh and lilies
Swept through the storm and snow:—
“Come to Me, ye who labor,
And ye who are distressed!
All, all whose hearts are burdened,
And I will give you rest.
And ye who are distressed!
All, all whose hearts are burdened,
And I will give you rest.
“I bring a different message
From that just brought of these,
A message of love and forgiveness
From My Father the King of Peace.
From that just brought of these,
A message of love and forgiveness
From My Father the King of Peace.
“Now ends the reign of Odin,
And My Father's rule begins!
Peace and good-will, good-will and peace,
And forgiveness of all sins!”
And My Father's rule begins!
Peace and good-will, good-will and peace,
And forgiveness of all sins!”
And He stretched His arms toward them,
And hushed were the howling gales:
And they saw that His brow was crowned with thorns,
And His hands were pierced with nails.
And hushed were the howling gales:
And they saw that His brow was crowned with thorns,
And His hands were pierced with nails.
And there in the Hall of Beele
The sound of Yule died low,
And all was hushed as the Word of Christ
Pealed far through the wind and snow.
The sound of Yule died low,
And all was hushed as the Word of Christ
Pealed far through the wind and snow.
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TREASURE TROVE
We were a crew of what you please,
Men with the lust of gold gone mad;
Dutch and Yankee and Portuguese,
With a nigger or two from Trinidad,
The scum of the Caribbees:
Outbound, outbound for a treasure ground,
A pirate isle no man had found,
A long-lost isle in the Southern Seas,
An isle of the Southern Seas.
Men with the lust of gold gone mad;
Dutch and Yankee and Portuguese,
With a nigger or two from Trinidad,
The scum of the Caribbees:
Outbound, outbound for a treasure ground,
A pirate isle no man had found,
A long-lost isle in the Southern Seas,
An isle of the Southern Seas.
We sailed our ship by a chart we bore,
The parchment script of a buccaneer,
Whose skeleton, found on a Carib shore,
Had kept its secret for many a year,
Locked in a buckle of belt it wore.
And the dim chart told of buried gold,
A hidden harbor and pirate hold,
On an isle that seamen touched no more,
That sailors knew no more.
The parchment script of a buccaneer,
Whose skeleton, found on a Carib shore,
Had kept its secret for many a year,
Locked in a buckle of belt it wore.
And the dim chart told of buried gold,
A hidden harbor and pirate hold,
On an isle that seamen touched no more,
That sailors knew no more.
We were a crew of Devil-may-care,
Who staked our lives on a bit of a scrawl;
Who diced each other for lot and share
Or ever we hoisted sail at all,
Or the brine blew through our hair.
At last with a hail for calm or gale,
The wind of adventure in our sail,
We piped up anchor and did our dare,
Steered for the Island there.
Who staked our lives on a bit of a scrawl;
Who diced each other for lot and share
Or ever we hoisted sail at all,
Or the brine blew through our hair.
At last with a hail for calm or gale,
The wind of adventure in our sail,
We piped up anchor and did our dare,
Steered for the Island there.
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From Porto Bello to Isle of France,
And thence South East our chart read plain:
We followed the route of old Romance,
The plate-ship route of the Spanish Main,
The old wild route of Chance.
Black Beard sailed it and Jean Lafitte;
And Drake and Morgan, and many a fleet
Of pillage once that led the dance,
Spain's golden-galleon dance.
And thence South East our chart read plain:
We followed the route of old Romance,
The plate-ship route of the Spanish Main,
The old wild route of Chance.
Black Beard sailed it and Jean Lafitte;
And Drake and Morgan, and many a fleet
Of pillage once that led the dance,
Spain's golden-galleon dance.
Moidores, guineas, and pieces-of-eight;
Doubloons round as the gibbous moon;
All the wealth that they sacked as freight
In the good old days of the piccaroon,
We dreamed of soon and late:
And gems of the East, of which the least
Would grace a Khan's or a Caliph's feast,
And chest on chest of Spanish plate,
Great chests of Spanish plate.
Doubloons round as the gibbous moon;
All the wealth that they sacked as freight
In the good old days of the piccaroon,
We dreamed of soon and late:
And gems of the East, of which the least
Would grace a Khan's or a Caliph's feast,
And chest on chest of Spanish plate,
Great chests of Spanish plate.
The wind blew fair from Panama;
For a month the wind blew fair and free;
We steered our ship by the gold we saw
In the far-off script of a century,
Wherein men knew no law.
We held our course, for better or worse,
Now with a song and now with a curse,
According to the lots we'd draw,
Rum or the lots we'd draw.
For a month the wind blew fair and free;
We steered our ship by the gold we saw
In the far-off script of a century,
Wherein men knew no law.
We held our course, for better or worse,
Now with a song and now with a curse,
According to the lots we'd draw,
Rum or the lots we'd draw.
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We had not reckoned on destiny,
And him all seamen dread, they say,
That captain, old in infamy,
Who holds to Hell till the Judgment Day,
And takes of Earth his fee.—
Oh, black and black is the South Sea track
Of the skeleton Captain, Yellow Jack,
Who sweeps with his boneyard crew the sea,
The hurricane-haunted sea.
And him all seamen dread, they say,
That captain, old in infamy,
Who holds to Hell till the Judgment Day,
And takes of Earth his fee.—
Oh, black and black is the South Sea track
Of the skeleton Captain, Yellow Jack,
Who sweeps with his boneyard crew the sea,
The hurricane-haunted sea.
Six weeks we lay in the doldrums; dead;
Six weeks that rotted us with delay,
Till a gale sprang up and drove us ahead,
Out of our course, for a week and a day,
Till we deemed we were Dutchman-led.—
When the gale was done, why, one by one,
The scurvy took us, every son,
And mutiny down in the hold was bred,
Mutiny then was bred.
Six weeks that rotted us with delay,
Till a gale sprang up and drove us ahead,
Out of our course, for a week and a day,
Till we deemed we were Dutchman-led.—
When the gale was done, why, one by one,
The scurvy took us, every son,
And mutiny down in the hold was bred,
Mutiny then was bred.
At last on our bow we sighted shore,
A wild crag circled of cloud and sea;
Our pirate isle, where ceaselessly
The rock-fanged surf kept up its roar
Round a towering bluff and tree,
Where the chart was marked that the gold should be:
Cliffs that the seafowl clamored o'er,
With the dragging seaweed hoar.
A wild crag circled of cloud and sea;
Our pirate isle, where ceaselessly
The rock-fanged surf kept up its roar
Round a towering bluff and tree,
Where the chart was marked that the gold should be:
Cliffs that the seafowl clamored o'er,
With the dragging seaweed hoar.
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A smudge of mist and a gleam that died,
And a muttering down below—
And night was on us at a stride,
And, God! how it came to blow!
And a man went over the side:
Then fore and aft of our crazy craft
Corposants glimmered and Madness laughed,
And a voice from the Island wild replied,
A dæmon voice replied.
And a muttering down below—
And night was on us at a stride,
And, God! how it came to blow!
And a man went over the side:
Then fore and aft of our crazy craft
Corposants glimmered and Madness laughed,
And a voice from the Island wild replied,
A dæmon voice replied.
Three nights and days of the hurricane's rage.—
What curse now held us off!—
We never would win to an anchorage,
We thought, when, ho! with a scoff
The Island thundered, “Come take your wage!”—
And, lo, that night by the thin moonlight
We found our ship in a bay or bight,
That seemed a part of another age,
A far-off pirate age.
What curse now held us off!—
We never would win to an anchorage,
We thought, when, ho! with a scoff
The Island thundered, “Come take your wage!”—
And, lo, that night by the thin moonlight
We found our ship in a bay or bight,
That seemed a part of another age,
A far-off pirate age.
Our ship a-leak and her pumps all jammed
We won to the Harbor of Yellow Jack;
And so it was that he took command
And hoisted his skeleton flag of black,
And our decks with dead men crammed.—
But we—we found the treasure ground—
Where some went mad and some were drowned—
For the gold, you see, was damned, was damned,
The gold you see was damned.
