 | Fantasy and Passion |  |
47
II.
VOICES AND VISIONS.
49
THE HOUSE ON THE HILL.
I have not blamed him; I shall not blame;
It is best for him, though bitter for me,
Whose poor heart holds the past the same
As a box of gems with a missing key!
It is best for him, though bitter for me,
Whose poor heart holds the past the same
As a box of gems with a missing key!
For Philip was born to shine, you know;
I can never help, through my darkest pain,
Being glad he should win the world, and so
Gain early all that he ought to gain.
I can never help, through my darkest pain,
Being glad he should win the world, and so
Gain early all that he ought to gain.
It used to seem, in the old dead days,
A marvel that he should find one trace
Of charm in a girl with my plain ways,
And timidly unimportant face.
A marvel that he should find one trace
Of charm in a girl with my plain ways,
And timidly unimportant face.
His frame for a sculptor might have served;
His hair, over deep-blue eyes and clear,
Grew high on the temples ere it curved
In rich crisp gold round the shapely ear.
His hair, over deep-blue eyes and clear,
Grew high on the temples ere it curved
In rich crisp gold round the shapely ear.
And I think there are few things like his smile,
Or his laugh's full mellow sweetness, too;
And then, in his own wild self-taught style,
He was clever beyond all men I knew.
Or his laugh's full mellow sweetness, too;
And then, in his own wild self-taught style,
He was clever beyond all men I knew.
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And often, indeed, throughout each year,
He would read his poems to me alone,
While I tried to make my whole soul hear,
With his strong man's hand in both my own!
He would read his poems to me alone,
While I tried to make my whole soul hear,
With his strong man's hand in both my own!
And some I would find most grave and grand,
And some to my eyes the hot tears sent,
And some I would ache to understand,
But not know a word of what they meant!
And some to my eyes the hot tears sent,
And some I would ache to understand,
But not know a word of what they meant!
For Phil was to me like a land that keeps
High cliffs it dazzles the eye to trace,
Though I cared not much for the lofty steeps,
While violets blossomed about their base!
High cliffs it dazzles the eye to trace,
Though I cared not much for the lofty steeps,
While violets blossomed about their base!
But 'twas pleasure to know him well above
The throng of his fellows, I avow;
For woman's pride is to woman's love
More closely wedded than leaf to bough!
The throng of his fellows, I avow;
For woman's pride is to woman's love
More closely wedded than leaf to bough!
And so when that summer came at last
Which made the old house on the hill look gay,
Its silence being a thing of the past
And its shadowy chambers blest with day,
Which made the old house on the hill look gay,
Its silence being a thing of the past
And its shadowy chambers blest with day,
Why, what seemed likelier to my thought,
If I stayed to think, than that my dear Phil,
For the graceful gifts his presence brought,
Should be welcomed at the house on the hill?
If I stayed to think, than that my dear Phil,
For the graceful gifts his presence brought,
Should be welcomed at the house on the hill?
And his welcomers chose, for their fine part,
So to scatter favors about his feet,
That I grew at length to be sure in heart
Of just the nights when we would not meet.
So to scatter favors about his feet,
That I grew at length to be sure in heart
Of just the nights when we would not meet.
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He would tell me of their soft household ease
And their manners, touched with a fine repose,
And of all they had borne across the seas
From lands of sun and from lands of snows.
And their manners, touched with a fine repose,
And of all they had borne across the seas
From lands of sun and from lands of snows.
And deep was my pleasure to hear him speak
Of how warmly all would greet him there,
From the proud old dame with the faded cheek
To the rosy pet with the reckless hair.
Of how warmly all would greet him there,
From the proud old dame with the faded cheek
To the rosy pet with the reckless hair.
But as summer died amid waning wealth,
A something in Phil seemed also dead,
And now and then I would weep by stealth,
For my soul grew dark with a nameless dread!
A something in Phil seemed also dead,
And now and then I would weep by stealth,
For my soul grew dark with a nameless dread!
He was shadowed with gloomy change and cold,
That made, while it put the past to scorn,
His kiss of now by his kiss of old
Seem a wilted rose by a rose just born!
That made, while it put the past to scorn,
His kiss of now by his kiss of old
Seem a wilted rose by a rose just born!
And the change grew worse; but I played a part,
And gave no sign, in my stubborn pride,
While doubt knocked loud at the door of my heart,
Like a guest that will not be denied!
And gave no sign, in my stubborn pride,
While doubt knocked loud at the door of my heart,
Like a guest that will not be denied!
But at last it was all made plain as day! ...
Though she who told it me meant the best,
How the gold in the sunny air turned gray,
How the youth died out from my aching breast!
Though she who told it me meant the best,
How the gold in the sunny air turned gray,
How the youth died out from my aching breast!
'Twas my old friend, Ellen, who spoke and showed
The truth, one morn, with her true bold tongue,
As we met on the same elm-bordered road
Which had led to school when we both were young.
The truth, one morn, with her true bold tongue,
As we met on the same elm-bordered road
Which had led to school when we both were young.
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“You have keen eyes, Kate, but you will not see,
Quick ears, yet you strangely fail to hear!
Your Philip is false as a man may be,
For all that you hold his love so dear!
Quick ears, yet you strangely fail to hear!
Your Philip is false as a man may be,
For all that you hold his love so dear!
“I will speak the truth, though its shock should kill;
God help me, too, if I go amiss!
They greet him well at the house on the hill,
Yet ah! ... there is something more than this!
God help me, too, if I go amiss!
They greet him well at the house on the hill,
Yet ah! ... there is something more than this!
“There is one who rules him with fatal sway,
Who turns his heart from its loyal place;
A girl with brown hair waving away
From a clear-cut pale patrician face.
Who turns his heart from its loyal place;
A girl with brown hair waving away
From a clear-cut pale patrician face.
“The babbled lies of the gossip-cliques
I meet with loathing, I stand above;
But, Kate, what it all has meant for weeks
Heaven only knows if it be not love!
I meet with loathing, I stand above;
But, Kate, what it all has meant for weeks
Heaven only knows if it be not love!
“They were strolling slowly, this very morn,
On the lonely roadside where I came,
And before my kindling look of scorn
He dropt his eyes with a flush of shame.
On the lonely roadside where I came,
And before my kindling look of scorn
He dropt his eyes with a flush of shame.
“Oh, Kate, he is faithless through and through;
'Tis a base mean game that he plays by stealth;
For he turns like a churl away from you,
To fawn with a smile at the feet of wealth!”
'Tis a base mean game that he plays by stealth;
For he turns like a churl away from you,
To fawn with a smile at the feet of wealth!”
So Ellen spoke; and an eager kiss
Came warm from her lips against my own;
But nothing is quite clear, after this,
Till I stood in my little room alone.
Came warm from her lips against my own;
But nothing is quite clear, after this,
Till I stood in my little room alone.
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I stood, and all in a moment brief,
With a cry my lips could not control,
Sank quivering to the floor, and grief
Wrung up the sobs from my secret soul!
With a cry my lips could not control,
Sank quivering to the floor, and grief
Wrung up the sobs from my secret soul!
That night he came, and I met him just
At the old porch-steps, worn wry with years.
The air was keen, but I would not trust
A light on the traces of my tears.
At the old porch-steps, worn wry with years.
The air was keen, but I would not trust
A light on the traces of my tears.
As he took my tremulous hand, I spoke:
“Let us walk for a little while” ... But here
My voice into wretched tremor broke,
Though I tried so hard to make it clear.
“Let us walk for a little while” ... But here
My voice into wretched tremor broke,
Though I tried so hard to make it clear.
Then he knew that I knew it all at last,
And with bowed head murmured, “As you please;”
And down through the garden-paths we past,
In silence under the sighing trees.
And with bowed head murmured, “As you please;”
And down through the garden-paths we past,
In silence under the sighing trees.
I remember the night so well, so well! ...
The foliage moved with a sad unrest,
And a large deep-crimson crescent fell
Through the pale-blue air of the starry West.
The foliage moved with a sad unrest,
And a large deep-crimson crescent fell
Through the pale-blue air of the starry West.
And heavy and cold as a hand of doom
Had the Autumn dewfall come to set
Its chill on the chaste tuberose's bloom
And the low close copse of the mignonette.
Had the Autumn dewfall come to set
Its chill on the chaste tuberose's bloom
And the low close copse of the mignonette.
And haunting the dark, and seeming thus
To hold it in sad mysterious thrall,
The voice of the katydid came to us
In weird, monotonous, plaintive call.
To hold it in sad mysterious thrall,
The voice of the katydid came to us
In weird, monotonous, plaintive call.
54
He walked with his head bent, still as stone,
And now, since I saw he would not speak,
I spoke myself, with a quivering tone
And a great hot tear on either cheek.
And now, since I saw he would not speak,
I spoke myself, with a quivering tone
And a great hot tear on either cheek.
“Philip,” I said, “'twas a bitter wrong
To have done your soul that for such as I
You should trifle with sacred truth so long,
And soil white honor, and live a lie!
To have done your soul that for such as I
You should trifle with sacred truth so long,
And soil white honor, and live a lie!
“Had you frankly warned me when love first died,
While you turned in spirit from her to me,
Can you doubt what my lips had then replied,
Though it dealt me death to set you free?
While you turned in spirit from her to me,
Can you doubt what my lips had then replied,
Though it dealt me death to set you free?
“Yet I must not chide you for changing, Phil;
I know my worth; can I fail to know
How all along we were mated ill,
You that are lofty, I that am low?
I know my worth; can I fail to know
How all along we were mated ill,
You that are lofty, I that am low?
“I shall prize my past, though its light will seem
As the flash of a bird's wing seen afar,
For old love remembers young love's dream
As twilight remembers the morning-star!
As the flash of a bird's wing seen afar,
For old love remembers young love's dream
As twilight remembers the morning-star!
“All thought should be dear of its lost repose
To the aching frame of the storm-worn ship,
And dear all thought to the thirsty rose
Of the dew once glittering at its lip!
To the aching frame of the storm-worn ship,
And dear all thought to the thirsty rose
Of the dew once glittering at its lip!
“And to me shall be dear all thought of yore,
As its green to the leaf now gray with frost,
As the crown to the brow it girds no more,
As the sea to the pearl it loved and lost!”
As its green to the leaf now gray with frost,
As the crown to the brow it girds no more,
As the sea to the pearl it loved and lost!”
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Now I paused, and now for a little space
I watched him tremble and try to speak,
And saw, as the moonlight struck his face,
The white we see on a dead man's cheek.
I watched him tremble and try to speak,
And saw, as the moonlight struck his face,
The white we see on a dead man's cheek.
“Ah, Kate,” he murmured, “you cannot guess
How this heart of mine, as it hears you, feels
To its guilty centre the shock and stress
Of the blow your noble pardon deals!
How this heart of mine, as it hears you, feels
To its guilty centre the shock and stress
Of the blow your noble pardon deals!
“Having so wronged you, I could but count
That a righteous wrath in your look would shine,
Nor ever dream that your soul would mount
To grasp at a vengeance so divine!
That a righteous wrath in your look would shine,
Nor ever dream that your soul would mount
To grasp at a vengeance so divine!
“But, Kate, if shame can the past repair,
From this life you were blameless to despise
Take all that your just contempt can spare,
And let it serve you until it dies!
From this life you were blameless to despise
Take all that your just contempt can spare,
And let it serve you until it dies!
“And perhaps your love, with its deeps untold,
Shall have gained the power, I dream not how,
To see the man you knew me of old
In the worthless traitor you know me now!”
Shall have gained the power, I dream not how,
To see the man you knew me of old
In the worthless traitor you know me now!”
As he ceased, I thrilled with a yearning thrill,
But I said, in words that were cold and slow,
“Answer me what I shall ask of you, Phil;
On your honor answer it,—yes or no!
But I said, in words that were cold and slow,
“Answer me what I shall ask of you, Phil;
On your honor answer it,—yes or no!
“Which of us two has your heart this night?
Speak truth: is it here or yonder, Phil?
Here, where we stand in the mellow light,
Or yonder,—at the house on the hill?”
Speak truth: is it here or yonder, Phil?
Here, where we stand in the mellow light,
Or yonder,—at the house on the hill?”
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I questioned thus, though I did not dare
Look once on his white face, vague to see,
But with dropt eyes felt, as I waited there,
That the world stood still till he answered me!
Look once on his white face, vague to see,
But with dropt eyes felt, as I waited there,
That the world stood still till he answered me!
So, waiting near him, with bended head
And with palm to palm held firm and tense,
I seemed, while the meagre moments fled,
To be living a lifetime of suspense!
And with palm to palm held firm and tense,
I seemed, while the meagre moments fled,
To be living a lifetime of suspense!
And now, with a stifled sob, I sent
A prayer to the God who makes or mars,
That out from my longing bosom went,
Like a bird let forth from its prison-bars!
A prayer to the God who makes or mars,
That out from my longing bosom went,
Like a bird let forth from its prison-bars!
I prayed that my new hope might not flit
As a dream back to dreamland, past recall;
And I prayed ... but alas! what profits it
To remember now that I prayed at all?
As a dream back to dreamland, past recall;
And I prayed ... but alas! what profits it
To remember now that I prayed at all?
My hand on a sudden he caught and pressed,
While he said, in a whisper strange and rough:
“Yes, Kate,—God help me!—I love her best.
You ask for truth: I have lied enough.”
While he said, in a whisper strange and rough:
“Yes, Kate,—God help me!—I love her best.
You ask for truth: I have lied enough.”
(So the prayer was vain! So the hope was fled!)
Then I sighed, though he did not hear me sigh,
And I let him keep my hand as I said,
“The truth is better. Good-night,—good-bye.” ...
Then I sighed, though he did not hear me sigh,
And I let him keep my hand as I said,
“The truth is better. Good-night,—good-bye.” ...
It was dark by this, for the moon hung low;
And I heard the katydid's wild clear cry,
As it rang from meadowy reaches, grow
Like an echoing voice ... Good-night! good-bye!
And I heard the katydid's wild clear cry,
As it rang from meadowy reaches, grow
Like an echoing voice ... Good-night! good-bye!
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FIDELITAS.
Dost thou dream I forget thee, O star that hast fled
From a heaven where its light lingers yet?
Since we parted with pangs, to thy soul hast thou said
That my love would forego and forget?
From a heaven where its light lingers yet?
Since we parted with pangs, to thy soul hast thou said
That my love would forego and forget?
Do not fear; it is love that, though prisoned apart
From thine own for long ages, would be
As the shell flung ashore that yet hides in its heart
All the sounds of the songs of the sea!
From thine own for long ages, would be
As the shell flung ashore that yet hides in its heart
All the sounds of the songs of the sea!
I shall live out my life, I shall draw daily breath,
Shall endure, yet in such wounded wise
As the stag that goes wearily, smitten with death,
To the pool that it drinks of and dies!
Shall endure, yet in such wounded wise
As the stag that goes wearily, smitten with death,
To the pool that it drinks of and dies!
'Tis in vain that the years, though they labor, shall bring
For my anguish Nepenthean wine.
As the sword to the scabbard, the plume to the wing,
O my love, was thy life unto mine!
For my anguish Nepenthean wine.
As the sword to the scabbard, the plume to the wing,
O my love, was thy life unto mine!
And with infinite sorrow my spirit has seen
How a gulf never sounded nor crost,
In its blackness of darkness yawns awful between
The words “I have loved”—“I have lost.”
How a gulf never sounded nor crost,
In its blackness of darkness yawns awful between
The words “I have loved”—“I have lost.”
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But as bells in the belfries and spires of the past,
Shall my dreams of thee changelessly chime,
And the rock of my passion shall wear at the last
Not a scar from the tempest of time!
Shall my dreams of thee changelessly chime,
And the rock of my passion shall wear at the last
Not a scar from the tempest of time!
When my heart to the bourne of no comfort may turn
That can lighten its loss or repair,
Shall the star of its longing not lovelier burn
In the deepening night of despair?
That can lighten its loss or repair,
Shall the star of its longing not lovelier burn
In the deepening night of despair?
And for love to the cross of remembrance to cling
Is not more in its effort with me
Than for leafage to mistily glimmer in Spring
On the wreck of a storm-ruined tree!
Is not more in its effort with me
Than for leafage to mistily glimmer in Spring
On the wreck of a storm-ruined tree!
I shall foster no fear that my soul may forget,
While in reaches of innermost thought
The immutable marble of deathless regret
To an image of thee has been wrought!
While in reaches of innermost thought
The immutable marble of deathless regret
To an image of thee has been wrought!
And if ever that image doth seem to uprise
Through a gloom whose vague fitfulness dims,
'Tis from tears dropping down out of memory's eyes
On the lamp that she watches and trims!