We won to the Harbor of Yellow Jack;
And so it was that he took command
And hoisted his skeleton flag of black,
And our decks with dead men crammed.—
But we—we found the treasure ground—
Where some went mad and some were drowned—
For the gold, you see, was damned, was damned,
The gold you see was damned.
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SERVICE
I passed a cottage 'twixt the town and wood,
And marked its garden, blossoming bright and bold,
And breathing many a scent. Awhile I stood
Near pink and marigold.
It seemed a place of prayer; of love and peace;
Where gray Content with children at his knees,—
Like blessings manifold,
Rested among the trees.
And marked its garden, blossoming bright and bold,
And breathing many a scent. Awhile I stood
Near pink and marigold.
It seemed a place of prayer; of love and peace;
Where gray Content with children at his knees,—
Like blessings manifold,
Rested among the trees.
An old man came into the garden-plot;
And 'mid the tansy and the scarlet sage
Found for himself a dim and quiet spot
Wherein to turn a page:
For in his hand he bore a well-thumbed book,
Upon whose pages now and then he'd look;
And then, as if with age,
His hoary head he shook.
And 'mid the tansy and the scarlet sage
Found for himself a dim and quiet spot
Wherein to turn a page:
For in his hand he bore a well-thumbed book,
Upon whose pages now and then he'd look;
And then, as if with age,
His hoary head he shook.
I said to him: “You have a lovely place.
How rich your garden blooms! How sweet its shade!
How good to sit here in the eve and face
Those hills of woods while fade
The sunset's splendors—like a bannered host
Before the glory of the Holy Ghost,—
While Dusk, in light arrayed,
Takes up his starry post.”
How rich your garden blooms! How sweet its shade!
How good to sit here in the eve and face
Those hills of woods while fade
The sunset's splendors—like a bannered host
Before the glory of the Holy Ghost,—
While Dusk, in light arrayed,
Takes up his starry post.”
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The old man smiled, and turned around to stare
Not at me but above my head, as if
He saw a form, a flying phantom there,
A flaming hippogriff:
Then said: “You find here what I keep in mind—
Thoughts—thoughts of beauty with which God is kind
To an old man grown stiff
And half-way deaf and blind.
Not at me but above my head, as if
He saw a form, a flying phantom there,
A flaming hippogriff:
Then said: “You find here what I keep in mind—
Thoughts—thoughts of beauty with which God is kind
To an old man grown stiff
And half-way deaf and blind.
“This garden, now, in every herb and flower,
Expresses what the Bible says in part
Unto my soul: To serve God every hour,
In thought, or through some art,
With loveliness: as men did long ago,
Work at some beauty that shall gleam and glow
With worship of the heart,
Whose dream shall burn below.
Expresses what the Bible says in part
Unto my soul: To serve God every hour,
In thought, or through some art,
With loveliness: as men did long ago,
Work at some beauty that shall gleam and glow
With worship of the heart,
Whose dream shall burn below.
“For men may serve God in their humblest works:
In gardens, say, like mine; wherein the Word
Walks with me, and in every rosebush lurks
God's blessing like a bird.”
And so he ceased. And, like the Seraphim,
The sunset clouds spread golden over him;
And in the trees I heard,
The wind, like some far hymn.
In gardens, say, like mine; wherein the Word
Walks with me, and in every rosebush lurks
God's blessing like a bird.”
And so he ceased. And, like the Seraphim,
The sunset clouds spread golden over him;
And in the trees I heard,
The wind, like some far hymn.
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AT THE FALL OF DEW
One bright star in the firmament,
One wild rose in the dew,
And a girl, like the sparkling two,
Following the cows that went
Through roses wet with dew,
Roses, two by two.
One wild rose in the dew,
And a girl, like the sparkling two,
Following the cows that went
Through roses wet with dew,
Roses, two by two.
Shy she was as the twilight skies
When they hesitate with stars,
As she stood to wait at the pasture bars,
Gazing with far-off eyes
At the slowly coming stars
Over the pasture bars.
When they hesitate with stars,
As she stood to wait at the pasture bars,
Gazing with far-off eyes
At the slowly coming stars
Over the pasture bars.
She hummed a tune while the cattle passed,
And the bells in the dusk clanged clear;
Then a whistle caught her ear,
And she knew 'twas love at last,
While the bells in the dusk clanged clear,
And his whistle caught her ear.
And the bells in the dusk clanged clear;
Then a whistle caught her ear,
And she knew 'twas love at last,
While the bells in the dusk clanged clear,
And his whistle caught her ear.
The smell of the hay came warm and sweet
From the field there where he stood,
The field by the old beech wood,
Where a bird sang, “Sweet! oh, sweet!”
In the tree there, where he stood
By the old beech wood.
From the field there where he stood,
The field by the old beech wood,
Where a bird sang, “Sweet! oh, sweet!”
In the tree there, where he stood
By the old beech wood.
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Then a voice at the farmyard gate
Called to her down the road,
Where the fireflies' lights were sowed;
But she answered the one await
By the tree at the end of the road
Where the fireflies' lights were sowed.
Called to her down the road,
Where the fireflies' lights were sowed;
But she answered the one await
By the tree at the end of the road
Where the fireflies' lights were sowed.
Right young was he and brown and strong
As a farmer's lad should be;
And she?—with her soul of witchery
And a heart, like a bird's, of song,
All a country girl should be,
With a soul of witchery.
As a farmer's lad should be;
And she?—with her soul of witchery
And a heart, like a bird's, of song,
All a country girl should be,
With a soul of witchery.
Oh! I can see them yet
In the dusk of the long-ago—
Two lovers walking slow;
And my eyes with tears are wet
For the love of the long-ago,
Love of the long-ago.
In the dusk of the long-ago—
Two lovers walking slow;
And my eyes with tears are wet
For the love of the long-ago,
Love of the long-ago.
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Unmasked
Was it a dream,
Or a whim of the night?
Or did they gleam
Upon my sight
An instant there in the wan moonlight?—
Or a whim of the night?
Or did they gleam
Upon my sight
An instant there in the wan moonlight?—
I saw them all, I think,
Under the bowers,
The faery folk, in a moonbeam wink,
Disguised as flowers.
First came the Bleeding-Hearts, that hang like bells
Or delicate shells;
Who, gowned in white and red,
Hooped skirts and furbelows,
A long procession led
Of Faery Ladies and their beaux,
Such as the Violet and Early Rose,
Into the ball-room of the flower-bed,
Where they began a Pixy minuet.—
Then suddenly, from whence nobody knows,
The Johnny-Jump-Ups glimmered in that set,
Tipping about on tiny flower-toes,
All dressed in twinkling velvet, black and blue,
Faint-jeweled with the dew:
Stout sons of Faërie, Yeomen of the Night,
Glittering, each one, a rapier-ray of light:—
Under the bowers,
The faery folk, in a moonbeam wink,
Disguised as flowers.
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Or delicate shells;
Who, gowned in white and red,
Hooped skirts and furbelows,
A long procession led
Of Faery Ladies and their beaux,
Such as the Violet and Early Rose,
Into the ball-room of the flower-bed,
Where they began a Pixy minuet.—
Then suddenly, from whence nobody knows,
The Johnny-Jump-Ups glimmered in that set,
Tipping about on tiny flower-toes,
All dressed in twinkling velvet, black and blue,
Faint-jeweled with the dew:
Stout sons of Faërie, Yeomen of the Night,
Glittering, each one, a rapier-ray of light:—
Then, bowing two by two,—
While all the Bleeding-Hearts stood by and fanned,
They, silken hand in hand,
Began a faery saraband,
That wound and interwound, and went and came again.—
And then,
In ruffed and ribboned lines,
The gold-and-ruby gleaming Columbines,
Fair Maids-of-Honor to the Faery Queen,—
Who still remained unseen,—
Trailed twinkling into view.
While all the Bleeding-Hearts stood by and fanned,
They, silken hand in hand,
Began a faery saraband,
That wound and interwound, and went and came again.—
And then,
In ruffed and ribboned lines,
The gold-and-ruby gleaming Columbines,
Fair Maids-of-Honor to the Faery Queen,—
Who still remained unseen,—
Trailed twinkling into view.
And then a trumpet blew
A beetle-blast—and there!
Adown a glowworm-lanthorned avenue,
Tall two by two,
With sapphire-helméd hair,
Proud Knights and minions of the moon,
The Larkspurs, to a cricket tune,
Marched with a haughty air.
And golden-cuirassed, blowing a wild fanfare
Of fragrant notes
From honey-crystaled throats,
Snapdragons, Trumpeters of the Faery King,
With pomp and glittering
Of many an elfin prince and peer,
Drew near.
A beetle-blast—and there!
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Tall two by two,
With sapphire-helméd hair,
Proud Knights and minions of the moon,
The Larkspurs, to a cricket tune,
Marched with a haughty air.
And golden-cuirassed, blowing a wild fanfare
Of fragrant notes
From honey-crystaled throats,
Snapdragons, Trumpeters of the Faery King,
With pomp and glittering
Of many an elfin prince and peer,
Drew near.
And when I felt secure,
And sure
The King and Queen of Faërie would appear,
My dear,
A cockerel crew, a thwarting cockerel crew,
And, presto! whew!
The whole scene went in air,
Leaving it there,—
The garden,—glimmering with the moon and dew,
Looking demure
With all its flowers. But I knew,
Nay, I was sure,
It was not quite as innocent as it seemed.
It could not fool me with its looks demure.
I knew I had not dreamed.
And sure
The King and Queen of Faërie would appear,
My dear,
A cockerel crew, a thwarting cockerel crew,
And, presto! whew!
The whole scene went in air,
Leaving it there,—
The garden,—glimmering with the moon and dew,
Looking demure
With all its flowers. But I knew,
Nay, I was sure,
It was not quite as innocent as it seemed.
It could not fool me with its looks demure.
I knew I had not dreamed.
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THE HEART'S OWN DAY
This is the heart's own day:
With dreaming eyes
Life seems to look away
Beyond the skies
Into some long-gone May.
With dreaming eyes
Life seems to look away
Beyond the skies
Into some long-gone May.
A May that can not die;
Across whose hills
Youth's heart goes singing by,
'Mid daffodils,
With Love the young and shy.
Across whose hills
Youth's heart goes singing by,
'Mid daffodils,
With Love the young and shy.
Love of the slender form
And elvish face;
Who with uplifted arm
Points to one place—
A place of oldtime charm.
And elvish face;
Who with uplifted arm
Points to one place—
A place of oldtime charm.
Where once the lilies grew
For Love to twine,
With violets, white and blue,
And columbine,
Of gold and crimson hue.
For Love to twine,
With violets, white and blue,
And columbine,
Of gold and crimson hue.
Gone is the long-ago;
Gone like the wind;
And Love we used to know
Sits dumb and blind,
With locks of winter snow.
Gone like the wind;
And Love we used to know
Sits dumb and blind,
With locks of winter snow.
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And by him Memory
Sits sketching back
Into the used-to-be,
In white and black,
One flower on his knee.
Sits sketching back
Into the used-to-be,
In white and black,
One flower on his knee.
One rose, whose crimson gleams
Like Youth's glad heart,
And fills the day with dreams,
And is a part
Of the old love it seems.
Like Youth's glad heart,
And fills the day with dreams,
And is a part
Of the old love it seems.
That touches with the tints
Of Faeryland
This day; and makes a prince—
Of Samarcand,—
Of him, whose hand
Hers held in dreams long since.
Of Faeryland
This day; and makes a prince—
Of Samarcand,—
Of him, whose hand
Hers held in dreams long since.
95
THE RIBBON
Those were the days of doubt. How clear
It all comes back!—This ribbon, see?
Brings that far past so very near
I lose my own identity,
And seem two beings: one that's here,
And one back in that century
Of cowardice and fear,
Wherein I met with love and her,
When I was but a wanderer.
It all comes back!—This ribbon, see?
Brings that far past so very near
I lose my own identity,
And seem two beings: one that's here,
And one back in that century
Of cowardice and fear,
Wherein I met with love and her,
When I was but a wanderer.
Those were the days of doubt, I said:
I doubted all things; even God.
Within my heart there was no dread
Of Hell or Heaven. Never a rod
Was there to smite; no mercy led:
And man's reward was death: a clod
He was, alive or dead.
Those were the days of doubt; and so
I scoffed at all things, high and low.
I doubted all things; even God.
Within my heart there was no dread
Of Hell or Heaven. Never a rod
Was there to smite; no mercy led:
And man's reward was death: a clod
He was, alive or dead.
Those were the days of doubt; and so
I scoffed at all things, high and low.
And then I met her. Fair and frail,
A girl whose soul was as a flame
That burns within the Holy Grael;
And through her eyes shone clear the same
Fanatic fire, pure and pale,—
That once put Sisera to shame
In the dark eyes of Jael,
When, leading him into her tent,
She used the nail as argument.
A girl whose soul was as a flame
That burns within the Holy Grael;
And through her eyes shone clear the same
Fanatic fire, pure and pale,—
That once put Sisera to shame
In the dark eyes of Jael,
When, leading him into her tent,
She used the nail as argument.
96
There was no argument of grace
She did not use; no dogma, wrought
Of sophistry, she did not place
Before me, leading up my thought
To Heaven from the fearful maze
Of Hell, wherein God's angels fought
With fiends, on darkling ways.
I listened—but in her young look
Was more for me than in God's Book.
She did not use; no dogma, wrought
Of sophistry, she did not place
Before me, leading up my thought
To Heaven from the fearful maze
Of Hell, wherein God's angels fought
With fiends, on darkling ways.
I listened—but in her young look
Was more for me than in God's Book.
She seemed a priestess. Heaven to be
Was in her face.—A ribbon bound
Her hair like a phylactery.—
This is the band.—I took it; wound
And laid it on my heart.—Ah me!
No other argument I found
As good as that. Convincingly
It held me sane and sound.
And I have kept it here alway
Since first she gave it me that day.
Was in her face.—A ribbon bound
Her hair like a phylactery.—
This is the band.—I took it; wound
And laid it on my heart.—Ah me!
No other argument I found
As good as that. Convincingly
It held me sane and sound.
And I have kept it here alway
Since first she gave it me that day.
“Where is she now”?—I do not know.
She is the wife of one whose hand,
Stretched forth to aid me long-ago,
Took from me more than all this land
In her own self,—and gave me woe
To take her place.—As here I stand
I stood and took the blow,
While in my heart I looked and saw
The love that filled my soul with awe.
She is the wife of one whose hand,
Stretched forth to aid me long-ago,
Took from me more than all this land
In her own self,—and gave me woe
To take her place.—As here I stand
I stood and took the blow,
While in my heart I looked and saw
The love that filled my soul with awe.
97
And did she love me? Am I sure?—
Ah, while I heard angelic hosts
Of Heaven singing love, there were
Black wings about me: all the ghosts
Of all my doubts. I heard them stir,
And so drew back from those bright coasts
Of happiness with her.
Despite the love within my heart
Doubt entered, and began its part.
Ah, while I heard angelic hosts
Of Heaven singing love, there were
Black wings about me: all the ghosts
Of all my doubts. I heard them stir,
And so drew back from those bright coasts
Of happiness with her.
Despite the love within my heart
Doubt entered, and began its part.
Make no mistake. I loved her; ay!
And she loved me as women love
The thing they save.—I spoke my lie,
That by my lie I so might prove
Her love, and with the proof defy
The doubt, whose shadow hung above,
Watching with jealous eye.