Through a gloom whose vague fitfulness dims,
'Tis from tears dropping down out of memory's eyes
On the lamp that she watches and trims!
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ADORATION.
I have sought the intensest ways to best adore you,
I have laid my soul's last treasure at your feet;
Yet I tremble as in thought I bend before you
With abasement and abashment and defeat,
Knowing well that all the love I ever bore you
Is requital weak of worth and incomplete!
I have laid my soul's last treasure at your feet;
Yet I tremble as in thought I bend before you
With abasement and abashment and defeat,
Knowing well that all the love I ever bore you
Is requital weak of worth and incomplete!
As one might seize a lyre, across it sweeping
His fleet precipitate hand that has no care,
Imperiously upon the strained strings heaping
A mightier melody than these can bear,
So love has taken my life within his keeping
And smitten it with great strokes that scorn to spare!
His fleet precipitate hand that has no care,
Imperiously upon the strained strings heaping
A mightier melody than these can bear,
So love has taken my life within his keeping
And smitten it with great strokes that scorn to spare!
I am less than that which thrills me and entrances,
As a wounded bird is less than they that fly;
As the suppliant surge that arches and advances
Than the resolute rock-mass where it comes to die;
As a violet's color than the bland expanses,
The unshadowed calms of overcurving sky!
As a wounded bird is less than they that fly;
As the suppliant surge that arches and advances
Than the resolute rock-mass where it comes to die;
As a violet's color than the bland expanses,
The unshadowed calms of overcurving sky!
Desiring from my soul to have given you greatly
Of my thanks for your great love-gift given to me,
I am slight as some poor rivulet flowing straitly
Near all the abundant splendors of the sea,
And my worship is as nothingness by the stately
Magnificence of what it fain would be!
Of my thanks for your great love-gift given to me,
I am slight as some poor rivulet flowing straitly
Near all the abundant splendors of the sea,
And my worship is as nothingness by the stately
Magnificence of what it fain would be!
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Over my soul, in hours of meditation,
Murmurs a voice with monotones that tire:
God meant not that from this deep adoration
This vehement joy should fill me and should fire,
Looking on life in passionate elation
From heights that so transcendently aspire!
Murmurs a voice with monotones that tire:
God meant not that from this deep adoration
This vehement joy should fill me and should fire,
Looking on life in passionate elation
From heights that so transcendently aspire!
Full soon, I know it, while they shall strain to free not,
From these idolatrous arms you shall be torn;
You are fated from my days to pass and be not,
Like all of rare and fair they have ever worn;
I am doomed, although the stealthy doom I see not;
I feast, albeit I die to-morrow morn!
From these idolatrous arms you shall be torn;
You are fated from my days to pass and be not,
Like all of rare and fair they have ever worn;
I am doomed, although the stealthy doom I see not;
I feast, albeit I die to-morrow morn!
You or your love, it is fated, soon shall falter,
And vanish away, since here no sweet thing dwells;
No voice among blithe birds that take for psalter
The world at Springtide, carolling what it tells;
No light, no flower, no moon that fails to alter,
No song, no mellow minglement of bells!
And vanish away, since here no sweet thing dwells;
No voice among blithe birds that take for psalter
The world at Springtide, carolling what it tells;
No light, no flower, no moon that fails to alter,
No song, no mellow minglement of bells!
Yet though you vanish, memory shall cling dust-like
To hours when your first kiss first met my mouth!
Though on loved lands the annulling snow lie crust-like,
Can we forget the old winds that blew from South?
Forget the old green of lands where lingers rust-like
The dull disfeaturing leprosy of drouth?
To hours when your first kiss first met my mouth!
Though on loved lands the annulling snow lie crust-like,
Can we forget the old winds that blew from South?
Forget the old green of lands where lingers rust-like
The dull disfeaturing leprosy of drouth?
And I, in reverent and memorial manner,
Shall dream of you divinely and be stirred,
As sad Arcadia dreams of how Diana
Made silvery limbs and laughter seen or heard;
As some rude crag-tower that wild grasses banner,
Dreams of how lit there some great strange white bird!
Shall dream of you divinely and be stirred,
As sad Arcadia dreams of how Diana
Made silvery limbs and laughter seen or heard;
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Dreams of how lit there some great strange white bird!
Yet let me at least love fortune while she blesses,
Nor vainly cavil at bliss because it flies;
Let me not dim the sun with doubts and guesses,
But pluck the flower-like day before it dies;
Catch the fleet hour by back-flung robe or tresses,
And plunge a long strong look in her sweet eyes!
Nor vainly cavil at bliss because it flies;
Let me not dim the sun with doubts and guesses,
But pluck the flower-like day before it dies;
Catch the fleet hour by back-flung robe or tresses,
And plunge a long strong look in her sweet eyes!
But ah! the vanity of desire, when kneeling
We yearn for utterance that no god will teach!
When, at the finite bounded heart's appealing,
An infinite boundless love evades its reach!
When the waves of deep ungovernable feeling
Dash powerless on the baffling gates of speech!
We yearn for utterance that no god will teach!
When, at the finite bounded heart's appealing,
An infinite boundless love evades its reach!
When the waves of deep ungovernable feeling
Dash powerless on the baffling gates of speech!
My fervidest language hath an utter lightness,
My deeds devoutest are as deeds undone,
Do I mark your marble arm that slopes to slightness,
Or see the clear smile at your lips begun!
That opulent smile beneath whose lavish brightness
You are like a lily overbrimmed with sun!
My deeds devoutest are as deeds undone,
Do I mark your marble arm that slopes to slightness,
Or see the clear smile at your lips begun!
That opulent smile beneath whose lavish brightness
You are like a lily overbrimmed with sun!
Who am I for whom the hand of hope is sending
Her freshest olive-spray, her dearest dove?
Who am I that thus, though made for mortal ending,
I sit Alcides-like with gods above?
Who am I that dare, however lowly-bending,
Be laurelled with the chaplet of your love?
Her freshest olive-spray, her dearest dove?
Who am I that thus, though made for mortal ending,
I sit Alcides-like with gods above?
Who am I that dare, however lowly-bending,
Be laurelled with the chaplet of your love?
62
How am I blest that have not met with scorning,
Yet walk where worthier feet might well have trod,
Being thrilled as earth, at April's earliest warning,
Through amplitudes of winter-withered sod,
Or shadowy meadows when the feet of morning
Are beautiful upon the hills of God!
Yet walk where worthier feet might well have trod,
Being thrilled as earth, at April's earliest warning,
Through amplitudes of winter-withered sod,
Or shadowy meadows when the feet of morning
Are beautiful upon the hills of God!
The illimited love I bear you ever urges
My ardent soul through deeps of distance new,
While far aloof, where mind in spirit merges,
Fresh deeps of distance ever rise to view,
Like those dim lines that seem, o'er leagues of surges,
Bastions of mist below the vaulted blue!
My ardent soul through deeps of distance new,
While far aloof, where mind in spirit merges,
Fresh deeps of distance ever rise to view,
Like those dim lines that seem, o'er leagues of surges,
Bastions of mist below the vaulted blue!
O for a hand its ruinous blows to dash on
The expansive spirit's narrowing chains and bars!
O for a voice that lordlier phrase might fashion
Than this cold human phrase which frets and mars!
O for a heart with room for all its passion,
As hollow heaven has room for all her stars!
The expansive spirit's narrowing chains and bars!
O for a voice that lordlier phrase might fashion
Than this cold human phrase which frets and mars!
O for a heart with room for all its passion,
As hollow heaven has room for all her stars!
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IF TRULY.
If truly thou art still the same,
Deep-eyed, soft-speaking as of old;
If nothing strange or sad or cold,
Nothing that hints of tears untold,
Nothing that one might name or might not name,
Meeting thee after these flown years, be seen,
To mar the accustomed sweetness of thy mien,
Then surely 'tis not mine to chide
Harsh fate, being satisfied!
Deep-eyed, soft-speaking as of old;
If nothing strange or sad or cold,
Nothing that hints of tears untold,
Nothing that one might name or might not name,
Meeting thee after these flown years, be seen,
To mar the accustomed sweetness of thy mien,
Then surely 'tis not mine to chide
Harsh fate, being satisfied!
If truly thou art happy, this
Alone suffices, love, to me!
If all that I might ever be
That other now has grown; if he
Awakes the pure deep thrills of utter bliss
I had believed one only could awake;
If he has found the secret that can make
Thy days to music glide,—
Enough ... I am satisfied!
Alone suffices, love, to me!
If all that I might ever be
That other now has grown; if he
Awakes the pure deep thrills of utter bliss
I had believed one only could awake;
If he has found the secret that can make
Thy days to music glide,—
Enough ... I am satisfied!
64
DARKNESS.
I had a dream of a wild-lit place
Where three dark spirits met face to face.
Where three dark spirits met face to face.
One said: “I am darkest; I had birth
In the central blackness of mid-earth.”
In the central blackness of mid-earth.”
With a sneer one said, below his breath:
“I am still more dark, for I am Death.”
“I am still more dark, for I am Death.”
But the third, with voice that bleaker pealed
Than freezing wind on a houseless field,
Than freezing wind on a houseless field,
Cried, where he stood from the rest apart,
“I am that darkness which fills man's heart
“I am that darkness which fills man's heart
“When it aches and yearns and burns for one
It has loved as the meadow loves the sun!”
It has loved as the meadow loves the sun!”
Now I gazed on him from earth's mid-reach,
And now on the spirit of death; and each,
And now on the spirit of death; and each,
Though dark with a darkness to affright,
Beside that third was a shape of light!
Beside that third was a shape of light!
65
HIS CHILD.
(A Woman speaks.)
Ah, how may finite language tell
The boundless pain of that farewell!
The boundless pain of that farewell!
At last I pleaded, speaking low
Between great sobs, “In mercy go!”
Between great sobs, “In mercy go!”
He did not speak, but, stooping now,
Laid one long kiss against my brow!
Laid one long kiss against my brow!
Then, when a little space had flown,
I stood for evermore alone!
I stood for evermore alone!
Wounded in spirit, dazed, aghast,
I had no future but my past!
I had no future but my past!
Yet time, that heeds not joys or fears,
Inexorably shaped its years.
Inexorably shaped its years.
But years like weak waves broke above
The changeless granite of my love!
The changeless granite of my love!
The world, that thought this love was dead,
Praised the sweet woman he had wed!
Praised the sweet woman he had wed!
I heard its praise; I gave no sign;
Yet ah! what agony was mine!
Yet ah! what agony was mine!
66
Within my life there came a day
When past his home my journey lay.
When past his home my journey lay.
The lawns flowed wide in grassy seas,
The house was hid with stately trees;
The house was hid with stately trees;
And in the gateway, sweetly fair,
A young child stood, with shining hair.
A young child stood, with shining hair.
I paused a moment by the gate. ...
I trembled with a deadly hate!
I trembled with a deadly hate!
In this frail child I seemed to see
My own despair confronting me!
My own despair confronting me!
Yet while I watched the child, there stole
A lovely change across my soul!
A lovely change across my soul!
He gazed upon me in surprise;
He thrilled me with his father's eyes!
He thrilled me with his father's eyes!
Then, as I gently drew more near,
He gently smiled, and had no fear.
He gently smiled, and had no fear.
And now, all feeling unrepressed,
I knelt and caught him to my breast!
I knelt and caught him to my breast!
And blinded with hot tears, I now
Laid one long kiss against his brow!
Laid one long kiss against his brow!
67
SELF-DECEPTION.
Scorning my stubborn love, that can but see
Your stubborn scorn, that alters by no breath,
I shut my teeth and cry, “It shall not be!
I will not drag this shackle down to death!”
Your stubborn scorn, that alters by no breath,
I shut my teeth and cry, “It shall not be!
I will not drag this shackle down to death!”
And so I make a wall of absence rise
And grow between us, till at length I seem
To view my stormy past with stern surprise,
Bathed in the drowsy mezzo-tint of dream!
And grow between us, till at length I seem
To view my stormy past with stern surprise,
Bathed in the drowsy mezzo-tint of dream!
And after lapsing time there comes a day
When, proud of this calm strength that fills my breast,
I hear the very voice of courage say,
“Be bold, and put thy vaunted power to test!”
When, proud of this calm strength that fills my breast,
I hear the very voice of courage say,
“Be bold, and put thy vaunted power to test!”
We meet: through all my blood one thrill is sent,
And suddenly, in a moment, where I stand,
The illusive faith on which my life has leant
Cracks like a rotten staff beneath my hand!
And suddenly, in a moment, where I stand,
The illusive faith on which my life has leant
Cracks like a rotten staff beneath my hand!
And even as one that has been drugged with wine
And left by revellers on some couch to loll,
Love, with pale moaning lips, with eyes that shine,
Wakes in the shadowy chamber of my soul!
And left by revellers on some couch to loll,
Love, with pale moaning lips, with eyes that shine,
Wakes in the shadowy chamber of my soul!
68
CHIAROSCURO.
The garden, with its throngs of drowsy roses,
Below the suave midsummer night reposes,
And here kneel I, whom fate supremely blesses,
In the dim room, whose lamplit dusk discloses
Your two dark stars of eyes, your rippled tresses,
Whose fragrant folds the fragrant breeze caresses!
Below the suave midsummer night reposes,
And here kneel I, whom fate supremely blesses,
In the dim room, whose lamplit dusk discloses
Your two dark stars of eyes, your rippled tresses,
Whose fragrant folds the fragrant breeze caresses!
White flower of womanhood, ah! how completely,
How strongly, with invisible bonds, yet sweetly,
You bind, as my allegiant love confesses,
You bind, you bend, immutably and meetly,
This soul of mine, that all its pride represses,
A willing falcon in love's golden jesses!
How strongly, with invisible bonds, yet sweetly,
You bind, as my allegiant love confesses,
You bind, you bend, immutably and meetly,
This soul of mine, that all its pride represses,
A willing falcon in love's golden jesses!
To me such hours as these I breathe are holy!
I kneel, I tremble, I am very lowly
While this dear consecrated night progresses,
And faint winds through the lattice-vines float slowly
From all high starriest reaches and recesses,
Night's heavenly but unseen embassadresses!
I kneel, I tremble, I am very lowly
While this dear consecrated night progresses,
And faint winds through the lattice-vines float slowly
From all high starriest reaches and recesses,
Night's heavenly but unseen embassadresses!
69
A BIRD OF PASSAGE.
As the day's last light is dying,As the night's first breeze is sighing,
I send you, Love, like a messenger-dove, my thought through the distance flying!
Let it perch on your sill; or, better,
Let it feel your soft hand's fetter,
While you search and bring from under its wing, love, hidden away like a letter!
70
A LEAVE-TAKING.
They stand and see the sunset make
A whorl of scarlet in the West,
And white before them
See meadowfuls of daisies break
Wavelike at every wind's behest
That wanders o'er them.
A whorl of scarlet in the West,
And white before them
See meadowfuls of daisies break
Wavelike at every wind's behest
That wanders o'er them.
He is a man of easeful air,
Of genial youth, of happy grace
In form and vesture:
She is a girl with glimmering hair,
Deep eyes, and mobile oval face,
And gentle gesture.
Of genial youth, of happy grace
In form and vesture:
She is a girl with glimmering hair,
Deep eyes, and mobile oval face,
And gentle gesture.
He plucks a grass-blade from the ground,
And idly tears it as he speaks,
And laughs, and lingers;
She swings a wild-rose she has found,
Chaste-colored like her own fair cheeks,
Between two fingers.
And idly tears it as he speaks,
And laughs, and lingers;
She swings a wild-rose she has found,
Chaste-colored like her own fair cheeks,
Between two fingers.
He takes his leave, with proffered palm,
With words half serious, half in jest,—
A light leave-taking.
She answers, careless, courteous, calm:
(He does not dream that in her breast
The heart is breaking!)
With words half serious, half in jest,—
A light leave-taking.
She answers, careless, courteous, calm:
(He does not dream that in her breast
The heart is breaking!)
71
VESTA.
When skies are starless yet when day is done,
When odors of the freshened sward are sweeter,
When light is dreamy round the sunken sun,
At limit of the grassy lane I meet her.
When odors of the freshened sward are sweeter,
When light is dreamy round the sunken sun,
At limit of the grassy lane I meet her.
She steals a gracious hand across the gate;
My own its timid touch an instant flatters;
Below the glooming leaves we linger late,
And gossip of a thousand airy matters.
My own its timid touch an instant flatters;
Below the glooming leaves we linger late,
And gossip of a thousand airy matters.
I gladden that the hay is stored with luck;
I smile to hear the pumpkin-bed is turning;
I mourn the lameness of her speckled duck;
I marvel at the triumphs of her churning.
I smile to hear the pumpkin-bed is turning;
I mourn the lameness of her speckled duck;
I marvel at the triumphs of her churning.