So I denied love.—Played a part—
And, playing it, broke my own heart.
And she loved me as women love
The thing they save.—I spoke my lie,
That by my lie I so might prove
Her love, and with the proof defy
The doubt, whose shadow hung above,
Watching with jealous eye.
So I denied love.—Played a part—
And, playing it, broke my own heart.
The better part of me then died;
I killed her love, not mine.—You see
I keep this ribbon here, she tied
My heart to hers with.—Silkenly
It says, “She is another's bride.
Through me now keep in memory
Your doubt was justified.
She did not love you. She could change.”—
I keep the ribbon.—Is it strange?
I killed her love, not mine.—You see
I keep this ribbon here, she tied
My heart to hers with.—Silkenly
It says, “She is another's bride.
Through me now keep in memory
Your doubt was justified.
She did not love you. She could change.”—
I keep the ribbon.—Is it strange?
98
THE PLOUGHBOY
A lilac mist makes warm the hills,
And silvery through it threads a stream:
The redbird's cadence throbs and thrills,
The jaybirds scream.
The bluets' stars begin to gleam,
And 'mid them, whispering with the rills,
The morning-hours dream.
And silvery through it threads a stream:
The redbird's cadence throbs and thrills,
The jaybirds scream.
The bluets' stars begin to gleam,
And 'mid them, whispering with the rills,
The morning-hours dream.
The ploughboy Spring drives out his plough,
A robin's whistle on his lips;
And as he goes with lifted brow,
And snaps and whips
His lash of wind, a sunbeam tips,
The wildflowers laugh, and on the bough
The blossom skips.
A robin's whistle on his lips;
And as he goes with lifted brow,
And snaps and whips
His lash of wind, a sunbeam tips,
The wildflowers laugh, and on the bough
The blossom skips.
The scent of winter-mellowed loam
And greenwood buds is blown from him,
As blithe he takes his young way home,
Large, strong of limb,
Along the hilltop's sunset brim,
Whistling; the first star, white as foam,
In his hat's blue rim.
And greenwood buds is blown from him,
As blithe he takes his young way home,
Large, strong of limb,
Along the hilltop's sunset brim,
Whistling; the first star, white as foam,
In his hat's blue rim.
99
THE DITTANY
The scent of dittany was hot.
Its smell intensified the heat:
Into his brain it seemed to beat
With memories of a day forgot,
When she walked with him through the wheat,
And noon was heavy with the heat.
Its smell intensified the heat:
Into his brain it seemed to beat
With memories of a day forgot,
When she walked with him through the wheat,
And noon was heavy with the heat.
Again her eyes gazed into his
With all their maiden tenderness;
Again the fragrance of her dress
Swooned on his senses; and, with bliss,
Again he felt her heart's caress
Full of a timid tenderness.
With all their maiden tenderness;
Again the fragrance of her dress
Swooned on his senses; and, with bliss,
Again he felt her heart's caress
Full of a timid tenderness.
What of that spray she plucked and gave?
The spray of this wild dittany,
Whose scent brought back to memory
A something lost, beyond the grave.—
He knew now what it meant, ah me!
That spray of withered dittany.
The spray of this wild dittany,
Whose scent brought back to memory
A something lost, beyond the grave.—
He knew now what it meant, ah me!
That spray of withered dittany.
How many things he had forgot!—
Far, lovely things Life flings away!—
And where was she now?—Who could say?—
The dittany, whose scent was hot,
Spoke to his heart; and, old and gray,
Through the lone land he went his way.
Far, lovely things Life flings away!—
And where was she now?—Who could say?—
The dittany, whose scent was hot,
Spoke to his heart; and, old and gray,
Through the lone land he went his way.
100
“THE OLD REMAIN”
The old remain, the young are gone.
The farm dreams lonely on the hill:
From early eve to early dawn
A cry goes with the whippoorwill—
“The old remain, the young are gone.”
The farm dreams lonely on the hill:
From early eve to early dawn
A cry goes with the whippoorwill—
“The old remain, the young are gone.”
Where run the roads they wander on?
The young, whose hearts romped shouting here:
Whose feet thrilled rapture through this lawn,
Where sadness walks now all the year.—
The old remain, the young are gone.
The young, whose hearts romped shouting here:
Whose feet thrilled rapture through this lawn,
Where sadness walks now all the year.—
The old remain, the young are gone.
To what far glory are they drawn?
And do they weary of the quest?
And serve they now a king or pawn
There in the cities of unrest?—
The old remain, the young are gone.
And do they weary of the quest?
And serve they now a king or pawn
There in the cities of unrest?—
The old remain, the young are gone.
They found the life here gray and wan,
Too kind, too poor, too full of peace:
The great mad world of brain and brawn
Called to their young hearts without cease.—
The old remain, the young are gone.
Too kind, too poor, too full of peace:
The great mad world of brain and brawn
Called to their young hearts without cease.—
The old remain, the young are gone.
They left us to our Avalon,
The ancient fields, the house and trees,
Where we at sunset and at dawn
May sit with dreams and memories.—
The old remain, the young are gone.
The ancient fields, the house and trees,
Where we at sunset and at dawn
May sit with dreams and memories.—
The old remain, the young are gone.
101
Dear Heart, draw near and lean upon
My heart, and gaze no more through tears:
We have our love; our work well done,
To help us face the wistful years.—
The old remain, the young are gone.
My heart, and gaze no more through tears:
We have our love; our work well done,
To help us face the wistful years.—
The old remain, the young are gone.
102
THE OLD HOME
They've torn the old house down, that stood,
Like some kind mother, in this place,
Hugged by its orchard and its wood,
Two sturdy children, strong of race.
Like some kind mother, in this place,
Hugged by its orchard and its wood,
Two sturdy children, strong of race.
This formal place makes no appeal.
I miss the oldtime happiness
And peace, which often here did heal
The cares of life, the heart's distress.
I miss the oldtime happiness
And peace, which often here did heal
The cares of life, the heart's distress.
The shrubs,—which snowed their blossoms on
The walks, wide-stretching from the doors
Like friendly arms,—are dead and gone,
And over all a grand house soars.
The walks, wide-stretching from the doors
Like friendly arms,—are dead and gone,
And over all a grand house soars.
Within its front no welcome lies,
But pride's aloofness; wealth, that stares
From windows, cold as haughty eyes,
The arrogance of new-made heirs.
But pride's aloofness; wealth, that stares
From windows, cold as haughty eyes,
The arrogance of new-made heirs.
Its very flowers breathe of cast;
And even the Springtide seems estranged,
In that stiff garden, caught, held fast,
All her wild beauty clipped and changed.
And even the Springtide seems estranged,
In that stiff garden, caught, held fast,
All her wild beauty clipped and changed.
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'T is not the Spring, that once I knew,
Who made a glory of her face,
And robed in shimmering light and dew
Moved to wild music in this place.
Who made a glory of her face,
And robed in shimmering light and dew
Moved to wild music in this place.
How fair she walked here with her Hours,
Pouring forth colors and perfumes,
And with her bosom heaped with flowers
Climbed by the rose-vines to its rooms.
Pouring forth colors and perfumes,
And with her bosom heaped with flowers
Climbed by the rose-vines to its rooms.
Or round the old porch, 'mid the trees,
Fluttered a flute of bluebird-song;
Or murmuring with a myriad bees
Drowsed in the garden all day long.
Fluttered a flute of bluebird-song;
Or murmuring with a myriad bees
Drowsed in the garden all day long.
How Summer, with her apron full
Of manna, shook the red peach down;
Or, stretched among the shadows cool,
Wove for her hair a daisy crown.
Of manna, shook the red peach down;
Or, stretched among the shadows cool,
Wove for her hair a daisy crown.
Or with her crickets, night and day,
Gossiped of many a faery thing,
Her sweet breath warm with scents of hay
And honey, purple-blossoming.
Gossiped of many a faery thing,
Her sweet breath warm with scents of hay
And honey, purple-blossoming.