From cow to cabbage and from horse to hen,
I treat bucolics with my rustic charmer,
At heart the most unpastoral of men,
Converted by this dainty little farmer.
I treat bucolics with my rustic charmer,
At heart the most unpastoral of men,
Converted by this dainty little farmer.
And yet if one soft syllable I chance,
As late below the glooming leaves we linger,
The pretty veto sparkles in her glance,
And cautions in her brown up-lifted finger.
As late below the glooming leaves we linger,
The pretty veto sparkles in her glance,
And cautions in her brown up-lifted finger.
O happy trysts at blossom-time of stars!
O moments when the glad blood thrills and quickens!
O all-inviolable gateway-bars!
O Vesta of the milking-pails and chickens!
O moments when the glad blood thrills and quickens!
O all-inviolable gateway-bars!
O Vesta of the milking-pails and chickens!
72
ONE NIGHT IN SEVILLE.
High and yet higher the slow moon arose,
Mounting in majesty full-orbed and fair,
Till loftily o'er Seville's pale repose
The great Giralda towered in opal air!
Mounting in majesty full-orbed and fair,
Till loftily o'er Seville's pale repose
The great Giralda towered in opal air!
With vagueness all the rich-hued roofs were blent;
Scarce might you tell their lilac from their green;
On languorous breezes came the pungent scent
Of odorous alamedas, faintly seen.
Scarce might you tell their lilac from their green;
On languorous breezes came the pungent scent
Of odorous alamedas, faintly seen.
Out from the crowded plaza floated light
A peal of mirth or dulcet trill of song,
And brightening softly to the brightening night,
The shadowy Guadalquivir lapsed along!
A peal of mirth or dulcet trill of song,
And brightening softly to the brightening night,
The shadowy Guadalquivir lapsed along!
The flash of teeth, the gleam of combs, the dark
Mantillas, the quaint gear of old and young,
The rustle of fans, the cigarillo's spark,
The mellow-syllabled Sevillian tongue!
Mantillas, the quaint gear of old and young,
The rustle of fans, the cigarillo's spark,
The mellow-syllabled Sevillian tongue!
All these in pleasured memory still are fresh,
But ah! that faultless face which came and fled,
Beaming amid its drapery's dusky mesh
From the dim balcony above my head!
But ah! that faultless face which came and fled,
Beaming amid its drapery's dusky mesh
From the dim balcony above my head!
That face which for a fleet while glimmering through
The abundant jasmines, thrilled me with surprise!
A drowsy smile, two dimpling cheeks and two
Fathomless velvet Andalusian eyes!
The abundant jasmines, thrilled me with surprise!
A drowsy smile, two dimpling cheeks and two
Fathomless velvet Andalusian eyes!
73
A face so marvellous that one rash star,
To see of beauty this rare flower and crown,
Leaned out in heaven its golden head too far,
And dropt, a meteor, over Seville town!
To see of beauty this rare flower and crown,
Leaned out in heaven its golden head too far,
And dropt, a meteor, over Seville town!
BARCAROLLE.
The lake lies with the sheen on it
Of day's last look serene on it,
And round its rim in the gloaming dim the shades of the low hills lean on it!
No slightest sound the charmful quiet mars;
The hollow heaven is yearning for its stars!
Of day's last look serene on it,
And round its rim in the gloaming dim the shades of the low hills lean on it!
No slightest sound the charmful quiet mars;
The hollow heaven is yearning for its stars!
With strange half-proud humility,
With sumptuous tranquillity,
Thou art lounging, Sweet, at my flattered feet, in statuesque immobility,
Against thy bosom's chaste superb repose
One heavy blood-red velvet-petalled rose!
With sumptuous tranquillity,
Thou art lounging, Sweet, at my flattered feet, in statuesque immobility,
Against thy bosom's chaste superb repose
One heavy blood-red velvet-petalled rose!
Thine affluent hair, so billowlike,
The bends of thy form, so willowlike,
Thy face so clear from the red cachemire folded under its pale cheek pillowlike;
The unrippled lake, the gloom, the calm ... all dower
Memory with one imperishable hour!
The bends of thy form, so willowlike,
Thy face so clear from the red cachemire folded under its pale cheek pillowlike;
The unrippled lake, the gloom, the calm ... all dower
Memory with one imperishable hour!
74
While we drift now to leeward, Love,
I can feel my life turn theeward, Love,
As a blossom will see some great gold bee and bow all its beauty beeward, Love!
From thine eyes' night my perfect day is made!
I seek them, as the ivy seeks the shade!
I can feel my life turn theeward, Love,
As a blossom will see some great gold bee and bow all its beauty beeward, Love!
From thine eyes' night my perfect day is made!
I seek them, as the ivy seeks the shade!
Look how the pines loom towerwise,
Skirting the lake-edge bowerwise!
The stars wait still ere they flock to fill the heavenly meadows flowerwise!
But Hesper in the darkening West burns now,
Like some grand diamond on some swart queen's brow!
Skirting the lake-edge bowerwise!
The stars wait still ere they flock to fill the heavenly meadows flowerwise!
But Hesper in the darkening West burns now,
Like some grand diamond on some swart queen's brow!
Ah, Love, with the rich day failing so,
With the summer sunset paling so,
I would always rest on the lustrous breast of the lake, forever sailing so,
And feel, at languorous rapture's utmost goal,
Peace lightly sweep the lute-strings of my soul!
With the summer sunset paling so,
I would always rest on the lustrous breast of the lake, forever sailing so,
And feel, at languorous rapture's utmost goal,
Peace lightly sweep the lute-strings of my soul!
Heedless if skies be thunderful,
Heedless if time be plunderful,
And only sure of the splendor pure in those fathomless eyes and wonderful,
My soul would soar beyond all time, as soars
The upleaping lark through dawn's white corridors!
Heedless if time be plunderful,
And only sure of the splendor pure in those fathomless eyes and wonderful,
My soul would soar beyond all time, as soars
The upleaping lark through dawn's white corridors!
75
CRADLE-SONG.
I.
Windily over the rocking sea and windily over the damp dim grasses.
Hark how the lowering Autumn night sweeps down on the lonely world!
Sombrely from the silver sunset hurry the storm's cloud-masses;
Out on the black and perilous water, cavernous waves are curled!
Hark how the lowering Autumn night sweeps down on the lonely world!
Sombrely from the silver sunset hurry the storm's cloud-masses;
Out on the black and perilous water, cavernous waves are curled!
Go to sleep, darling; go to sleep, dear one;
Heed not the tempest gathering o'er thee!
Slumber well, though the night be a drear one,
Watched, my babe, by the mother that bore thee!
Heed not the tempest gathering o'er thee!
Slumber well, though the night be a drear one,
Watched, my babe, by the mother that bore thee!
II.
While in my desolate home I listen, compassed about with the deepening darkness,
Memory brings me her woful phantom, haunting the chilly gloom.
Oh, but the skies were bleak, that dawn, when he lay in his fearful starkness,
Flung by the stern defiant waves where the dumb gray boulders loom!
Memory brings me her woful phantom, haunting the chilly gloom.
Oh, but the skies were bleak, that dawn, when he lay in his fearful starkness,
Flung by the stern defiant waves where the dumb gray boulders loom!
76
Go to sleep, darling; go to sleep, dear one;
Heed not the tempest gathering o'er thee!
Slumber well, though the night be a drear one,
Wild and drear to the mother that bore thee!
Heed not the tempest gathering o'er thee!
Slumber well, though the night be a drear one,
Wild and drear to the mother that bore thee!
III.
Cruelly in his dying face was flung the scorn of your moanful surges,
Haughty sea, that hast left to love me this poor babe alone!
Hear not the voices, O my Sweet, that are singing thy father's dirges!
Find in the Paradise of thy dreams the angel that he is grown!
Haughty sea, that hast left to love me this poor babe alone!
Hear not the voices, O my Sweet, that are singing thy father's dirges!
Find in the Paradise of thy dreams the angel that he is grown!
Go to sleep, darling; go to sleep, dear one;
Heed not the tempest gathering o'er thee.
Slumber well, though the night be a drear one,
Watched by God and the mother that bore thee!
Heed not the tempest gathering o'er thee.
Slumber well, though the night be a drear one,
Watched by God and the mother that bore thee!
77
ONE MAY NIGHT.
How blandly, Love, this air of evening slips
In from the drowsy violets to your lips!
If I were some great painter, I would draw
Your splendor of cool shoulder without flaw;
Your arms, like those the boy of Ida kist,
Each wavering to its wonder of white wrist;
Your throat, o'er which your face's full flower glows,
A stem so stately to so grand a rose!
And while I wrought them, burn beneath a spell
That smiles and tears must interblend to tell!
In from the drowsy violets to your lips!
If I were some great painter, I would draw
Your splendor of cool shoulder without flaw;
Your arms, like those the boy of Ida kist,
Each wavering to its wonder of white wrist;
Your throat, o'er which your face's full flower glows,
A stem so stately to so grand a rose!
And while I wrought them, burn beneath a spell
That smiles and tears must interblend to tell!
But lift toward me that fragrant mouth: for why
Should a mere breeze be deeplier blest than I?
Were not these heavy blue-black tresses made
The swart broad molding of your brows to shade,
As shaded once the locks of Egypt's queen
Brows where the jewelled sparrow blazed in sheen?
For hearts to have, life holds no lovelier thing
Within her hands than love and youth and Spring;
Yet gazing on your fresh cheek one should say,
Though Winter were at wildest—“It is May!”
Should a mere breeze be deeplier blest than I?
Were not these heavy blue-black tresses made
The swart broad molding of your brows to shade,
As shaded once the locks of Egypt's queen
Brows where the jewelled sparrow blazed in sheen?
For hearts to have, life holds no lovelier thing
Within her hands than love and youth and Spring;
Yet gazing on your fresh cheek one should say,
Though Winter were at wildest—“It is May!”
78
FORGETFULNESS.
After the long monotonous months, and after
Vague yearnings as of suppliant viewless hands,
The first full note of Spring's aerial laughter
Was wavering o'er the winter-wearied lands.
Vague yearnings as of suppliant viewless hands,
The first full note of Spring's aerial laughter
Was wavering o'er the winter-wearied lands.
All earth seemed rich in sweet emancipations
For all that frost so bitterly enslaves,
And, tended as with unseen ministrations,
The sward grew fresh about the village graves!
For all that frost so bitterly enslaves,
And, tended as with unseen ministrations,
The sward grew fresh about the village graves!
And while I lingered in the halcyon weather
To watch the tranquil churchyard, brightening fast,
My friend and his young wife rode by together,—
Rode by and gave me greeting as they past.
To watch the tranquil churchyard, brightening fast,
My friend and his young wife rode by together,—
Rode by and gave me greeting as they past.
They seemed like lovers with the choicest graces
Of favoring fortune at their love's control,
Yet, as I looked upon their fleeting faces,
A chill of recollection touched my soul!
Of favoring fortune at their love's control,
Yet, as I looked upon their fleeting faces,
A chill of recollection touched my soul!
For only two short Springtides had been numbered
Since here among these graves, it then befell,
A grave was wrought beneath whose slab now slumbered
The woman whom my friend had loved so well!
Since here among these graves, it then befell,
A grave was wrought beneath whose slab now slumbered
The woman whom my friend had loved so well!
A gloom across the brilliant day came stealing,
Whose darkness held the spirit from escape.
I saw my friend within a dim room, kneeling
In haggard anguish by a sheeted shape!
Whose darkness held the spirit from escape.
I saw my friend within a dim room, kneeling
In haggard anguish by a sheeted shape!
79
A chilly breeze across the chamber fluttered,
Making the timorous night-light wax and wane,
And wearily on the roof above were uttered
The low persistent requiems of the rain!
Making the timorous night-light wax and wane,
And wearily on the roof above were uttered
The low persistent requiems of the rain!
I thought of his great sobs and mien heart broken,
His moans of agony and his wild-eyed stare,
And how the assuaging words I would have spoken
Died at my lips before his deep despair!
His moans of agony and his wild-eyed stare,
And how the assuaging words I would have spoken
Died at my lips before his deep despair!
“And now,” I thought, “what worth his protestations,
His tears, his pangs and all the grief he gave,
When, tended as with unseen ministrations,
The sward grows green round her forgotten grave?”
His tears, his pangs and all the grief he gave,
When, tended as with unseen ministrations,
The sward grows green round her forgotten grave?”
And yet the brilliant day, divine for tidings
Of cheerful change in all its ample glow,
Touched me with tender yet with potent chidings,
And softly murmured, “It is better so!”
Of cheerful change in all its ample glow,
Touched me with tender yet with potent chidings,
And softly murmured, “It is better so!”
“Ah, yes,” I mused, “immeasurably better
To win suave healing from the fluctuant years;
To snap the bond of grief's tyrannic fetter;
To let new hopes arch rainbows among tears!”
To win suave healing from the fluctuant years;
To snap the bond of grief's tyrannic fetter;
To let new hopes arch rainbows among tears!”
And now it seemed that Spring, the elate new-comer,
Laughed out: “Oh, better all regret were brief!
Better the opulence of another summer
Than last year's empty nest and shrivelled leaf!”
Laughed out: “Oh, better all regret were brief!
Better the opulence of another summer
Than last year's empty nest and shrivelled leaf!”
“Yes, better!” I made mute reiterations,
But turned sad eyes to one green turfy wave,
Where, tended as with unseen ministrations,
The sward grew fresh round that forgotten grave!
But turned sad eyes to one green turfy wave,
Where, tended as with unseen ministrations,
The sward grew fresh round that forgotten grave!
80
Oh, sweet it is when hope's white arms are wreathing
Necks bowed with sorrow, as they droop forlorn!
But ah! the imperishable pathos breathing
About those dead whom we no longer mourn!
Necks bowed with sorrow, as they droop forlorn!
But ah! the imperishable pathos breathing
About those dead whom we no longer mourn!
SOUVENIR.
Dark hickory-boughs against blue shining sea;
Sharp-shapen fir-trees pluming sombre rocks;
The cadence of wind-murmurs fresh and free;
The merry sunlight on brown girlish locks;
The sounding of two tender voices low ...
And all so long ago!
Sharp-shapen fir-trees pluming sombre rocks;
The cadence of wind-murmurs fresh and free;
The merry sunlight on brown girlish locks;
The sounding of two tender voices low ...
And all so long ago!
A building of sweet castles in the air,
Frail as the slim calm cloud o'er distant seas;
Delicious idlesse; carelessness of care;
Fragments of song; unutterable case!
Life's music at soft pianissimo . ...
And all so long ago!
Frail as the slim calm cloud o'er distant seas;
Delicious idlesse; carelessness of care;
Fragments of song; unutterable case!
Life's music at soft pianissimo . ...
And all so long ago!
A purple whorl of sunset in the West;
A great gold star through a wide oriel seen;
Two lilied hands upon a placid breast;
A mute pale face, ineffably serene!
A mourner kneeling in impassioned woe ...
And all so long ago!
A great gold star through a wide oriel seen;
Two lilied hands upon a placid breast;
A mute pale face, ineffably serene!
A mourner kneeling in impassioned woe ...
And all so long ago!
81
THE MEETING.
I saw in dreams a dim bleak heath,
Where towered a gaunt pine by a rock,
And suddenly, from the earth beneath,
That rent itself with an angry shock,
A shape sprang forth to that wild place,
Whose limbs by chains were trenched and marred,
And whose sardonic pain-worn face
Was grimly scorched and scarred.
Where towered a gaunt pine by a rock,
And suddenly, from the earth beneath,
That rent itself with an angry shock,
A shape sprang forth to that wild place,
Whose limbs by chains were trenched and marred,
And whose sardonic pain-worn face
Was grimly scorched and scarred.
He waited by the spectral pine;
Aloft he lifted haggard eyes;
A woman's form, of mien divine,
Dropt earthward in seraphic wise.
Chaste as though bathed in breaking day,
And radiant with all saintly charms,
She flew toward him till she lay
Close-locked in his dark arms!
Aloft he lifted haggard eyes;
A woman's form, of mien divine,
Dropt earthward in seraphic wise.
Chaste as though bathed in breaking day,
And radiant with all saintly charms,
She flew toward him till she lay
Close-locked in his dark arms!
I heard a far vague voice that said:
“On earth these twain had loved so well
That now their lives, when both are dead,
Burst the great bounds of Heaven and Hell.
Alike o'er powers of gloom and light
Prevailed their fervid prayers and tears;
They meet on this bleak heath one night
In every thousand years!”
“On earth these twain had loved so well
That now their lives, when both are dead,
Burst the great bounds of Heaven and Hell.
Alike o'er powers of gloom and light
Prevailed their fervid prayers and tears;
They meet on this bleak heath one night
In every thousand years!”
82
D'OUTRE MORT.
And so 'tis over at last;
The passion and pain are past;
Death has him and holds him fast!
The passion and pain are past;
Death has him and holds him fast!
And now to the chamber dumb
Of his death-sleep white and numb,
Who of all earth should come
Of his death-sleep white and numb,
Who of all earth should come
To look on him where he lies,
With her two cold stars of eyes,
And sigh the old common sighs,—
With her two cold stars of eyes,
And sigh the old common sighs,—
Who should stand by his bed,
In her sadness so well-bred,
With just the right poise of head,
In her sadness so well-bred,
With just the right poise of head,
But she, this woman he bore,
Through life till his life was o'er,
Such infinite yearning for?
Through life till his life was o'er,
Such infinite yearning for?
And now she stands by his bed,
Forgetting to try and shed
One tear, as she sees him dead.
Forgetting to try and shed
One tear, as she sees him dead.
And when those about her fare
From the room, with solemn air,
She follows, leaving him there.
From the room, with solemn air,
She follows, leaving him there.
But just as she nears the door,
There drops on the shadowed floor
A sweet rich rose that she wore.
There drops on the shadowed floor
A sweet rich rose that she wore.
83
It drops, and she does not know,
And so lets it lie, and so
Goes out as the others go.
And so lets it lie, and so
Goes out as the others go.
Now they that next draw near
This man, in his sleep austere,
Find, shrinking away with fear,
This man, in his sleep austere,
Find, shrinking away with fear,
That a rose, once bright and bland,
Is crushed in his frigid hand ...
And they cannot understand! ...
Is crushed in his frigid hand ...
And they cannot understand! ...
FROM SHADOWLAND.
When I lay weak and white on my death-bed,
I smiled and said:
“Oh, soul, thine hour is near! Be comforted!”
I smiled and said:
“Oh, soul, thine hour is near! Be comforted!”
And sweet at last it was to break away
From bonds of clay,
And leap, a bodiless rapture, into day!
From bonds of clay,
And leap, a bodiless rapture, into day!
“For now,” I thought, “this woman whose mute scorn
My life has borne,
Crowned with it even as with a crown of thorn,
My life has borne,
Crowned with it even as with a crown of thorn,
“This woman whom I have loved with love supreme,
Yet might not dream
Of kissing her pure garment's outmost seam,
Yet might not dream
Of kissing her pure garment's outmost seam,
84
“This woman, lo! she is mine, through many a year
To hover near,
And passionately to worship, to revere!”
To hover near,
And passionately to worship, to revere!”
So I went viewless on the viewless air
Fleetly to where
She sat in a green garden, calm and fair.
Fleetly to where
She sat in a green garden, calm and fair.
I clasped her with intangible arms like light,
In fervid might,
And on her sweet proud beauty fed my sight!
In fervid might,
And on her sweet proud beauty fed my sight!
I rained quick kisses on her lips and eyes,
And loverwise
I sank on her deep bosom with deep sighs!
And loverwise
I sank on her deep bosom with deep sighs!
And she, meanwhile, with smooth lids drooping low,
Chaster than snow,
Sat there superbly calm, and did not know!
Chaster than snow,
Sat there superbly calm, and did not know!
My most impetuous kiss—the intense wild stress
Of each caress—
Alike to her was an utter nothingness!
Of each caress—
Alike to her was an utter nothingness!
Cold pangs through all my ghostly being shot;
I loathed my lot,
I that possessed and yet possessed her not!
I loathed my lot,
I that possessed and yet possessed her not!
And now to God on every wind is borne
My moan forlorn:
“Have pity, O God, and give me back her scorn!”
My moan forlorn:
“Have pity, O God, and give me back her scorn!”
85
PEST.
I came at midnight to the city's great
Last gate.
Last gate.
Below me gleamed its shadowy stately maze
Of ways;
Of ways;
Domes, minarets, obelisks, firm- reared to dare
Mid-air;
Mid-air;
Masses of blended roofs in shadow deep
As sleep;
As sleep;
And woven among its thousand streets and sites,
Dim lights.
Dim lights.
But now, as I bore onward to that great
Last gate,
Last gate,
A dark shape stole toward me, glided fast
And past.
And past.
With wonderment I turned, not trusting quite
My sight,
My sight,
When lo! the shape beneath me on the hill
Stood still,
Stood still,
And even as I had turned, so turned apace
Its face.
Its face.
Wherewith the moon, from out a cloudy lair,
Broke fair,
Broke fair,
86
And showed me, lit with large eyes burning dull,
A skull!
A skull!
Days after, this news reached me in the West:
“The pest
“The pest
“Sweeps Ispahan with its embittered breath
Of death!
Of death!
“Within the temples prayers and maddened cries
Arise;
Arise;
“And by her heaps, forever newly fed,
Of dead,
Of dead,
“Our city moans for Allah to disperse
The curse.”
The curse.”
WINE.
I am a spirit strong and glad,
In gold or purple proudly clad,
With eyes of fire and fragrant breath,
Lovely, but crueller than death!
In gold or purple proudly clad,
With eyes of fire and fragrant breath,
Lovely, but crueller than death!
Through days my protean soul has hung
In lucid clusters, richly strung
Through many a spacious green expanse
Of beauteous and historic France!
In lucid clusters, richly strung
Through many a spacious green expanse
Of beauteous and historic France!
Below blue deeps of laughing skies
My soul has laughed, in soft surprise,
To hear what merry pleasure stirs
The voices of the vintagers!
My soul has laughed, in soft surprise,
To hear what merry pleasure stirs
The voices of the vintagers!
87
But though at many a revel flit
The rapid javelins of my wit,
Though joy obeys me, though regret
May quaff my Lethe and forget,
The rapid javelins of my wit,
Though joy obeys me, though regret
May quaff my Lethe and forget,
Still do I love by stealth to wind
My subtle spells o'er heart and mind,
Till sacred secrets, treasured dear,
Are babbled in some greedy ear!
My subtle spells o'er heart and mind,
Till sacred secrets, treasured dear,
Are babbled in some greedy ear!
And I have loved to pluck aside
The mask from malice, envy, pride;
To strip fair flesh from deeds, and show
What bony motives grin below!
The mask from malice, envy, pride;
To strip fair flesh from deeds, and show
What bony motives grin below!
For when I cheer the kindliest him
Who courts me at his goblet's brim;
When I am blandest, warmest, then
Most deadly is my hate of men!
Who courts me at his goblet's brim;
When I am blandest, warmest, then
Most deadly is my hate of men!
Nor is to me that moment sweet
When solemn mourners dumbly meet,
And dying lips are lifted up
To touch my sacramental cup,—
When solemn mourners dumbly meet,
And dying lips are lifted up
To touch my sacramental cup,—
But keenlier does the moment please
If my drugged lover wakes and sees,
Like one who vaguely understands,
The red crime crusted on his hands!
If my drugged lover wakes and sees,
Like one who vaguely understands,
The red crime crusted on his hands!
88
TO-MORROW.
I sit and muse beside the faded coals,
While night and silence hold their mystic sway,
And while the world, with all its freight of souls,
Wheels on through darkness to another day!
While night and silence hold their mystic sway,
And while the world, with all its freight of souls,
Wheels on through darkness to another day!
Across my spirit ghostly fancies creep ...
Who shall dare prophesy to-morrow's light?
What if uncounted thousands, while they sleep,
Are trembling on eternity to-night?
Who shall dare prophesy to-morrow's light?
What if uncounted thousands, while they sleep,
Are trembling on eternity to-night?
And still they haunt my heart, these dreams forlorn,
Vague bats of fear that sunshine would dismay ...
Though myriads of to-morrows have been born,
What if the last had perished with to-day?
Vague bats of fear that sunshine would dismay ...
Though myriads of to-morrows have been born,
What if the last had perished with to-day?
But no! the ancient ordinance yet reigns ...
Hours afterward, while seated wakeful here,
I dimly see, along my casement-panes,
The first pale dubious glimmerings appear.
Hours afterward, while seated wakeful here,
I dimly see, along my casement-panes,
The first pale dubious glimmerings appear.
Once more the old fated ways of earth begin ...
Some glad girl somewhere will soon wake and say,
While blushing from chaste forehead to sweet chin
One lovely rose,—“It is my wedding-day!”
Some glad girl somewhere will soon wake and say,
While blushing from chaste forehead to sweet chin
One lovely rose,—“It is my wedding-day!”
And in some prison-cell, perchance even now,
Some haggard captive from his sleep is drawn,
To hear them, while cold sweat-drops bead his brow,
Nailing a scaffold in the ghastly dawn!
Some haggard captive from his sleep is drawn,
To hear them, while cold sweat-drops bead his brow,
Nailing a scaffold in the ghastly dawn!
89
DEGREE.
What if the great earth where our life
Appears so vast and fierce a strife,
Appears so vast and fierce a strife,
Where mighty kingdoms rise and sink,
Where warriors fight, reformers think,
Where warriors fight, reformers think,
Where statesmen plot, where poets rave,
Where science makes the lightning slave,
Where science makes the lightning slave,
Nay, what if all that meets our sight
In starry calms of utmost night,
In starry calms of utmost night,
All pale complexities we trace
In the awful altitudes of space,
In the awful altitudes of space,
All orbs among those baffling heights,
The suns of myriad satellites,—
The suns of myriad satellites,—
What if all these and all they hold
Of lands and peoples manifold,
Of lands and peoples manifold,
Were, to the eyes of one afar,—
One mortal as we mortals are,—
One mortal as we mortals are,—
Like those mere giddy motes that dance
Within a sunbeam's lucid lance?
Within a sunbeam's lucid lance?
While he, in strange stupendous ways,
Lived on through monstrous nights and days,
Lived on through monstrous nights and days,
Able, if chance might so allot,
To breathe us in and know it not!
To breathe us in and know it not!
90
THE ATONEMENT.
Dull as a withered flower, along the West,
The sad moon dropt at dawn through brightening air,
And gazing on her calm and colorless breast,
I marked the shadowy desolations there!
The sad moon dropt at dawn through brightening air,
And gazing on her calm and colorless breast,
I marked the shadowy desolations there!
Then while the vanishing night grew more remote,
Aided of some new sense. I seemed to hear
A voice of strange monotonous murmur float
Miraculously down from that far sphere.
Aided of some new sense. I seemed to hear
A voice of strange monotonous murmur float
Miraculously down from that far sphere.
“Forever,” the mysterious voice made moan,
“I terribly expiate a mighty crime;
I wander about this ghastly world alone,
And shall be wandering till the end of time!
“I terribly expiate a mighty crime;
I wander about this ghastly world alone,
And shall be wandering till the end of time!
“No animate thing at all my sight beholds,
No glimmer of any grass or sign of tree.
One monstrous lethargy of stagnation folds
The appalling solitudes that compass me!
No glimmer of any grass or sign of tree.
One monstrous lethargy of stagnation folds
The appalling solitudes that compass me!
“Great valleylands in vapory distance die,
Clammy with dews, with skull-shaped stones o'er-strewn,
And pale against the unchanging arch of sky
Tower up these awful mountains of the moon!
Clammy with dews, with skull-shaped stones o'er-strewn,
And pale against the unchanging arch of sky
Tower up these awful mountains of the moon!
91
And sometimes, journeying on with low-bowed head,
I meet old bones that wondrous things avow
Of years before God touched this planet I tread
With the woful death-in-life that shrouds it now!
I meet old bones that wondrous things avow
Of years before God touched this planet I tread
With the woful death-in-life that shrouds it now!
“And often I so abhor this lonely lot
That my sick spirit a keen delight would take
In seeing some white ghost haunt some dusky spot,
Or setting a naked foot on some cold snake!
That my sick spirit a keen delight would take
In seeing some white ghost haunt some dusky spot,
Or setting a naked foot on some cold snake!
“But not even such poor boon I dare expect,
While ever wandering through this loathsome land,
With hair and beard one tangle of red neglect,
And thirty pieces of silver in my hand!”
While ever wandering through this loathsome land,
With hair and beard one tangle of red neglect,
And thirty pieces of silver in my hand!”
TIGER TO TIGRESS.
The sultry jungle holds its breath;
The palsied night is dumb as death;
The golden stars burn large and bland
Above this torrid Indian land;
But we, that hunger's pangs distress,
Crouch low in deadly watchfulness,
With sleek striped shapes of massive size,
Great velvet paws and lurid eyes!
The palsied night is dumb as death;
The golden stars burn large and bland
Above this torrid Indian land;
But we, that hunger's pangs distress,
Crouch low in deadly watchfulness,
With sleek striped shapes of massive size,
Great velvet paws and lurid eyes!
Hark! did you hear that stealthy sound
Where yonder monstrous ferns abound?
Some lissome leopard pauses there;
Let him creep nearer if he dare! ...
And hark, again! in yonder grove
I hear that lazy serpent move;
A mottled thing, whose languid strength
Coils round a bough its clammy length!
Where yonder monstrous ferns abound?
Some lissome leopard pauses there;
Let him creep nearer if he dare! ...
92
I hear that lazy serpent move;
A mottled thing, whose languid strength
Coils round a bough its clammy length!
Soon the late moon that crimson air
Will fall with mellow splendors where
The Rajah's distant palace shows
Its haughty domes in dark repose.
And from this dim lair, by and bye,
We shall behold, against pale sky,
With mighty gorges robed in gloom,
The wild immense Himalayas loom!
Will fall with mellow splendors where
The Rajah's distant palace shows
Its haughty domes in dark repose.
And from this dim lair, by and bye,
We shall behold, against pale sky,
With mighty gorges robed in gloom,
The wild immense Himalayas loom!
At moonrise, through this very spot,
You still remember, do you not,
How that proud Punjab youth, last night,
Sprang past us on his charger white,
Perchance to have some fair hand throw
A rose from some seraglio? ...
Well, if to-night he passes, note
My hot leap at his horse's throat!
You still remember, do you not,
How that proud Punjab youth, last night,
Sprang past us on his charger white,
Perchance to have some fair hand throw
A rose from some seraglio? ...
Well, if to-night he passes, note
My hot leap at his horse's throat!
93
JAEL.
Then Jael, Heber's wife, took a nail of the tent, and took a hammer in her hand, and went softly unto him, and smote the nail into his temples, and fastened it into the ground: for he was fast asleep and weary. So he died.—
Judges, iv. 21.
Praise me with shawn and cymbal, chant my fame,
Barak and Deborah, till the high Lord hears.
From Zaänáim, sounding along the lands,
Past Tabor even to Ephraim let the name
Of Jael, wife of Heber, echo in song.
Lo, I have merited the applauding voice
Of prophetess and conqueror; I have won
Justly my loud renown—and purchased it
With deep unspeakable heart-pangs of wild pain!
Barak and Deborah, till the high Lord hears.
From Zaänáim, sounding along the lands,
Past Tabor even to Ephraim let the name
Of Jael, wife of Heber, echo in song.
Lo, I have merited the applauding voice
Of prophetess and conqueror; I have won
Justly my loud renown—and purchased it
With deep unspeakable heart-pangs of wild pain!
Praise me, and bid the people praise, and call me
Deliveress of Israel, having wrought
Death to the invincible and tyrannous.
Praise me that spared not, pitied not and smote;
Praise me that murdered righteously, that am
Glorious among all Hebrew womankind
For evermore. Praise me, yet praise aloof,
And hither send no curious messengers,
Bidding me join your jubilant sacrifice,
Your minstrelsy, your clamor of triumph. Close
I have drawn the curtains of my tent and shut
Heaven's vague supremities and the twilight moon,
Palm-gilding, from mine eyes. I would that doors
Of massive metal dulled your grateful songs
To me, lying prone, veiled with my loosened hair,
An agony in my thoughts and loathing life!
Deliveress of Israel, having wrought
Death to the invincible and tyrannous.
Praise me that spared not, pitied not and smote;
Praise me that murdered righteously, that am
Glorious among all Hebrew womankind
For evermore. Praise me, yet praise aloof,
And hither send no curious messengers,
Bidding me join your jubilant sacrifice,
Your minstrelsy, your clamor of triumph. Close
I have drawn the curtains of my tent and shut
Heaven's vague supremities and the twilight moon,
Palm-gilding, from mine eyes. I would that doors
94
To me, lying prone, veiled with my loosened hair,
An agony in my thoughts and loathing life!
Have I not battled against my sin, O God,
And battled bravely? Father, am I not
Wrestler with that fierce passion which had coiled
About the immaculate column, fold by fold,
Of wifehood's beauteous chastity? Why, then,
Having so risen against myself and hurled
To the dust my baser part, can I not gain
Quiet of soul for recompense? O Lord,
Wherefore should this unholy love live on?