How Autumn, trailing tattered gold
And scarlet, in the orchard mused,
And of the old trees taking hold
Upon the sward their ripeness bruised.
And scarlet, in the orchard mused,
And of the old trees taking hold
Upon the sward their ripeness bruised.
104
Or, past its sunset window-panes,
Like thoughts that drift before old eyes,
Whirled red leaves and the ragged rains,
And crows, black-blown, about the skies.
Like thoughts that drift before old eyes,
Whirled red leaves and the ragged rains,
And crows, black-blown, about the skies.
How Winter, huddled in her hood
Of snow and sleet, crouched by its flues;
Or, rushing from the stormy wood,
Rapped at its doors with windy news.
Of snow and sleet, crouched by its flues;
Or, rushing from the stormy wood,
Rapped at its doors with windy news.
Or in the firelight, through the pane,
Watched Comfort crown with cheer the hearth,
Or Love lead in his Yuletide train
Of hospitality and mirth. ...
Watched Comfort crown with cheer the hearth,
Or Love lead in his Yuletide train
Of hospitality and mirth. ...
It lived. The house was part of us.
It was not merely wood and stone,
But had a soul, a heart, that thus
Grappled and made us all its own.
It was not merely wood and stone,
But had a soul, a heart, that thus
Grappled and made us all its own.
The lives that with its life were knit,
In some strange way, beyond the sense,
Had gradually given to it
A look of old experience.
In some strange way, beyond the sense,
Had gradually given to it
A look of old experience.
A look, which I shall not forget,
No matter where my ways may roam.—
I close my eyes: I see it yet—
The old house that was once my home.
No matter where my ways may roam.—
I close my eyes: I see it yet—
The old house that was once my home.
105
A SUMMER DAY
White clouds, like thistledown at fault,
That drift through heaven's azure vault.
The sun beams down; the weedy ground
Vibrates with many an insect sound.
Blackberry-lilies in the noon
Lean to the creek with eyes a-swoon,
Where, in a shallow, silver gleams
Of minnows and a heron dreams—
An old road, clouding pale the heat
Behind a slow hoof's muffled beat:
And there, hill-gazing at the skies,
A pond, within whose languor lies
A twinkle,—like an eye that smiles
In thought; that with a dream beguiles
The day: a dream of clouds that drift,
And arms the willow trees uplift,
Protectingly, as if to hide
The wildbird on its nest that cried.
That drift through heaven's azure vault.
The sun beams down; the weedy ground
Vibrates with many an insect sound.
Blackberry-lilies in the noon
Lean to the creek with eyes a-swoon,
Where, in a shallow, silver gleams
Of minnows and a heron dreams—
An old road, clouding pale the heat
Behind a slow hoof's muffled beat:
And there, hill-gazing at the skies,
A pond, within whose languor lies
A twinkle,—like an eye that smiles
In thought; that with a dream beguiles
The day: a dream of clouds that drift,
And arms the willow trees uplift,
Protectingly, as if to hide
The wildbird on its nest that cried.
Now mists that mass the sunset-dyes
Build an Arabia in the skies,
Through which the sun in pomp retires,
Torched to his room with saffron fires;
And 'thwart his palace door is laid
A crescent sign, a moony blade,
Then glittering in a cloud is sheathed;
And, dripping crimson, fire-wreathed,
A magic scimetar of flame
Is slowly drawn before the same.
The door of Day is closed; its bar
Put up, one bright and golden star;
While, crowding all the corridors
Of Dusk, the shadows, blackamoors
Of darkness, glide; and zephyrs sweep
Mist-gowns of musk through halls of Sleep—
Dim odalisques of Night, who wait
Upon their lord who lies in state.
Build an Arabia in the skies,
Through which the sun in pomp retires,
Torched to his room with saffron fires;
And 'thwart his palace door is laid
A crescent sign, a moony blade,
Then glittering in a cloud is sheathed;
And, dripping crimson, fire-wreathed,
A magic scimetar of flame
Is slowly drawn before the same.
106
Put up, one bright and golden star;
While, crowding all the corridors
Of Dusk, the shadows, blackamoors
Of darkness, glide; and zephyrs sweep
Mist-gowns of musk through halls of Sleep—
Dim odalisques of Night, who wait
Upon their lord who lies in state.
107
THE OLD GARDEN
Spurge and sea-pink, hyssop blue,
Dragonhead of purple hue;
Catnip, frosted green and gray,
With blue butterflies a-sway,
These may point you out the way.
Dragonhead of purple hue;
Catnip, frosted green and gray,
With blue butterflies a-sway,
These may point you out the way.
These and Summer's acolytes,
Crickets, singing days and nights,
Tell you the old road again;
And adown the tangled lane
Lead you to her window-pane.
Crickets, singing days and nights,
Tell you the old road again;
And adown the tangled lane
Lead you to her window-pane.
Goldenrod and goldenglow
Crowd the gate in which you go;
To your arm they cling and catch,
Kiss the hand that lifts the latch,
Guide you to her garden-patch.
Crowd the gate in which you go;
To your arm they cling and catch,
Kiss the hand that lifts the latch,
Guide you to her garden-patch.
O'er the fence the hollyhock
Leans to greet you; and the stock
Looks as if it thought, “I knew
You were coming. Gave the cue
To the place to welcome you.”
Leans to greet you; and the stock
Looks as if it thought, “I knew
You were coming. Gave the cue
To the place to welcome you.”
And the crumpled marigold
And the dahlia, big and bold,
With Sweet Williams, white and red,
Nod at you a drowsy head
From the sleepy flowerbed.
And the dahlia, big and bold,
With Sweet Williams, white and red,
Nod at you a drowsy head
From the sleepy flowerbed.
108
Where all day the brown bees croon,
Honey-drunk; and stars and moon
All night long lean down to hear,
In the silence far and near,
Whippoorwills a-calling clear.
Honey-drunk; and stars and moon
All night long lean down to hear,
In the silence far and near,
Whippoorwills a-calling clear.
While adown the dewy dark
Flits a flame, a firefly spark,
Leading to a place of myrrh,
Where, in lace and lavender,
Waits the Loveliness of her.
Flits a flame, a firefly spark,
Leading to a place of myrrh,
Where, in lace and lavender,
Waits the Loveliness of her.
109
THE YELLOW PUCCOON
(A Wildflower.)
Who could describe you, child of mystery
And silence, born among these solitudes?
Within whose look there is a secrecy,—
Old as these wandering woods,—
And knowledge, cousin to the morning-star,
Beyond the things that mar,
And earth itself that on the soul intrudes.
And silence, born among these solitudes?
Within whose look there is a secrecy,—
Old as these wandering woods,—
And knowledge, cousin to the morning-star,
Beyond the things that mar,
And earth itself that on the soul intrudes.
How many eons—what antiquity
Went to your making? When the world was young
You yet were old. What mighty company
Of cosmic forces swung
About you!—On what wonders have you gazed
Since first your head was raised
To greet the Power that here your seed-spore flung!
Went to your making? When the world was young
You yet were old. What mighty company
Of cosmic forces swung
About you!—On what wonders have you gazed
Since first your head was raised
To greet the Power that here your seed-spore flung!
The butterfly that woos you, and the bee
That quits the mandrakes' cups to whisper you,
Are in your confidence and sympathy,
As sunlight is and dew,
And the soft music of this woodland stream,
Telling the trees its dream,
That lean attentive its dim face unto.
That quits the mandrakes' cups to whisper you,
Are in your confidence and sympathy,
As sunlight is and dew,
And the soft music of this woodland stream,
Telling the trees its dream,
That lean attentive its dim face unto.
110
With bluet, larkspur, and anemone
Your gold conspires to arrest the eye,
Making it prisoner unto Fantasy
And Vision,—none'll deny!—
That lead the mind (as children lead the blind
Homeward by ways that wind)
To certainties of love that round it lie.