Whence this untamable longing to undo
Mine act?—this grief defiant of mastery?—
This weariness of self-hatred, whence, O Lord?
And battled bravely? Father, am I not
Wrestler with that fierce passion which had coiled
About the immaculate column, fold by fold,
Of wifehood's beauteous chastity? Why, then,
Having so risen against myself and hurled
To the dust my baser part, can I not gain
Quiet of soul for recompense? O Lord,
Wherefore should this unholy love live on?
Whence this untamable longing to undo
Mine act?—this grief defiant of mastery?—
This weariness of self-hatred, whence, O Lord?
Nay, Father, have I once yielded to my love?
Did not my indignant spirit from the first
Cry out against it? Wakening after dreams
Of guilty impetuous worship, night by night
While Heber slept have I not stolen unheard
To part the tapestries, and gone forth and met
The large white stars of Israel, and made,
With suppliant arms and tears and back-thrown head,
Kneeling, my lamentation? Verily
Thou knowest, O God, I have done this thing; nay, too,
Thou knowest of how the quick pulse ruled my heart
When Sisera was near, yet how I have made
Face, form, and gesture one cold courtesy
Of decorous matronhood severely pure,
Acting until the last my virtuous lie,
Feeling the insolent animal in my veins
Gnaw at its bonds with fiery teeth. ... And when,
Wounded and weak, I saw him stand to-day,
Bloody from horrible carnage, by the tent,
Thou knowest, O God, what yearning thrilled my breast
To hide, to save, even die befriending him;
Yet how with sternest afterthought I crushed
This eagerness, trampled, scorned it, and became
Guileful to bid him enter and fear not.
Did not my indignant spirit from the first
Cry out against it? Wakening after dreams
Of guilty impetuous worship, night by night
While Heber slept have I not stolen unheard
To part the tapestries, and gone forth and met
The large white stars of Israel, and made,
With suppliant arms and tears and back-thrown head,
Kneeling, my lamentation? Verily
Thou knowest, O God, I have done this thing; nay, too,
Thou knowest of how the quick pulse ruled my heart
When Sisera was near, yet how I have made
Face, form, and gesture one cold courtesy
Of decorous matronhood severely pure,
Acting until the last my virtuous lie,
95
Gnaw at its bonds with fiery teeth. ... And when,
Wounded and weak, I saw him stand to-day,
Bloody from horrible carnage, by the tent,
Thou knowest, O God, what yearning thrilled my breast
To hide, to save, even die befriending him;
Yet how with sternest afterthought I crushed
This eagerness, trampled, scorned it, and became
Guileful to bid him enter and fear not.
And yet Thou knowest, O Father, when he sank
Heavily on yonder couch of leopard-skins
And made his moan for water and turned his eyes
In pleading up to mine, how pity urged
My unwilling hands to kindly offices.
And then, and only then, for a little time
(Thou knowest, O God, 'twas but a little time!)
I served him, love being dominant, and stood
To watch him sleep tired sleep, athirst no more.
And then, and only then, for a little time,
(For a little time, O God, Thou knowest well!)
I fed the insatiate hunger of my look
With all his marvellous beauty, grace and strength:
The brow's white loftiness, the shadowing sweep
Of silken eyelash, the dark plenteous beard
Just curling about his grand firm-corded throat,
The vigorous majesties of girth and build
And eminent stature and heroic arms
And all that makes the manliness of a man!
For a little time, O God, for a little time! ...
And then Thou knowest how sharp a serpent-sting,
After that one wild wanton moment, pierced
My bosom, and how I rose and hid my face,
Remembering I was Jael, mother and wife;
While to my ears the imagined mockery
Of those who might have spoken it, had they known,
Sounded: “Lo, she, the austerely blameless, loves
Jabin's dread captain, wronger of women, base,
Impious, a despot in the land!” ...
Sing on,
Barak and Deborah, bless the Kenite's wife,
Who thrust the deadly nail in Sisera's brow,
Who strove to free not Israel, but herself,
Who failed, and feels the unholy love yet live,
And who now mourns the irreparable deed,
Lying prone in her self-hatred and despair!
O guessing not of her misery and shame,
Sing to her praise, flute-throated prophetess,
And thou, too, strong son of Abínoam, sing,—
While Jael hears, the accursed, the comfortless!
Heavily on yonder couch of leopard-skins
And made his moan for water and turned his eyes
In pleading up to mine, how pity urged
My unwilling hands to kindly offices.
And then, and only then, for a little time
(Thou knowest, O God, 'twas but a little time!)
I served him, love being dominant, and stood
To watch him sleep tired sleep, athirst no more.
And then, and only then, for a little time,
(For a little time, O God, Thou knowest well!)
I fed the insatiate hunger of my look
With all his marvellous beauty, grace and strength:
The brow's white loftiness, the shadowing sweep
Of silken eyelash, the dark plenteous beard
Just curling about his grand firm-corded throat,
The vigorous majesties of girth and build
And eminent stature and heroic arms
And all that makes the manliness of a man!
For a little time, O God, for a little time! ...
And then Thou knowest how sharp a serpent-sting,
96
My bosom, and how I rose and hid my face,
Remembering I was Jael, mother and wife;
While to my ears the imagined mockery
Of those who might have spoken it, had they known,
Sounded: “Lo, she, the austerely blameless, loves
Jabin's dread captain, wronger of women, base,
Impious, a despot in the land!” ...
Sing on,
Barak and Deborah, bless the Kenite's wife,
Who thrust the deadly nail in Sisera's brow,
Who strove to free not Israel, but herself,
Who failed, and feels the unholy love yet live,
And who now mourns the irreparable deed,
Lying prone in her self-hatred and despair!
O guessing not of her misery and shame,
Sing to her praise, flute-throated prophetess,
And thou, too, strong son of Abínoam, sing,—
While Jael hears, the accursed, the comfortless!
97
VIOLANTE.
(Ravenna, A. D. 1500.)
[_]
The main incident of this poem has been suggested by Boccaccio, though it is said not to be of his invention. He has treated it in a comic manner, quite opposite to the one here employed.
Lean closer yet, Fiametta. Catch my hand
Right firmly and hold it to your smooth cool palm,
Not mindful if the fever of it burn
Your clinging fingers, nor if spasms of pain
Jar it within your clasp. For a little space
Bear with me, cara mia, innocent one,
Just sixteen, with the great eyes and rich hair.
To-morrow, if you are leaning o'er my bed,
I shall be white and wordless, though you raved!
Right firmly and hold it to your smooth cool palm,
Not mindful if the fever of it burn
Your clinging fingers, nor if spasms of pain
Jar it within your clasp. For a little space
Bear with me, cara mia, innocent one,
Just sixteen, with the great eyes and rich hair.
To-morrow, if you are leaning o'er my bed,
I shall be white and wordless, though you raved!
Oh, it is well they have not brought a priest!
Let them not bring one, for I truly fear
I should go mad and spit at him, once brought.
Fiametta, look you, I am wholly damned,
Steeped horribly in red sin past cleansing change,
Damned to the inmost core of this poor soul,
Streaked thick with guiltiest mirk from brow to heel,
Doomed and damned utterly! Child, it could avail
Nothing if I got holiest rites of church
At the last hour, being what I am. So, now,
Taunt me, I pray you, with no sight of priest!
Nay, only let me lie and brokenly gasp
In your alarmed ear this strange terrible tale
Of my supreme crime ... Surely at its end
The effort will have left me power no more
Than just for one fleet farewell. After this,
Though a million organs groaned my requiem up
To high God through a million censers' fumes,
My spirit in anguish would be writhing still!
Let them not bring one, for I truly fear
I should go mad and spit at him, once brought.
Fiametta, look you, I am wholly damned,
Steeped horribly in red sin past cleansing change,
Damned to the inmost core of this poor soul,
Streaked thick with guiltiest mirk from brow to heel,
Doomed and damned utterly! Child, it could avail
Nothing if I got holiest rites of church
At the last hour, being what I am. So, now,
Taunt me, I pray you, with no sight of priest!
Nay, only let me lie and brokenly gasp
98
Of my supreme crime ... Surely at its end
The effort will have left me power no more
Than just for one fleet farewell. After this,
Though a million organs groaned my requiem up
To high God through a million censers' fumes,
My spirit in anguish would be writhing still!
Lean closer yet, Fiametta ... close, close, close!
Lean, though you loathe me when I have told you all
The appalling truth ... What maiden more than I
Stood eminent for piety's eager zeal
In service of all reverent prayerful ways?
While Giulia wasted hours in how to make
The red flower glow its loveliest from her curls;
While plump Francesca strained the bodice-cord
To lend her opulent bust a prouder curve;
While gay Ninetta babbled of her loves,
And flashed from shadowing ambush a full smile
On many a passing gallant; while for these
The frivolous mood begot the flippant act,
And life went singing lightly, plume in cap,—
I always, I, Violante, thought no thought
That was not wed with Heavenly services,
Ave and fast and patient watch of self,
Penance, retirement, prayer, till people said
They looked to see the vague aureola rim
My tresses, and so crown me thoroughly saint!
Lean, though you loathe me when I have told you all
The appalling truth ... What maiden more than I
Stood eminent for piety's eager zeal
In service of all reverent prayerful ways?
While Giulia wasted hours in how to make
The red flower glow its loveliest from her curls;
While plump Francesca strained the bodice-cord
To lend her opulent bust a prouder curve;
While gay Ninetta babbled of her loves,
And flashed from shadowing ambush a full smile
On many a passing gallant; while for these
The frivolous mood begot the flippant act,
And life went singing lightly, plume in cap,—
I always, I, Violante, thought no thought
That was not wed with Heavenly services,
Ave and fast and patient watch of self,
Penance, retirement, prayer, till people said
They looked to see the vague aureola rim
My tresses, and so crown me thoroughly saint!
Was not I pure, Fiametta? For you know
The unwearied worship that I poured like wine
Within my golden chalice of love to God!
Nor did one pulse of vanity stir my blood
When murmured praise for spotlessness divine
Met me and broke about me, wave on wave.
Nay, to mine ears that in devout dreams heard
The choric seraphim, all such praises came
Like echo of echo, meriting slight care.
For what to me the applausive heed of men,
The dross of mortal eulogy and the dust?
Alone desirable was Heaven, alone
Adorable the body and blood of Christ,
His grace of sheltering help, His peerless fame!
The unwearied worship that I poured like wine
Within my golden chalice of love to God!
99
When murmured praise for spotlessness divine
Met me and broke about me, wave on wave.
Nay, to mine ears that in devout dreams heard
The choric seraphim, all such praises came
Like echo of echo, meriting slight care.
For what to me the applausive heed of men,
The dross of mortal eulogy and the dust?
Alone desirable was Heaven, alone
Adorable the body and blood of Christ,
His grace of sheltering help, His peerless fame!
Lean close, lean close, Fiametta ... Even as oil
Under the large serene flame of my faith,
Dwelt Guido's counsel, godlier, as it seemed,
For stainless vicarship of God on earth,
Than whatsoever man wore priestly guise,
In sanctitude of godliest office. Him
I held in hours confessional, or in hours
Of fervent pupilage, for a soul rare-graced
By strength and purity to meet the full
Bewildering glory of Heaven and falter not,
Weak-sighted for no qualms of timid shame.
He seemed the firm aerial stair that led
In stately spiral up to Heavenly peace,—
The voice wherewith God clothed His living thought,
His inexhaustible wisdom. Utter truth,
Chastity, eloquence, faith, sympathy,
Seemed wedded to all the man's least word or work,
Looked at me from his steadfast limpid eyes,
Made visible language of his white wide brow
Affirmed its kingly presence and calm power
By countless gentle and intangible ways,
That were not and still were, mysteriously!
Under the large serene flame of my faith,
Dwelt Guido's counsel, godlier, as it seemed,
For stainless vicarship of God on earth,
Than whatsoever man wore priestly guise,
In sanctitude of godliest office. Him
I held in hours confessional, or in hours
Of fervent pupilage, for a soul rare-graced
By strength and purity to meet the full
Bewildering glory of Heaven and falter not,
Weak-sighted for no qualms of timid shame.
He seemed the firm aerial stair that led
In stately spiral up to Heavenly peace,—
The voice wherewith God clothed His living thought,
His inexhaustible wisdom. Utter truth,
Chastity, eloquence, faith, sympathy,
Seemed wedded to all the man's least word or work,
Looked at me from his steadfast limpid eyes,
Made visible language of his white wide brow
100
By countless gentle and intangible ways,
That were not and still were, mysteriously!
He never gave me one faint flower of praise,
Just as he never, by one slight thorn of blame
Touched me, until that morning when I knelt
Before him in the solemn shadowy void
Of the still church. Then, even as one might say,
Right in my lap he dropt a marvellous bloom
Whose color and odor made me gasp for joy!
Just as he never, by one slight thorn of blame
Touched me, until that morning when I knelt
Before him in the solemn shadowy void
Of the still church. Then, even as one might say,
Right in my lap he dropt a marvellous bloom
Whose color and odor made me gasp for joy!
Lean closer yet, Fiametta ... All that night
I lay awake and heard the inaudible
Darkness going past me as a great throng goes.
The ecstatic memory of Guido's words
To sweet monotony of low murmuring
Shaped itself, and with ever-visitant flow
Throbbed through the chamber's dumb tranquility.
For hark you, he had told me I was beloved
Of Gabriel, God's best angel, and that he,
Even this same spirit of such high holiness,
Now yearned to assume what shape would least o'erwhelm
With its exceeding splendor these frail eyes,
And so make evident, past all dream of doubt,
The boundless honor of his angelic love!
Nay, too, in Guido's vision, as he said,
Were named the very place and hour whereat
This rare miraculous meeting should be held!
I lay awake and heard the inaudible
Darkness going past me as a great throng goes.
The ecstatic memory of Guido's words
To sweet monotony of low murmuring
Shaped itself, and with ever-visitant flow
Throbbed through the chamber's dumb tranquility.
For hark you, he had told me I was beloved
Of Gabriel, God's best angel, and that he,
Even this same spirit of such high holiness,
Now yearned to assume what shape would least o'erwhelm
With its exceeding splendor these frail eyes,
And so make evident, past all dream of doubt,
The boundless honor of his angelic love!
Nay, too, in Guido's vision, as he said,
Were named the very place and hour whereat
This rare miraculous meeting should be held!
The place—that desolate ruin near the sea,
From whose gray vine-twined solitude one views
By a glance valleyward our placid town;
The hour—mid-watch on one of these late-past
Mild, lordly, and lucid nights of the June moon.
And I should await him there and then; and he
Would come (O passionate thought!)—would come to meet
Me, the elect, the all-favored, Violante,
Judged worthy in soul of high seraphic heed.
Yea, worthy as was that Thecla, she who made
The assailant beasts cower meekly while she stood
Naked in reach of their red rabid mouths.
Worthy as was Veronica, who bore
On virginal bleeding brows the thorn-crown's weight,
In beatific agony Heaven-conferred,
And bare on bosom and feet and hands through years
The five wounds of Christ's passion.
Vanity!
Why, now, Fiametta, did I reek of it,
I, the calm mirror of whose guileless heart,
No tenderest breath of self-love ever blurred!
Oh, to my thought, until the Archangel kept
That bond of gracious deifying tryst,
All intermediate hours were shod with lead!
You are mindful yet, sweet sister, how I locked
My chamber, nor would open to any call?
You thought me prisoned thus for fast and prayer,
For rigor of solemn penance, nor once dreamed
'Twas vanity bade me dwell aloof that day!
Such vanity as had made me hold my face
Too sacred for your violative look,
Your touch of hands a soilure, and your chance words
An insolence ... Oh, shame! unspeakable shame!
Noiseless and brave, on the next night, I stole
Forth from the dead-still house, and hurrying thence
Through many a moonlit street, got past the town
And gained the slumberous olive-slopes that led
By countless green gradations to the dark
Wreck of what once was haughtiest masonry.
The immense austere half-crumbled power of stone
Loomed vague in the wide wan moonlight. All the sea,
Beyond its marge of clear-cut prominent cliff,
Beamed like a pearl in luminous amplitude,
Save where one blaze of narrowing silver cleft
Its blue calm like a great fallen scarf of light.
From whose gray vine-twined solitude one views
101
The hour—mid-watch on one of these late-past
Mild, lordly, and lucid nights of the June moon.
And I should await him there and then; and he
Would come (O passionate thought!)—would come to meet
Me, the elect, the all-favored, Violante,
Judged worthy in soul of high seraphic heed.
Yea, worthy as was that Thecla, she who made
The assailant beasts cower meekly while she stood
Naked in reach of their red rabid mouths.
Worthy as was Veronica, who bore
On virginal bleeding brows the thorn-crown's weight,
In beatific agony Heaven-conferred,
And bare on bosom and feet and hands through years
The five wounds of Christ's passion.
Vanity!
Why, now, Fiametta, did I reek of it,
I, the calm mirror of whose guileless heart,
No tenderest breath of self-love ever blurred!
Oh, to my thought, until the Archangel kept
That bond of gracious deifying tryst,
All intermediate hours were shod with lead!
You are mindful yet, sweet sister, how I locked
My chamber, nor would open to any call?
You thought me prisoned thus for fast and prayer,
For rigor of solemn penance, nor once dreamed
'Twas vanity bade me dwell aloof that day!
Such vanity as had made me hold my face
Too sacred for your violative look,
Your touch of hands a soilure, and your chance words
An insolence ... Oh, shame! unspeakable shame!
102
Forth from the dead-still house, and hurrying thence
Through many a moonlit street, got past the town
And gained the slumberous olive-slopes that led
By countless green gradations to the dark
Wreck of what once was haughtiest masonry.
The immense austere half-crumbled power of stone
Loomed vague in the wide wan moonlight. All the sea,
Beyond its marge of clear-cut prominent cliff,
Beamed like a pearl in luminous amplitude,
Save where one blaze of narrowing silver cleft
Its blue calm like a great fallen scarf of light.
Deep in the shadow of the ruin I plunged,
And waited, silent amid silence, then,
For what should follow, faithful every way
To Guido's charges ... and at length I saw
A glimmer of white robes in the dubious dusk,
And heard the long sweet murmur “Violante,”
And knew the murmurer neared me with slow steps
Yet utterly soundless; and at this I fell
Abject, being smitten to the bone with awe ...
[OMITTED]
Well, I have learned what Heaven means, Fiametta,
Eaten of it fruitwise, caught its keenest bliss,
Had it and held it just for a few fleet hours ...
Now, as the price of this my arrogant gain,
(Since I, a mortal, have felt immortal joys)
Hell yawns to entomb me in its dread duress!
[OMITTED]
I know not when, amid the ineffable
Delight of that sweet meeting, slumber came
To o'ermaster and annul my thought ... I slept
Dreamlessly at the last,—then suddenly woke.
And waited, silent amid silence, then,
For what should follow, faithful every way
To Guido's charges ... and at length I saw
A glimmer of white robes in the dubious dusk,
And heard the long sweet murmur “Violante,”
And knew the murmurer neared me with slow steps
Yet utterly soundless; and at this I fell
Abject, being smitten to the bone with awe ...
[OMITTED]
Well, I have learned what Heaven means, Fiametta,
Eaten of it fruitwise, caught its keenest bliss,
Had it and held it just for a few fleet hours ...
Now, as the price of this my arrogant gain,
(Since I, a mortal, have felt immortal joys)
Hell yawns to entomb me in its dread duress!
[OMITTED]
I know not when, amid the ineffable
Delight of that sweet meeting, slumber came
103
Dreamlessly at the last,—then suddenly woke.
The ruin was bathed in dawn ... I rose and stood
Beset with blithe tumultuous memories,
Till at my feet the gleam of a white robe drew
Both glad eyes eagerly groundward. One soft cry
Burst from my lips as kneeling I thought to see,
Clear under lavish light, the Archangel's face ...
And saw instead (lean close, close, close, Fiametta,
For the room darkens grimly and swart shapes
Of devil and imp seem girding at me now,
There, here, and everywhere!) ... I saw, instead,
Guido, abruptly wakened of my cry
From slumber ... Guido, garbed with terrible art;
Guido, the man,—not Gabriel, the divine!
Beset with blithe tumultuous memories,
Till at my feet the gleam of a white robe drew
Both glad eyes eagerly groundward. One soft cry
Burst from my lips as kneeling I thought to see,
Clear under lavish light, the Archangel's face ...
And saw instead (lean close, close, close, Fiametta,
For the room darkens grimly and swart shapes
Of devil and imp seem girding at me now,
There, here, and everywhere!) ... I saw, instead,
Guido, abruptly wakened of my cry
From slumber ... Guido, garbed with terrible art;
Guido, the man,—not Gabriel, the divine!
Ah, me! what incommunicable despair
Rushed on me then! He rose and widely spread
Both arms out toward me, but I shrieked and held
Before my fallen face two repelling hands,
While all the compassing morn seemed sown with cries
Of “Lost, lost, lost,” from contumelious fiends;
And like the suddenness of a lightning-bolt
My infinite vanity and gross conceit,
The bold enormity of my utter crime
In having dared to esteem myself a soul
So exalted, flashed upon me! O the pang
Of that discovery! O the awful hate
Of self! the levelling overthrow! the shame!
Rushed on me then! He rose and widely spread
Both arms out toward me, but I shrieked and held
Before my fallen face two repelling hands,
While all the compassing morn seemed sown with cries
Of “Lost, lost, lost,” from contumelious fiends;
And like the suddenness of a lightning-bolt
My infinite vanity and gross conceit,
The bold enormity of my utter crime
In having dared to esteem myself a soul
So exalted, flashed upon me! O the pang
Of that discovery! O the awful hate
Of self! the levelling overthrow! the shame!
I think you would have blushed to have called me pure
Ever at any time, had you but known
The curses I flung at Guido ere I turned
And left him grovelling for my pardon, prone
Reedwise before the tempest of my wrath!
Then hither I sped, and here through three wild days,
Three feverish days of torture, I have lain
And known that surely I am accurst beyond
All expiatory hope. High up in Heaven,
How the chaste eyes of Gabriel must have blazed
Their holiest anger down on my vast guilt!
For what was I, a pitiable mean worm—
Mean among loftier creatures, all most mean,—
That I should arrogate to my small poor self
Such wonder of gracious privilege, and trust
The all-worshipful would worship menial me?
Ever at any time, had you but known
104
And left him grovelling for my pardon, prone
Reedwise before the tempest of my wrath!
Then hither I sped, and here through three wild days,
Three feverish days of torture, I have lain
And known that surely I am accurst beyond
All expiatory hope. High up in Heaven,
How the chaste eyes of Gabriel must have blazed
Their holiest anger down on my vast guilt!
For what was I, a pitiable mean worm—
Mean among loftier creatures, all most mean,—
That I should arrogate to my small poor self
Such wonder of gracious privilege, and trust
The all-worshipful would worship menial me?
I cannot feel your clasp, Fiametta, now,
Nor see your face except by fitful gleams,
Dead-pale, with tragic eyes and tremulous mouth.
They have won my soul, these fiends, and wait for it ...
The room is populous with them, and I breathe
Hot horrid wastures from their gibbering midst,
The sulphurous prelude of Hell's denser fumes.
Farewell, Fiametta ... God be good to thee!
Fra Guido, I think, has hope of getting grace,
If he try hard, and shirk no pain of shrift.
Tell him I said he has not done monstrous wrong
Like me, being reverent all the while of him
Whose august name he used irreverently.
His sin was villanous brutal base deceit,
Lecherous and treacherous, an infamy!
But mine ... Oh, God, the blasphemous egotism!
Farewell, Fiametta ... I must pay its price!
Nor see your face except by fitful gleams,
Dead-pale, with tragic eyes and tremulous mouth.
They have won my soul, these fiends, and wait for it ...
The room is populous with them, and I breathe
Hot horrid wastures from their gibbering midst,
The sulphurous prelude of Hell's denser fumes.
Farewell, Fiametta ... God be good to thee!
Fra Guido, I think, has hope of getting grace,
If he try hard, and shirk no pain of shrift.
Tell him I said he has not done monstrous wrong
Like me, being reverent all the while of him
Whose august name he used irreverently.
His sin was villanous brutal base deceit,
Lecherous and treacherous, an infamy!
But mine ... Oh, God, the blasphemous egotism!
Farewell, Fiametta ... I must pay its price!
105
MOZART'S REQUIEM.
A gloom had fallen upon great Mozart's life.
The spirits of wondrous melodies no more
Pleaded with his for animate being. Hope
Had suddenly fled, and melancholy stretched
Wide plumes of shadow above his daily dreams.
Fierce bodily pains had clutched him, and death's hand
Inexorably pointed to his grave.
The spirits of wondrous melodies no more
Pleaded with his for animate being. Hope
Had suddenly fled, and melancholy stretched
Wide plumes of shadow above his daily dreams.
Fierce bodily pains had clutched him, and death's hand
Inexorably pointed to his grave.
In these dark hours, a stranger, tall, black-robed,
Sombre and pale of face, on a certain morn,
Glided across the threshold of his room,
Drew nearer, laid a purse of heavy gold
Before the astonished maestro, and at last
Broke silence with monotonous voice and sad.
“I have come,” the stranger said, “to ask of you
The requiem for one loved, through lapse of years,
Beyond man's use, and bitterly mourned when dead.
Will Mozart weave its music, and create
Some passionate lamentation fit to seem
An utterance of unutterable grief?”
Sombre and pale of face, on a certain morn,
Glided across the threshold of his room,
Drew nearer, laid a purse of heavy gold
Before the astonished maestro, and at last
Broke silence with monotonous voice and sad.
“I have come,” the stranger said, “to ask of you
The requiem for one loved, through lapse of years,
Beyond man's use, and bitterly mourned when dead.
Will Mozart weave its music, and create
Some passionate lamentation fit to seem
An utterance of unutterable grief?”
The maestro, drearily smiling, murmured, then:
“What time is given me to complete this dirge?”
“One month,” was the answer. “Surely I could try,”
Mused Mozart, “yet success were doubtful hope.”
Then, even as he had come, these few words said,
So noiselessly the stranger went.
Amazed,
Mozart long pondered in his mind these words,
Mysteriously communicate, till fire
Warmed his weak pulses, and the immortal rose
Within the mortal. Eagerness for the work
Possessed him, willing harmonies again
Rewandering all the labyrinths of his soul,
As suddenly over still enormous wastes
Of gale-abandoned forest wake once more
The old windy sounds, and lofty branches toss
The sleeping starlight from innumerous leaves!
“What time is given me to complete this dirge?”
“One month,” was the answer. “Surely I could try,”
Mused Mozart, “yet success were doubtful hope.”
Then, even as he had come, these few words said,
So noiselessly the stranger went.
Amazed,
Mozart long pondered in his mind these words,
106
Warmed his weak pulses, and the immortal rose
Within the mortal. Eagerness for the work
Possessed him, willing harmonies again
Rewandering all the labyrinths of his soul,
As suddenly over still enormous wastes
Of gale-abandoned forest wake once more
The old windy sounds, and lofty branches toss
The sleeping starlight from innumerous leaves!
With power and will and fervor he began
Fulfilment of his promise; but the month
Had passed not ere a violent malady
Seized his frail frame and forced him from the work.
And on the very morning that he rose,
Reprieved of death for a little longer, came
The stranger to demand the requiem.
“Nay, give me a second month,” the maestro said,
“And if God spare me I shall keep my word.
Nobly begun, I would not hastily end
A work that lifts me to sublimest aims.”
Fulfilment of his promise; but the month
Had passed not ere a violent malady
Seized his frail frame and forced him from the work.
And on the very morning that he rose,
Reprieved of death for a little longer, came
The stranger to demand the requiem.
“Nay, give me a second month,” the maestro said,
“And if God spare me I shall keep my word.
Nobly begun, I would not hastily end
A work that lifts me to sublimest aims.”
Whereat the stranger, with inscrutable face,
Cold, calm, unsympathetic, from beneath
His massive gloomy cloak drew forth a purse
Less heavy than the last, and slowly said:
“An hundred ducats I have given; I give
For the added labor this half-hundred more;”
And turning passed from the other's sight. But he,
Summoning a servant, bade him stealthily
Pursue the whither of this curious man;
And while the servant sped to obey such hest,
In the brain of Mozart ghostly thoughts took shape.
And when the messenger brought back a tale
Of how he had followed with good zeal till soon
The stranger, at a crossing of two streets,
Abruptly had faded from his vigilance,
He knew not how—then Mozart's ghostly thoughts
Wore positive colors of conviction. Strong
Within him was belief that he had seen
The presence of no earthly guest. “I write,”
He would often murmur afterward, “the dirge
For mine own burial. It is death's command!”
Cold, calm, unsympathetic, from beneath
His massive gloomy cloak drew forth a purse
Less heavy than the last, and slowly said:
“An hundred ducats I have given; I give
For the added labor this half-hundred more;”
And turning passed from the other's sight. But he,
Summoning a servant, bade him stealthily
Pursue the whither of this curious man;
And while the servant sped to obey such hest,
In the brain of Mozart ghostly thoughts took shape.
107
Of how he had followed with good zeal till soon
The stranger, at a crossing of two streets,
Abruptly had faded from his vigilance,
He knew not how—then Mozart's ghostly thoughts
Wore positive colors of conviction. Strong
Within him was belief that he had seen
The presence of no earthly guest. “I write,”
He would often murmur afterward, “the dirge
For mine own burial. It is death's command!”
Exaltedly for days he strove to tell,
With eloquence of divinest cadences,
The infinite agony of some widowed heart
Mourning the irreparable. His fine skill
Gathered all sorrowful sounds—wild chords or sweet,
Thrillingly plaintive peals, low interludes,
Ripples of light faint treble soft as tears,
And thunderous throbs of bass, to meet and form
One vast incomparable solemnity.
Genius had grown his vassal, while he toiled,
And beckoned him with beauteous hand where flew
The guiding glory of her white wings ... till soon
In soft illimited amplitudes of dawn,
Glimmering she faded ...
Now a darkness fell
Across the maestro's vision, and he lay
Incapable evermore, his high task done,
Having within its mighty music made
The unrivalled requiem of his own grand soul!
With eloquence of divinest cadences,
The infinite agony of some widowed heart
Mourning the irreparable. His fine skill
Gathered all sorrowful sounds—wild chords or sweet,
Thrillingly plaintive peals, low interludes,
Ripples of light faint treble soft as tears,
And thunderous throbs of bass, to meet and form
One vast incomparable solemnity.
Genius had grown his vassal, while he toiled,
And beckoned him with beauteous hand where flew
The guiding glory of her white wings ... till soon
In soft illimited amplitudes of dawn,
Glimmering she faded ...
Now a darkness fell
Across the maestro's vision, and he lay
Incapable evermore, his high task done,
Having within its mighty music made
The unrivalled requiem of his own grand soul!
108
BEHIND HISTORY.
I am the Queen they hold so pure.
They will carve my tomb one day, be sure,
With marble praise that shall endure.
They will carve my tomb one day, be sure,
With marble praise that shall endure.
I hear them bless me, low and loud;
The haughtiest head is bared and bowed
If I ride among the pressing crowd.
The haughtiest head is bared and bowed
If I ride among the pressing crowd.
No churl of all my realm would tame
His hot hand should he hear my name
Called lightly by the lips of blame.
His hot hand should he hear my name
Called lightly by the lips of blame.
Many a life would proudly spill
Red loyal drops to work my will,
Or save me from one sting of ill.
Red loyal drops to work my will,
Or save me from one sting of ill.
Yet all the adoring care that I
Am guarded and am girded by,
Is reverence to a living lie! ...
Am guarded and am girded by,
Is reverence to a living lie! ...
There served a man amid my train
Whom, day by day, with struggling pain,
I schooled my spirit to disdain.
Whom, day by day, with struggling pain,
I schooled my spirit to disdain.
A vassal base of birth was he;
And yet (ah, God! that it should be!)
His mere brute beauty maddened me.
And yet (ah, God! that it should be!)
His mere brute beauty maddened me.
For days, for weeks, I strove and prayed,
Loathing the strong strange love that weighed
On the white life it dared invade.
Loathing the strong strange love that weighed
On the white life it dared invade.
At last I wearied from my soul
Of endless effort to control
Desire that never gained a goal.
Of endless effort to control
Desire that never gained a goal.
109
I laughed a reckless bitter laugh:
Lo, prayer was even as arid chaff,
And continence a shattered staff,
Lo, prayer was even as arid chaff,
And continence a shattered staff,
Since neither might avail to bring
Me any peace, or pluck the sting
From infinite pangs of coveting.
Me any peace, or pluck the sting
From infinite pangs of coveting.
And so it fell, one fatal hour,
That passion burst, with sudden power,
To poisonous and full-petalled flower.
That passion burst, with sudden power,
To poisonous and full-petalled flower.
I met him in most secret wise ...
Full presently from his mild eyes
Obeisance died and was surprise ...
Full presently from his mild eyes
Obeisance died and was surprise ...
But after, in a little space,
It was with all his lit flushed face
As sudden morn in a dull place.
It was with all his lit flushed face
As sudden morn in a dull place.
And watching him with wild unrest,
I saw his great mute joy confest,
And leaped toward his willing breast! ...