Your gold conspires to arrest the eye,
Making it prisoner unto Fantasy
And Vision,—none'll deny!—
That lead the mind (as children lead the blind
Homeward by ways that wind)
To certainties of love that round it lie.
The tanager, in scarlet livery,
Out-flaunts you not in bravery,—amber-bright
As is the little moon of Faërie,
That glows with golden light
From out a firmament of green, as you—
From out the moss and dew—
Glimmer your starry disc upon my sight.
Out-flaunts you not in bravery,—amber-bright
As is the little moon of Faërie,
That glows with golden light
From out a firmament of green, as you—
From out the moss and dew—
Glimmer your starry disc upon my sight.
If I might know you, have you, as the bee
And butterfly, in some more intimate sense—
Or, like the brook there talking to the tree,
Win to your confidence—
Then might I grasp it, solve it, in some wise,
This riddle in disguise
Named Life, through you and your experience.
And butterfly, in some more intimate sense—
Or, like the brook there talking to the tree,
Win to your confidence—
Then might I grasp it, solve it, in some wise,
This riddle in disguise
Named Life, through you and your experience.
111
THE OLD CREEK
The frogs still cry, “Knee-deep! knee-deep!”
Among its starlit pools,
When dark the woodland lies asleep,
And dusk its water cools:
The fireflies round its bank of ferns
Hang will-o'-wisps for lamps,
Where in a place no eye discerns
Enchantment's host encamps.
Among its starlit pools,
When dark the woodland lies asleep,
And dusk its water cools:
The fireflies round its bank of ferns
Hang will-o'-wisps for lamps,
Where in a place no eye discerns
Enchantment's host encamps.
The bats above it go and come
In reeling rigadoons,
While Elfland beats a beetle-drum,
Or cricket-fiddle tunes;
And in and out, and all about,
The pixy people dance
To katydid song and green-frog gong
That hold the woods in trance.
In reeling rigadoons,
While Elfland beats a beetle-drum,
Or cricket-fiddle tunes;
And in and out, and all about,
The pixy people dance
To katydid song and green-frog gong
That hold the woods in trance.
The moon looks, listening, through its trees
As if to hear its calls,
Or with long arms of light to seize
Its twinkling waterfalls
With Witchcraft who, a foam-white hand,
Its glimmering banks between,
Beckons from sand to riffled sand,
To something far, unseen.
As if to hear its calls,
Or with long arms of light to seize
Its twinkling waterfalls
With Witchcraft who, a foam-white hand,
Its glimmering banks between,
Beckons from sand to riffled sand,
To something far, unseen.
112
A ghost, that leans beside it still;
The phantom of a boy,
Who followed once its wildwood will
With barefoot troops of joy:
The soul of him who yearns afar
To see, in dusk and dew,
If still it dances with the star
That once his boyhood knew.
The phantom of a boy,
Who followed once its wildwood will
With barefoot troops of joy:
The soul of him who yearns afar
To see, in dusk and dew,
If still it dances with the star
That once his boyhood knew.
113
THE CLOSE OF SUMMER
The wild-plum tree, whose leaves grow thin,
Has strewn the way with half its fruit:
The grasshopper's and cricket's din
Grows hushed and mute;
The veery seems a far-off flute
Where Summer listens, hand on chin,
And taps an idle foot.
Has strewn the way with half its fruit:
The grasshopper's and cricket's din
Grows hushed and mute;
The veery seems a far-off flute
Where Summer listens, hand on chin,
And taps an idle foot.
A silvery haze veils half the hills,
That crown themselves with clouds like cream;
The crow its clamor almost stills,
The hawk its scream;
The aster stars begin to gleam;
And 'mid them, by the sleepy rills,
The Summer dreams her dream.
That crown themselves with clouds like cream;
The crow its clamor almost stills,
The hawk its scream;
The aster stars begin to gleam;
And 'mid them, by the sleepy rills,
The Summer dreams her dream.
The butterfly upon its weed
Droops as if weary of its wings;
The bee, 'mid blooms that turn to seed,
Half-hearted clings,
Sick of the only song it sings,
While Summer tunes a drowsy reed
And dreams of far-off things.
Droops as if weary of its wings;
The bee, 'mid blooms that turn to seed,
Half-hearted clings,
Sick of the only song it sings,
While Summer tunes a drowsy reed
And dreams of far-off things.
Passion, of which unrest is part,
That filled with ardor all her hours,
Burns low within her quiet heart
As now in ours:
The time fulfilled of fruits and flowers,
From out Life's dying fires now start
Love's less uneasy powers.
That filled with ardor all her hours,
114
As now in ours:
The time fulfilled of fruits and flowers,
From out Life's dying fires now start
Love's less uneasy powers.
All is at peace; the perfect days
Move onward to a perfect close;
A little while the Year delays,
And takes repose,
Ere to her end she sighing goes,
And, clothed in tattered golds and grays,
Weeps all her shadowy woes. ...
Move onward to a perfect close;
A little while the Year delays,
And takes repose,
Ere to her end she sighing goes,
And, clothed in tattered golds and grays,
Weeps all her shadowy woes. ...
So is it with the heart awhile,
The heart and soul that dreams engage,
While on fruition Toil doth smile
And take his wage
Of Love, who cons Life's middle page;
Regardless of the distant stile
Where Death awaits and Age.
The heart and soul that dreams engage,
While on fruition Toil doth smile
And take his wage
Of Love, who cons Life's middle page;
Regardless of the distant stile
Where Death awaits and Age.
115
THE HUNTER'S MOON
Darkly October, where the wild fowl fly,
Utters a harsh and melancholy cry;
And slowly closing, far, a sunset door,
Day wildly glares upon the world once more,
Where Twilight, with one star to lamp her by,
Walks with the Wind that haunts the hills and shore.
Utters a harsh and melancholy cry;
And slowly closing, far, a sunset door,
Day wildly glares upon the world once more,
Where Twilight, with one star to lamp her by,
Walks with the Wind that haunts the hills and shore.
The Spirit of Autumn, with averted gaze,
Comes slowly down the ragged garden ways;
And where she walks she lays a finger cold
On rose and aster, lily and marigold,
And at her touch they turn, in mute amaze,
And bow their heads, assenting to the cold.
Comes slowly down the ragged garden ways;
And where she walks she lays a finger cold
On rose and aster, lily and marigold,
And at her touch they turn, in mute amaze,
And bow their heads, assenting to the cold.
And all around rise phantoms of the flowers,
Scents, ghost-like, gliding from the dripping bowers;
And evermore vague, spectral voices ring
Of Something gone, or Something perishing:
Joy's requiem; hope's tolling of the Hours;
Love's dirge of dreams for Beauty sorrowing.
Scents, ghost-like, gliding from the dripping bowers;
And evermore vague, spectral voices ring
Of Something gone, or Something perishing:
Joy's requiem; hope's tolling of the Hours;
Love's dirge of dreams for Beauty sorrowing.
And now the moon above the garden side
Lifts a pale face and looks down misty-eyed,
As if she saw the ghost of yesteryear
That once with Happiness went wandering here
And the young Loveliness of days that died
Sitting with Memory 'mid the sad and sere.
Lifts a pale face and looks down misty-eyed,
As if she saw the ghost of yesteryear
That once with Happiness went wandering here
And the young Loveliness of days that died
Sitting with Memory 'mid the sad and sere.
116
THE GRASSHOPPER
The grasshopper, that sang its sleepy songAll summer long,
The orchard lands and harvest fields among,
Taking no heed of aught save its own joy,
Without alloy,
Cheering the ear with its “Ahoy! ahoy!”—
A merry note of summer's self a part,—
Like my old heart,
Is silent now and cold; its singing done.
The grasshopper's a-cold and summer's gone,
And I'm alone.
117
THE COWARD
He found the road so long and lone
That he was fain to turn again.
The bird's faint note, the bee's low drone
Seemed to his heart to monotone
The unavailing and the vain,
And dirge the dreams that life had slain.