I saw his great mute joy confest,
And leaped toward his willing breast! ...
Now this was in the early night;
But when the first vague veil of light
Filmed heaven, he past from out my sight,
But when the first vague veil of light
Filmed heaven, he past from out my sight,
And groping down the palace-stair,
In the grey gloom met unaware
My masked assassin, crouching there! ...
In the grey gloom met unaware
My masked assassin, crouching there! ...
I am the Queen they hold so pure:
They will carve my tomb one day, be sure,
With marble praise that shall endure!
They will carve my tomb one day, be sure,
With marble praise that shall endure!
110
THE STATUETTE.
You see that marble shape, so gay of mien,
My lithe Terpsichore with the tambourine?
My lithe Terpsichore with the tambourine?
Last year in Paris, as you may have read,
A certain duke was murdered in his bed.
A certain duke was murdered in his bed.
Deepest of secrets! No one knows to-day
Whose hand it was that smote him where he lay!
Whose hand it was that smote him where he lay!
The heir sold all his grandeurs, piece by piece:
I bought this statuette out of pure caprice.
I bought this statuette out of pure caprice.
For just above the poor duke's bed, you see,
Hung bracketed this same Terpsichore.
Hung bracketed this same Terpsichore.
And now I fancy that with each pure charm
Of dimpled cheek, blown hair, or curving arm,
Of dimpled cheek, blown hair, or curving arm,
Lies blent a shadowy fear, a faint distress,
That vaguely mars the sculptured loveliness.
That vaguely mars the sculptured loveliness.
And I, remembering that on one so gay
So grim a secret wearily must weigh,
So grim a secret wearily must weigh,
Have sometimes dreamed that when the room is mute,
And clothed upon with darkness absolute,
And clothed upon with darkness absolute,
Those bloodless marble lips will strangely stir,
And they that hunt the unpunished murderer,
And they that hunt the unpunished murderer,
Might hear, if through this dead-black room they came,
The low mysterious naming of a name! ...
The low mysterious naming of a name! ...
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INDIVIDUALITY.
Let it be remembered that, if individual life is short, the life of the human species is not short; its indefinite duration is practically equivalent to endlessness; and, being combined with indefinite capability of improvement, it offers to the imagination and sympathies a large enough object to satisfy any reasonable demand for grandeur of aspiration.—
John Stuart Mill.
Reading of radiant change, divine advance,
Through all humanity's immense expanse,
At end of unknown ages vast in length,
With keen prophetic look I seemed to see
The miracle man's future fate would be,
His lordly knowledge and transcendent strength!
Through all humanity's immense expanse,
At end of unknown ages vast in length,
With keen prophetic look I seemed to see
The miracle man's future fate would be,
His lordly knowledge and transcendent strength!
I watched the race whence I myself had sprung
In vaguely distant days, while time was young,
Now walk the astonished earth with godlike ease.
Nature, once ruling them, now owned their power,
And Science, pointing toward her proudest tower,
Dropped humbly at their feet her golden keys!
In vaguely distant days, while time was young,
Now walk the astonished earth with godlike ease.
Nature, once ruling them, now owned their power,
And Science, pointing toward her proudest tower,
Dropped humbly at their feet her golden keys!
I watched all varied tribes beneath the sun
Gather with lovely grandeur into one,
And serve the nobler patriotism aright;
I saw the august unnavigable air
Wide-sown with buoyant barges everywhere,
Majestic shapes by day, new stars by night!
Gather with lovely grandeur into one,
And serve the nobler patriotism aright;
I saw the august unnavigable air
Wide-sown with buoyant barges everywhere,
Majestic shapes by day, new stars by night!
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Sly statecraft, greeds malign, hates lurid-eyed,
Crawled lamely into secret lairs and died,
Blessing the wearied world with sweet release;
Dark broods of savage evils, near and far,
Cowered low at wisdom's gaze, and scowling war
Wreathed her black guns with dewy blooms of peace!
Crawled lamely into secret lairs and died,
Blessing the wearied world with sweet release;
Dark broods of savage evils, near and far,
Cowered low at wisdom's gaze, and scowling war
Wreathed her black guns with dewy blooms of peace!
I marked how some large purpose was fulfilled
That power supernal had sublimely willed;
I marked, in thrilling vision, while I read,
How the full flower of manhood backward bore
From the white splendor of its dazzling core
The last rich petal, and was perfected!
That power supernal had sublimely willed;
I marked, in thrilling vision, while I read,
How the full flower of manhood backward bore
From the white splendor of its dazzling core
The last rich petal, and was perfected!
But through this dream of marvels that should be,
One strange sardonic thought came haunting me
With the mute pathos of weak yearning tears:
In all such halcyon times what joy or pain
For him whose dust inertly shall have lain
A nothingness through millions of slow years?
One strange sardonic thought came haunting me
With the mute pathos of weak yearning tears:
In all such halcyon times what joy or pain
For him whose dust inertly shall have lain
A nothingness through millions of slow years?
What message in this lofty cheerless creed
Aids personality's commandant need?
What comfort in this cold imperious plan,
Where all men, whether ill or nobly wrought
Lie crushed beneath one awful Juggernaut,
The universal commonweal of man!
Aids personality's commandant need?
What comfort in this cold imperious plan,
Where all men, whether ill or nobly wrought
Lie crushed beneath one awful Juggernaut,
The universal commonweal of man!
The love, hate, hope, fear, passion that is I,
The throbbing self that loathes to wholly die,
Disdains a future where it holds no place,
As one with lot beside the Euphrates cast
Might carelessly disdain that stately past
When Babylon's domes dared heaven, in mighty grace!
The throbbing self that loathes to wholly die,
Disdains a future where it holds no place,
As one with lot beside the Euphrates cast
Might carelessly disdain that stately past
When Babylon's domes dared heaven, in mighty grace!
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ORDER.
Like skeletons rise the bare trees, gaunt and stark;
The poignant air is calm; no breezes roam;
Millions of stars pierce the blue winter dark,
And fill with throbbing radiance its deep dome.
The poignant air is calm; no breezes roam;
Millions of stars pierce the blue winter dark,
And fill with throbbing radiance its deep dome.
I throw my head far backward till there stay
No gleams of earth in what my vision meets,
And through night's luminous blooms I seem to stray,
As through a summer meadow of marguerites!
No gleams of earth in what my vision meets,
And through night's luminous blooms I seem to stray,
As through a summer meadow of marguerites!
At the grand order of this intricate maze,
Its boundless balance, its miraculous art,
I thrill with wonder that no words can phrase ...
Yet a strange thought strikes discord through my heart!
Its boundless balance, its miraculous art,
I thrill with wonder that no words can phrase ...
Yet a strange thought strikes discord through my heart!
What if some portion of this awful plan
Grew suddenly weak and faltered in its place,
And one long mighty ominous shudder ran
Through all the immense black altitudes of space?
Grew suddenly weak and faltered in its place,
And one long mighty ominous shudder ran
Through all the immense black altitudes of space?
And satellite planets from their own suns fled,
To plunge amid cold voids of skies unknown,
With all the peoples upon their bosoms dead,
And all their haughtiest cities overthrown?
To plunge amid cold voids of skies unknown,
With all the peoples upon their bosoms dead,
And all their haughtiest cities overthrown?
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And system told to system its wild fears,
Till each in fiery disarray was riven,
And terrible crashes of colliding spheres
Roared ruin through the infinitudes of heaven!
Till each in fiery disarray was riven,
And terrible crashes of colliding spheres
Roared ruin through the infinitudes of heaven!
Dizzied and shocked at my own ghastly dream,
Again toward earth I turn my dazzled sight,
And watch how tranquilly the dim lands gleam,
Touched by the grave quietus of the night!
Again toward earth I turn my dazzled sight,
And watch how tranquilly the dim lands gleam,
Touched by the grave quietus of the night!
Filled with new thoughts, on heaven once more I gaze,
And hear, while peace restores me to her spell,
Invisible sentinels down starry ways
Pass the deep resonant watchword, “All is well!”
And hear, while peace restores me to her spell,
Invisible sentinels down starry ways
Pass the deep resonant watchword, “All is well!”
CONCEPTION.
“In its ultimate essence nothing can be known.”
Herbert Spencer.
Herbert Spencer.
I clomb a great height in a dream;
To lordlier reaches I attained,
Till even the uttermost I gained,
Serene, supreme.
To lordlier reaches I attained,
Till even the uttermost I gained,
Serene, supreme.
There fell from off mine eyes, at this,
The dimming scales of sense. I saw
Matter, unleashed from every law,
That which it is.
The dimming scales of sense. I saw
Matter, unleashed from every law,
That which it is.
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And real at last and face to face,
Marvels that no man could forget,
The mighty mysteries I met
Of Time and Space.
Marvels that no man could forget,
The mighty mysteries I met
Of Time and Space.
Or yet I followed, course by course,
Like one that deals with tangled skeins,
The intricate interblending veins
That flow from Force.
Like one that deals with tangled skeins,
The intricate interblending veins
That flow from Force.
Till now the shadow across me came
Of something soon to burst in light;
A hope, a wonderment, a fright
I dared not name!
Of something soon to burst in light;
A hope, a wonderment, a fright
I dared not name!
And then, as though some signal nod
Bade that the utmost be revealed,
I reeled with awe, and, while I reeled,
Thought this thought: God!
Bade that the utmost be revealed,
I reeled with awe, and, while I reeled,
Thought this thought: God!
FAME.
I saw in dreams a long and wavering way
That wound and wound toward the walls of day.
Like a great snake on a wide moor it lay.
That wound and wound toward the walls of day.
Like a great snake on a wide moor it lay.
At either road-edge there were men who kneeled,
Some with bowed countenances half revealed,
Some crying drearly, some whose lips were sealed.
Some with bowed countenances half revealed,
Some crying drearly, some whose lips were sealed.
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Ill might you say what presence or what thing
They waited, in their watchful cowering,
As suppliants wait the advent of a king.
They waited, in their watchful cowering,
As suppliants wait the advent of a king.
And now there moved a murmur through them all,
For a vast shape, fantastically tall,
Came gliding on, with pace majestical.
For a vast shape, fantastically tall,
Came gliding on, with pace majestical.
In shadowy and indeterminate wise
Fluttered and mistlike draperies of its guise;
Its face was vaguely stern, with scornful eyes.
Fluttered and mistlike draperies of its guise;
Its face was vaguely stern, with scornful eyes.
In either hand it carried bounteous bays,
Wrought greenly into wreaths of braided sprays,
As were the old chaplets of the dead Greek days.
Wrought greenly into wreaths of braided sprays,
As were the old chaplets of the dead Greek days.
And wheresoe'er that journeying spirit came,
They caught his vaporous robe, they wailed his name,
While many a faded face was touched with flame.
They caught his vaporous robe, they wailed his name,
While many a faded face was touched with flame.
But rarely, very rarely, he bent down,
Mixed with a languid smile his august frown,
And dropt on some low brow a glimmering crown.
Mixed with a languid smile his august frown,
And dropt on some low brow a glimmering crown.
Then, just as my strange dream was like to cease,
His face drew near, and on its haughty peace
I read unbounded tyranny of caprice!
His face drew near, and on its haughty peace
I read unbounded tyranny of caprice!
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CRITICISM.
“Crude, pompous, turgid,” the reviewers said.
“ Sham passion and sham power to turn one sick!
Pin-wheels of verse that sputtered as we read—
Rockets of rhyme that showed the falling stick.”
“ Sham passion and sham power to turn one sick!
Pin-wheels of verse that sputtered as we read—
Rockets of rhyme that showed the falling stick.”
A would-be murderer cannot always kill;
Some missiles leave some shields without a dint.
That book was loved, against the critics' will,
By those who do not put their love in print.
Some missiles leave some shields without a dint.
That book was loved, against the critics' will,
By those who do not put their love in print.
But while, assaulted of this buzzing band,
The poet quivered at their little stings,
White doves of sympathy o'er all the land
Went flying with his fame beneath their wings!
The poet quivered at their little stings,
White doves of sympathy o'er all the land
Went flying with his fame beneath their wings!
And every fresh year brought him love that cheers,
As Caspian waves bring amber to their shore;
And it befell that after many years,
Being now no longer young, he wrote once more.
As Caspian waves bring amber to their shore;
And it befell that after many years,
Being now no longer young, he wrote once more.
“Cold, classic, polished,” the reviewers said.
“A book you scarce can love, howe'er you praise.
We missed the old careless grandeur as we read—
The power and passion of his younger days!”
“A book you scarce can love, howe'er you praise.
We missed the old careless grandeur as we read—
The power and passion of his younger days!”
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ATTAINMENT.
I shake the dusty film inaction weaves
Round this old volume, shelved in closet-glooms.
And while I slowly turn its yellowing leaves,
I seem as one within a place of tombs!
Round this old volume, shelved in closet-glooms.
And while I slowly turn its yellowing leaves,
I seem as one within a place of tombs!
For all the book, unread so long, so long,
Breathes deeply of forgotten dreams ... and lo!
From out its pages drops the little song
I made in callow boyhood, years ago!
Breathes deeply of forgotten dreams ... and lo!
From out its pages drops the little song
I made in callow boyhood, years ago!
It seems to-day so slight and weak indeed,
That little song which once I toiled to make,
And yet the trivial stanzas, while I read,
Low sweet memorial echoings awake!
That little song which once I toiled to make,
And yet the trivial stanzas, while I read,
Low sweet memorial echoings awake!
Surely, stray waif, you do me grievous wrong,—
Me, having won a fame to shine and last!
'Twere wise if I should burn you, little song,
Poor fragile faded violet of the past!
Me, having won a fame to shine and last!
'Twere wise if I should burn you, little song,
Poor fragile faded violet of the past!
But ah! to feel the old fervors I have felt
In days ere Art bowed humbly to my kiss,
When spurned, although adoring still, I knelt,
Yet paid no worship worthier than was this!
In days ere Art bowed humbly to my kiss,
When spurned, although adoring still, I knelt,
Yet paid no worship worthier than was this!
O dearer far than song's divinest might
The aspiring voice that falters while it sings!
And lovelier than all lordliness of flight
The wingless impotence that yearns for wings!
The aspiring voice that falters while it sings!
And lovelier than all lordliness of flight
The wingless impotence that yearns for wings!
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A KING.
(A certain mood of a certain mind, contemplating death.)
It is more than being great
At the random rule of fate,
To lie as he lies here,
Very awful and austere.
'Tis more than being wise
To repose with placid eyes,
And know not of the wild world that it cries, cries, cries!
At the random rule of fate,
To lie as he lies here,
Very awful and austere.
'Tis more than being wise
To repose with placid eyes,
And know not of the wild world that it cries, cries, cries!
Look ye now, and answer true
If it be as well with you,
That fret and sweat and sin
For the flesh ye weary in,
As with him that bates his breath
And what empty words it saith,
To attain the life diviner, which is death, death, death!
If it be as well with you,
That fret and sweat and sin
For the flesh ye weary in,
As with him that bates his breath
And what empty words it saith,
To attain the life diviner, which is death, death, death!
What of pleasure shall he miss,
With that sovereign ease of his?
What of pain shall reach his ken,
With that marble scorn of men?
Though ye praised him in a psalm,
Though ye smote him of your palm,
Shall ye call him from this haughty sleep and calm, calm, calm?
With that sovereign ease of his?
What of pain shall reach his ken,
With that marble scorn of men?
Though ye praised him in a psalm,
Though ye smote him of your palm,
Shall ye call him from this haughty sleep and calm, calm, calm?
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Lo, his dumb face turns ye dumb
If to look on him ye come,
Who hath found in cold eclipse
A superb Apocalypse!
Who has had the last bad thing
The deciduous days may bring,
Who is crowned as none but Death could crown him, king, king, king!
If to look on him ye come,
Who hath found in cold eclipse
A superb Apocalypse!
Who has had the last bad thing
The deciduous days may bring,
Who is crowned as none but Death could crown him, king, king, king!
WINDS.
O invisible lives, that aimlessly
With mutable voices fare
Mysteriously and tamelessly
Through the altitudes of air,
When I welcome lofty dreams of you,
Amid hours of calms or storms,
I discern evanescent gleams of you
As divine phantasmal forms!
With mutable voices fare
Mysteriously and tamelessly
Through the altitudes of air,
When I welcome lofty dreams of you,
Amid hours of calms or storms,
I discern evanescent gleams of you
As divine phantasmal forms!
Where dim skies vaguely illuminate
Some remote unearthly reach,
You despond, rejoice or ruminate,
You are low or loud of speech.
With murmurs that rise altisonant,
Or with dreary moans, you meet;
With imperious uproars dissonant,
Or melodies wildly sweet!
Some remote unearthly reach,
You despond, rejoice or ruminate,
You are low or loud of speech.