That he was fain to turn again.
The bird's faint note, the bee's low drone
Seemed to his heart to monotone
The unavailing and the vain,
And dirge the dreams that life had slain.
And for a while he sat him there
Beside the way, and bared his head:
He felt the hot sun on his hair;
And weed-warm odors everywhere
Waked memories, forgot or dead,
Of days when love this way had led
Beside the way, and bared his head:
He felt the hot sun on his hair;
And weed-warm odors everywhere
Waked memories, forgot or dead,
Of days when love this way had led
To that old house beside the road
With white board-fence and picket gate,
And garden plot that gleamed and glowed
With color, and that overflowed
With fragrance; where, both soon and late,
She 'mid the flowers used to wait.
With white board-fence and picket gate,
And garden plot that gleamed and glowed
With color, and that overflowed
With fragrance; where, both soon and late,
She 'mid the flowers used to wait.
Was it the same? or had it changed,
As he and she, with months and years?
How long now had they been estranged?
How far away their lives had ranged,
Since that last meeting, filled with tears,
And boyish hopes and maiden fears!
As he and she, with months and years?
How long now had they been estranged?
How far away their lives had ranged,
Since that last meeting, filled with tears,
And boyish hopes and maiden fears!
118
He closed his eyes, and seemed to see
That parting now: The moon above
The old house and its locust tree;
The moths that glimmered drowsily
From flower to flower, the scent whereof
Seemed portion of that oldtime love.
That parting now: The moon above
The old house and its locust tree;
The moths that glimmered drowsily
From flower to flower, the scent whereof
Seemed portion of that oldtime love.
Her face was lifted, pale and wet;
Her body tense as if with pain:
He stooped,—yes, he could see it yet—
A moment and their young lips met,
And then ... There in the lonely lane
He seemed to live it o'er again.
Her body tense as if with pain:
He stooped,—yes, he could see it yet—
A moment and their young lips met,
And then ... There in the lonely lane
He seemed to live it o'er again.
Why had he gone?—'Twas for her sake.—
But what had come of all his toil?
The City, like some monster snake,
Had dragged him down—down, half awake,
Crushing him in its grimy coil,
Whence none escapes without a soil.
But what had come of all his toil?
The City, like some monster snake,
Had dragged him down—down, half awake,
Crushing him in its grimy coil,
Whence none escapes without a soil.
He was not clean yet. She would read
Failure, vice-written, in his face.
But, haply, now she had no need
Of him, whose life, like some wild weed
Full grown, with evil would replace
The love in her heart's garden-space.
Failure, vice-written, in his face.
But, haply, now she had no need
Of him, whose life, like some wild weed
Full grown, with evil would replace
The love in her heart's garden-space.
He could not bear to look and see
The question in those virgin eyes.
What answer for that look had he?
He thought it out. It could not be.
He could not live a life of lies.—
Better to break all oldtime ties.
The question in those virgin eyes.
What answer for that look had he?
119
He could not live a life of lies.—
Better to break all oldtime ties.
And then he rose. The house was near—
There where the road turned from the wood.—
Whose voice was that he seemed to hear?—
Then heart and soul were seized with fear,
And, turning, as if death-pursued,
He fled into the solitude.
There where the road turned from the wood.—
Whose voice was that he seemed to hear?—
Then heart and soul were seized with fear,
And, turning, as if death-pursued,
He fled into the solitude.
120
SHADOWS ON THE SHORE
The doubtful dawn came dim and wan,
And dimmer grew the day:
The kildee whistled among the weeds,
The blue crane clanged in the river reeds,
And a mist fell wild and gray.
And dimmer grew the day:
The kildee whistled among the weeds,
The blue crane clanged in the river reeds,
And a mist fell wild and gray.
At dawn she stood, her heavy hood
Flung back, in the ferry boat,
To watch the rebel raiders ride,
Her rebel-love, with his men beside,
His kiss on her mouth and throat.
Flung back, in the ferry boat,
To watch the rebel raiders ride,
Her rebel-love, with his men beside,
His kiss on her mouth and throat.
Like some dark spell the tempest fell,
Like some wild curse night came:
For hours she heard the warring dead,
Whose batteries opened overhead
With thunder and with flame.
Like some wild curse night came:
For hours she heard the warring dead,
Whose batteries opened overhead
With thunder and with flame.
And now again, in wind and rain,
She toiled at the creaking oar:—
Oh what had she heard in the night and storm?
Whose voice was that? and whose the form
That galloped to the shore?
She toiled at the creaking oar:—
Oh what had she heard in the night and storm?
Whose voice was that? and whose the form
That galloped to the shore?
Across the stream, in the tempest's gleam,
Who sent that wild halloo?
In the lightning's glare, who was it there,
The wind and the rain in his tossing hair,
And his gray cloak torn in two?
Who sent that wild halloo?
In the lightning's glare, who was it there,
The wind and the rain in his tossing hair,
And his gray cloak torn in two?
121
Through rain and blast pull fast, pull fast!
Oar down the rushing tide!—
Look where he rides in the lightning's glow!—
And hearken now to his far hallo!—
But only his horse, with head hung low,
A blur of blood on the saddlebow,
Comes whinnying to her side.
Oar down the rushing tide!—
Look where he rides in the lightning's glow!—
And hearken now to his far hallo!—
But only his horse, with head hung low,
A blur of blood on the saddlebow,
Comes whinnying to her side.
122
WASTELAND
Briar and fennel and chinquapin,
And rue and ragweed everywhere;
The field seemed sick as a soul with sin,
Or dead of an old despair,
Born of an ancient care.
And rue and ragweed everywhere;
The field seemed sick as a soul with sin,
Or dead of an old despair,
Born of an ancient care.
The cricket's cry and the locust's whirr,
And the note of a bird's distress,
With the rasping sound of a grasshoppér,
Clung to the loneliness
Like burrs to a ragged dress.
And the note of a bird's distress,
With the rasping sound of a grasshoppér,
Clung to the loneliness
Like burrs to a ragged dress.
So sad the field, so waste the ground,
So curst with an old despair,
A woodchuck's burrow, a blind mole's mound,
And a chipmunk's stony lair,
Seemed more than it could bear.
So curst with an old despair,
A woodchuck's burrow, a blind mole's mound,
And a chipmunk's stony lair,
Seemed more than it could bear.
So solemn too, so more than sad,
So droning-lone with bees—
I wondered what more could Nature add
To the sum of its miseries—
And then I saw the trees.
So droning-lone with bees—
I wondered what more could Nature add
To the sum of its miseries—
And then I saw the trees.
Skeletons gaunt, that gnarled the place,
Twisted and torn they rose,
The tortured bones of a perished race
Of monsters no mortal knows.
They startled the mind's repose.
Twisted and torn they rose,
The tortured bones of a perished race
Of monsters no mortal knows.
They startled the mind's repose.
123
And a man stood there, as still as moss,
A lichen form that stared;
And an old blind hound, that seemed at loss,
Forever around him fared
With a snarling fang half-bared.
A lichen form that stared;
And an old blind hound, that seemed at loss,
Forever around him fared
With a snarling fang half-bared.
I looked at the man. I saw him plain.
Like a dead weed, gray and wan,
Or a breath of dust.—I looked again—
And man and dog were gone—
Like wisps o' the graying dawn. ...
Like a dead weed, gray and wan,
Or a breath of dust.—I looked again—
And man and dog were gone—
Like wisps o' the graying dawn. ...
Were they a part of the grim death there?—
Ragweed, fennel, and rue?—
Or forms of the mind, an old despair,
That there into semblance grew
Out of the grief I knew?
Ragweed, fennel, and rue?—
Or forms of the mind, an old despair,
That there into semblance grew
Out of the grief I knew?
124
THE OLD HOUSE IN THE WOOD
Weeds and dead leaves, and leaves the Autumn stains
With hues of rust and rose whence moisture weeps;
Gnarl'd thorns, from which the knotted haw-fruit rains
On paths the gray moss heaps.
With hues of rust and rose whence moisture weeps;
Gnarl'd thorns, from which the knotted haw-fruit rains
On paths the gray moss heaps.
One golden flower, like a dreamy thought
In the sad mind of Age, makes bright the wood;
And near it, like a fancy Childhood-fraught,
The toadstool's jaunty hood.
In the sad mind of Age, makes bright the wood;
And near it, like a fancy Childhood-fraught,
The toadstool's jaunty hood.
Webs, in whose snares the nimble spiders crouch,
Waiting the prey that comes, moon-winged, with night:
Slugs and the snail which trails the mushroom's pouch,
That marks the wood with white.
Waiting the prey that comes, moon-winged, with night:
Slugs and the snail which trails the mushroom's pouch,
That marks the wood with white.
An old gaunt house, round which the trees decay,
Its porches fallen and its windows gone,
Starts out at you as if to bar the way,
Or bid you hurry on.
Its porches fallen and its windows gone,
Starts out at you as if to bar the way,
Or bid you hurry on.
A picket fence, grim as a skeleton arm,
Is flung around a weed-wild garden place;
The gate, o'er which the rose once hung its charm,
Gapes in an empty space.
Is flung around a weed-wild garden place;
The gate, o'er which the rose once hung its charm,
Gapes in an empty space.
125
Here nothing that was beauty's now remains:
Old death and sorrow have made all their own,
And life and love, who wrought here, for their pains
Have nothingness alone.
Old death and sorrow have made all their own,
And life and love, who wrought here, for their pains
Have nothingness alone.
I stand before the shattered fence and gaze:—
All, all is silent now where once was noise
Of household duties, gossip of kind days,
And little children's joys.
All, all is silent now where once was noise
Of household duties, gossip of kind days,
And little children's joys.
Then suddenly I see a shadow slip
From out the house: A ghost of bygone years;
One finger lifted to its pallid lip,
It passes me with tears.
From out the house: A ghost of bygone years;
One finger lifted to its pallid lip,
It passes me with tears.
It passes me 'mid whirling leaves and rain.—
Between the trees I see it gleam and glide.
I know it for the dream which once in vain
My heart had made its guide.
Between the trees I see it gleam and glide.
I know it for the dream which once in vain
My heart had made its guide.
Was it for this that I had come the blind
Old ways of life back to Love's house again?
The house of Memory, there again to find
The dream that proved in vain?
Old ways of life back to Love's house again?
The house of Memory, there again to find
The dream that proved in vain?
A will-o'-wisp; a faery fire; a spark,
That led me where I knew not; and at last
Would leave me, lost within the woodland dark,
'Mid shadows of the past.
That led me where I knew not; and at last
Would leave me, lost within the woodland dark,
'Mid shadows of the past.
126
Again I followed; and again it failed.
And night came on. And then once more it seemed
That all was lost; that nothing more availed—
When, lo!—a window gleamed,
And night came on. And then once more it seemed
That all was lost; that nothing more availed—
When, lo!—a window gleamed,
And I was home. ... Thank God for love! and light,
Set in the window of the days that were!
And for the dream, though vain, that through the night
Leads back to home and her!
Set in the window of the days that were!
And for the dream, though vain, that through the night
Leads back to home and her!
127
ONE WHO DIED YOUNG
With her 'tis well now. She died young,
With all her hope and faith unmarred,
Nor lived to see the pearls, Love strung,
Without regard,
Cast, lost among
The disillusions that make life so hard.
With all her hope and faith unmarred,
Nor lived to see the pearls, Love strung,
Without regard,
Cast, lost among
The disillusions that make life so hard.
Time on her body now can lay
No soiling hand and spoil what's fair:
He shall not turn the gold hair gray,
Nor bring crabbed Care,
Day after day,
To line the white brow with the heart's despair.
No soiling hand and spoil what's fair:
He shall not turn the gold hair gray,
Nor bring crabbed Care,
Day after day,
To line the white brow with the heart's despair.
Far better thus. Yea, even so,
To die before faith turns to dust,
Before the heart has learned to know,
As learn it must,
Of love the woe,
And of all human life the deep disgust.
To die before faith turns to dust,
Before the heart has learned to know,
As learn it must,
Of love the woe,
And of all human life the deep disgust.
128
FAILURE
No ray, no will-o'-wisp, no firefly gleam;
Nothing but night around:
The only sound the sobbing of a stream
Within the hush profound.
Nothing but night around:
The only sound the sobbing of a stream
Within the hush profound.
Then suddenly the chanting of a bird,
Plaintive, appealing, far—
And in my heart the murmur of a word,
And high in heaven a star.
Plaintive, appealing, far—
And in my heart the murmur of a word,
And high in heaven a star.
A star, that shone out suddenly and seemed
A herald of the light,—
The dawn, that cried within me, “Lo! you dreamed
That 'twould be always night!
A herald of the light,—
The dawn, that cried within me, “Lo! you dreamed
That 'twould be always night!
“If night be here, dawn is not far away,
However dark the sky.
And in the heart whatever doubts betray,
Faith still stands smiling by.
However dark the sky.
And in the heart whatever doubts betray,
Faith still stands smiling by.
“Put trust in God, and hold to your one aim.
And though it is to be
Failure at last, then let it seem the same
As victory.”
And though it is to be
Failure at last, then let it seem the same
As victory.”
129
THE NEW GOD
I look about me, and beholdHow all is changed: The sound and sane,
The kind, the true, the hale and old,
That once made strong the features plain
Of life, are cast in other mold,
That bears the stamp of greed and gold—
A god unclean, who drags a chain
Of jewelled lust, which men call Gain,
Binding their hearts to all that's vain,
That God at last for punishment
Shall curse with woe and discontent.
130
DIES ILLA
How shall it be with them that day
When God demands of Earth His pay?
With them who make a god of clay
And gold and put all truth away.
When God demands of Earth His pay?
With them who make a god of clay
And gold and put all truth away.
Shall not they see the lightning-ray
Of wrath? and hear the trumpet-bray
Of black destruction? while dismay
O'erwhelms them and God's hosts delay?
Of wrath? and hear the trumpet-bray
Of black destruction? while dismay
O'erwhelms them and God's hosts delay?
Shall not they, clothed in rich array,
Pray God for mercy? and, a-sway,
Heap on their hearts the ashes gray
Of old repentance?—Nay! oh, nay!
Pray God for mercy? and, a-sway,
Heap on their hearts the ashes gray
Of old repentance?—Nay! oh, nay!
They shall not know till He shall lay
An earthquake hand upon their way;
And Doomsday, clad in Death's decay,
Sweep down, and they've no time to pray.
An earthquake hand upon their way;
And Doomsday, clad in Death's decay,
Sweep down, and they've no time to pray.
131
EPILOGUE
There
is a world Life dreams of, long since lost:
Invisible save only to the heart:
That spreads its cloudy islands, without chart,
Above the Earth, 'mid oceans none has crossed:
Far Faerylands, that have become a part
Of mortal longings; that, through difficult art,
Man strives to realize to the uttermost.
Invisible save only to the heart:
That spreads its cloudy islands, without chart,
Above the Earth, 'mid oceans none has crossed:
Far Faerylands, that have become a part
Of mortal longings; that, through difficult art,
Man strives to realize to the uttermost.
Could we attain that Land of Faërie
Here in the flesh, what starry certitudes
Of loveliness were ours! what mastery
Of beauty and the dream that still eludes!
What clearer vision!—Ours were then the key
To Mystery, that Nature jealously
Locks in her heart of hearts among the woods.
Here in the flesh, what starry certitudes
Of loveliness were ours! what mastery
Of beauty and the dream that still eludes!
What clearer vision!—Ours were then the key
To Mystery, that Nature jealously
Locks in her heart of hearts among the woods.
| Minions of the Moon | |