With murmurs that rise altisonant,
Or with dreary moans, you meet;
With imperious uproars dissonant,
Or melodies wildly sweet!
Here grouped in superb frigidity,
The blasts of the North repose,
Proud spirits of stern intrepidity,
Whose wings with clangors unclose.
In their saturnine eyes crepuscular
Cold hatreds bitterly glow;
In the girth of their dark arms muscular
Lie shipwreck, ruin and woe!
The blasts of the North repose,
Proud spirits of stern intrepidity,
Whose wings with clangors unclose.
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Cold hatreds bitterly glow;
In the girth of their dark arms muscular
Lie shipwreck, ruin and woe!
Here crouch like implacable savages
Those gales of the East that bear,
With reckless calamitous ravages,
The weight of the world's despair.
Grim sisters, gloomily cowering,
They sing, in their cruel scorn,
Of ocean-waves vastly towering,
And trees by the roots uptorn!
Those gales of the East that bear,
With reckless calamitous ravages,
The weight of the world's despair.
Grim sisters, gloomily cowering,
They sing, in their cruel scorn,
Of ocean-waves vastly towering,
And trees by the roots uptorn!
Here, clothed in raiments ethereal,
The West winds roam and recline,
Diaphanous girls, with aerial
Embraces that intertwine.
Their shapes have the fragile slenderness
Of wheat, with its changeful lights,
And their eyes hold the mellow tenderness
Of moons amid harvest-nights!
The West winds roam and recline,
Diaphanous girls, with aerial
Embraces that intertwine.
Their shapes have the fragile slenderness
Of wheat, with its changeful lights,
And their eyes hold the mellow tenderness
Of moons amid harvest-nights!
But near them, in easy reach of them,
The winds of the warm South float,
Voluptuous beauties, with each of them
A wine-red rose at her throat!
The folds of their tresses are pillowing
Large blooms of delicious balms,
And they sing of the long seas billowing
On shores that are plumed with palms!
The winds of the warm South float,
Voluptuous beauties, with each of them
A wine-red rose at her throat!
The folds of their tresses are pillowing
Large blooms of delicious balms,
And they sing of the long seas billowing
On shores that are plumed with palms!
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Thus, haughty in dread immobility,
Or lurid in arrogant might,
Exultant in soft volatility,
Or languid in drowsy delight,
Sublimely, serenely or dismally,
Weird throngs, you glimmer and go,
Where spaciously loom and abysmally
The realms that my visions know!
Or lurid in arrogant might,
Exultant in soft volatility,
Or languid in drowsy delight,
Sublimely, serenely or dismally,
Weird throngs, you glimmer and go,
Where spaciously loom and abysmally
The realms that my visions know!
THE COMET.
Long ages, with slow change of regions and races
Through all the proud breadths of this planet-sown sky,
Have fled since God fashioned, to roam its great spaces,
This fiery grandeur and speed that is I.
He dowered my frame with a vigor that urges
Its obdurate heart in unwearying flight;
He robed me with vapor whose luminous verges
Trail wide on the dark awful hollows of night!
Through all the proud breadths of this planet-sown sky,
Have fled since God fashioned, to roam its great spaces,
This fiery grandeur and speed that is I.
He dowered my frame with a vigor that urges
Its obdurate heart in unwearying flight;
He robed me with vapor whose luminous verges
Trail wide on the dark awful hollows of night!
But ever before me, in dubious distance,
Among dread dominions that stellar throngs fill,
Through breathless inanimate voids whose existence
Looks one solemn nothingness frigid and still,
A spirit flies on where the gloom spreads immensely,
Her garments like mine in pale splendor outflung,
Unseen save by perishing gleams yet intensely
Adored of my soul since creation was young!
Among dread dominions that stellar throngs fill,
Through breathless inanimate voids whose existence
Looks one solemn nothingness frigid and still,
A spirit flies on where the gloom spreads immensely,
Her garments like mine in pale splendor outflung,
Unseen save by perishing gleams yet intensely
Adored of my soul since creation was young!
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One loath to be loved, irresponsive, unheeding;
One swayed by deep fervor and eager appeal;
One ever with fugitive brilliance receding,
One following always with radiant zeal,
For æons untold we have ceaselessly darted
Where vacancy's torpors of blackness lie mute,
Together, yet millions of mighty leagues parted,
A terrible flight, an appalling pursuit!
One swayed by deep fervor and eager appeal;
One ever with fugitive brilliance receding,
One following always with radiant zeal,
For æons untold we have ceaselessly darted
Where vacancy's torpors of blackness lie mute,
Together, yet millions of mighty leagues parted,
A terrible flight, an appalling pursuit!
Past intricate systems that view me in wonder
And put with their brightness my own beams to scorn;
Through tracts where the volleying asteroids thunder;
Past nebulous orbs that are yet to be born.
By suns that in richest of colors throb vivid,
Or blaze with twin glory, star thrilling to star;
By ruins of old worlds burnt sickly and livid,
Her misty magnificence guides me afar!
And put with their brightness my own beams to scorn;
Through tracts where the volleying asteroids thunder;
Past nebulous orbs that are yet to be born.
By suns that in richest of colors throb vivid,
Or blaze with twin glory, star thrilling to star;
By ruins of old worlds burnt sickly and livid,
Her misty magnificence guides me afar!
Some globes, ever flaming in hot conflagration,
Give forth deadly blasts from their lurid red hells;
O'er some broods the curse of severe desolation,
Of stagnant repose where no living thing dwells;
In some there are monsters whom nature has given
Strange horrors of outline terrific to see;
Some hang like vast tears dropping always through heaven,
From pole unto pole shoreless volumes of sea!
Give forth deadly blasts from their lurid red hells;
O'er some broods the curse of severe desolation,
Of stagnant repose where no living thing dwells;
In some there are monsters whom nature has given
Strange horrors of outline terrific to see;
Some hang like vast tears dropping always through heaven,
From pole unto pole shoreless volumes of sea!
In some I behold haughty palaces tower;
In some are low caverns of rough-shapen clay;
Some bear noble cities of opulent power;
Some bear cities rotting in slothful decay;
In some there are creatures crime-soiled beyond telling;
In others, where life wins its loftiest goal,
With stately tranquility mortals are dwelling,
Like gods in their beauty, and stainless of soul!
In some are low caverns of rough-shapen clay;
Some bear noble cities of opulent power;
Some bear cities rotting in slothful decay;
124
In others, where life wins its loftiest goal,
With stately tranquility mortals are dwelling,
Like gods in their beauty, and stainless of soul!
But while through celestial infinitudes fleeting,
Along these weird courses enormous in scope,
Of golden attainment and rapturous meeting
I dare not to question—I dare but to hope!
The drift of God's purpose, obscure past all seeing,
What voice of what prophet hath spoken or sung?
And so in blind passion I chase this wild being,
Adored of my soul since creation was young!
Along these weird courses enormous in scope,
Of golden attainment and rapturous meeting
I dare not to question—I dare but to hope!
The drift of God's purpose, obscure past all seeing,
What voice of what prophet hath spoken or sung?
And so in blind passion I chase this wild being,
Adored of my soul since creation was young!
THE ICEBERG.
Where the keen wan peaks, in frigid pride unbending,
Jut up against the abysmal blue of night;
When the red aurora, at the world's wild ending,
Opens in heaven its awful fan of light,
A part of all the inviolate peace around him,
Calm amid mighty quietudes did he rest,
The fierce cold for a manacle that bound him,
The arctic stars to sparkle on his crest.
Jut up against the abysmal blue of night;
When the red aurora, at the world's wild ending,
Opens in heaven its awful fan of light,
A part of all the inviolate peace around him,
Calm amid mighty quietudes did he rest,
The fierce cold for a manacle that bound him,
The arctic stars to sparkle on his crest.
Here silence, like a monarch, reigned immensely,
The quintessence of cold was here, no less,
Each utter as before God spake intensely
And visible things leapt out from nothingness.
A land wherewith no living sign was blended,
A white monotony of weird device;
One towering boreal torpor, chaste and splendid,
One monstrous immobility of ice!
The quintessence of cold was here, no less,
Each utter as before God spake intensely
And visible things leapt out from nothingness.
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A white monotony of weird device;
One towering boreal torpor, chaste and splendid,
One monstrous immobility of ice!
But when light woke within that bleak heaven, grandly
To illume pale polar summits, range on range,
Then blindly through his glacial soul yet blandly
He felt the movement of mysterious change.
He seemed to have heard across vast ocean-reaches
A summoning voice from equatorial calms,
From languorous tropic bowers and lucid beaches,
From blossoming headlands and high plumes of palms!
To illume pale polar summits, range on range,
Then blindly through his glacial soul yet blandly
He felt the movement of mysterious change.
He seemed to have heard across vast ocean-reaches
A summoning voice from equatorial calms,
From languorous tropic bowers and lucid beaches,
From blossoming headlands and high plumes of palms!
A voice compelling and a voice commanding,
Yet sweet as flute-notes near still purple seas,
Strange beyond speech and strong beyond withstanding,
Yet soft withal as tremulous airs in trees.
A voice of such deep charm that while he wondered
Plungingly seaward his huge frame he bent,
And all its proud enormity was sundered
From all its fetters of encompassment.
Yet sweet as flute-notes near still purple seas,
Strange beyond speech and strong beyond withstanding,
Yet soft withal as tremulous airs in trees.
A voice of such deep charm that while he wondered
Plungingly seaward his huge frame he bent,
And all its proud enormity was sundered
From all its fetters of encompassment.
Then he went down superbly over distance
Of mad uproarious surges, height on height,
That hurled tempestuous onslaughts of resistance
Round his serene magnificence of might.
Then he went down across the unknown sea-spaces,
A spot of radiance on their billowy whirl,
Scintillant with the sun's most dazzling graces,
Or touched by moonbeams to phantasmal pearl!
Of mad uproarious surges, height on height,
That hurled tempestuous onslaughts of resistance
Round his serene magnificence of might.
Then he went down across the unknown sea-spaces,
A spot of radiance on their billowy whirl,
Scintillant with the sun's most dazzling graces,
Or touched by moonbeams to phantasmal pearl!
126
One chill wind, like a breath of death, ran blowing
Incessantly along his path austere,
And far before the grandeur of his going,
Like birds the little vessels fled in fear.
Green flashed the glassy bastions whence transcendent
His frosted pinnacles blazed out above,
While in colossal crystal calm resplendent,
Superbly he went down to meet his love!
Incessantly along his path austere,
And far before the grandeur of his going,
Like birds the little vessels fled in fear.
Green flashed the glassy bastions whence transcendent
His frosted pinnacles blazed out above,
While in colossal crystal calm resplendent,
Superbly he went down to meet his love!
But journeying thus, too thrilled for all confusion
Of boisterous wave or bluff blast to annoy,
He had lessened with insidious diminution,
He had wasted and not known it in his joy.
For through him there had pulsed a fire of yearning
'Twas ruin although 'twas rapture to have known,
And love within his frozen life lay burning,
Like a ruby under fathoms of stern stone!
Of boisterous wave or bluff blast to annoy,
He had lessened with insidious diminution,
He had wasted and not known it in his joy.
For through him there had pulsed a fire of yearning
'Twas ruin although 'twas rapture to have known,
And love within his frozen life lay burning,
Like a ruby under fathoms of stern stone!
And so while passion in his dumb breast kindled
A lordlier larger impulse to adore,
The more his eminent glories waned and dwindled
As that ethereal voice allured the more.
And then with bitterest pangs he felt the fleeting
Of all his luminous loftiness and pride,
And shuddered with the dark thought of not meeting
That vague invisible love before he died!
A lordlier larger impulse to adore,
The more his eminent glories waned and dwindled
As that ethereal voice allured the more.
And then with bitterest pangs he felt the fleeting
Of all his luminous loftiness and pride,
And shuddered with the dark thought of not meeting
That vague invisible love before he died!
And still the summoning voice came sweet and eager,
Though touched with semitones of divine regret,
And hourly growing meagre and more meagre,
He journeyed on, desiring, yearning yet! ...
Till now he vanished utterly, and the tender
Lulled waves of tropic ocean smiled above
Him that in all the morning of his splendor
Superbly had gone down to meet his love!
Though touched with semitones of divine regret,
And hourly growing meagre and more meagre,
He journeyed on, desiring, yearning yet! ...
Till now he vanished utterly, and the tender
Lulled waves of tropic ocean smiled above
Him that in all the morning of his splendor
Superbly had gone down to meet his love!
127
PERSPECTIVES.
How much in life we utterly forget!
How many pangs, how many smiles and tears!
What joy, what pain, what yearning, what regret
Lies lost within the oblivion of dead years!
How many pangs, how many smiles and tears!
What joy, what pain, what yearning, what regret
Lies lost within the oblivion of dead years!
And journeying on, inexorably fast,
Accomplishing our fated length of days,
We turn to look upon the ample past,
Clothed bafflingly with indeterminate haze!
Accomplishing our fated length of days,
We turn to look upon the ample past,
Clothed bafflingly with indeterminate haze!
Its tracts of shadowy vagueness die away
To meet the shadowy sky-line of all thought;
Dreamily neutral, featurelessly gray,
They are not something, neither are they naught!
To meet the shadowy sky-line of all thought;
Dreamily neutral, featurelessly gray,
They are not something, neither are they naught!
But here and there, in such clear-seen relief
As scarce the annulling distance may efface,
We mark the rigid outline of some grief,
Like a great tree that overtops its race!
As scarce the annulling distance may efface,
We mark the rigid outline of some grief,
Like a great tree that overtops its race!
Or yet like quiet hills, not towering high,
Though proudly rounded, we discern, no less,
Joys that with beauteous dominance defy
These ghostly vapors of forgetfulness!
Though proudly rounded, we discern, no less,
Joys that with beauteous dominance defy
These ghostly vapors of forgetfulness!
But ah, how lovelier when our eyes have won,
August in retrospect as we recede,
Like some snow-crested mountain bathed in sun,
The pure firm grandeur of some noble deed!
August in retrospect as we recede,
Like some snow-crested mountain bathed in sun,
The pure firm grandeur of some noble deed!
128
THE MOON IN THE CITY.
Pale roamer through the purple hollow of night,
In all thy wanderings weird from East to West,
What wonder thou dost gladly shower thy light
On many a dusky region of earth's breast?
In all thy wanderings weird from East to West,
What wonder thou dost gladly shower thy light
On many a dusky region of earth's breast?
Wide tracts of cloisteral forest-land, I know,
Are welcome to that luminous heart of thine,
Where under murmurous branches thou canst throw
Dim palpitant arabesques of shade and shine!
Are welcome to that luminous heart of thine,
Where under murmurous branches thou canst throw
Dim palpitant arabesques of shade and shine!
Smooth meadows dying against far opal skies
Thou lovest with lonely splendors to illumine,
And turn their bodiless vapors, when they rise,
To phantoms greatening in the doubtful gloom!
Thou lovest with lonely splendors to illumine,
And turn their bodiless vapors, when they rise,
To phantoms greatening in the doubtful gloom!
The haughtiest mountain happy dost thou feel
To mantle with thy radiance, chastely soft,
Like intercessional mercy's meek appeal
Where cold majestic justice towers aloft!
To mantle with thy radiance, chastely soft,
Like intercessional mercy's meek appeal
Where cold majestic justice towers aloft!
When deep in measureless peace he lulls his waves,
Or when their perilous masses proudly curl,
Thy pennon of brilliance, though he smiles or raves,
Along the varying sea dost thou unfurl!
Or when their perilous masses proudly curl,
Thy pennon of brilliance, though he smiles or raves,
Along the varying sea dost thou unfurl!
But ah! though forest, mountain, meadow and sea
Shall each thy separate favor sweetly win,
White lily of heaven, how can it pleasure thee
To blossom above the city's ghastly sin!
Shall each thy separate favor sweetly win,
White lily of heaven, how can it pleasure thee
To blossom above the city's ghastly sin!
129
FIRE.
For all that lives I am a spirit of hate;
All beauty and strength I would annul or ban;
And yet, through some imperious edict, fate
Puts my vast power within the rule of man.
All beauty and strength I would annul or ban;
And yet, through some imperious edict, fate
Puts my vast power within the rule of man.
For me, to whom sad ruin and death are sweet,
This lowly slavery galls with pangs austere;
I loathe the illumined hearth where loved ones meet,
The shivering outcast whose chilled frame I cheer.
This lowly slavery galls with pangs austere;
I loathe the illumined hearth where loved ones meet,
The shivering outcast whose chilled frame I cheer.
In the wide hurry and clash of this great town,
I long perpetually, with zeal intense,
To break the tyrannous bonds that bind me down
And revel awhile in red magnificence!
I long perpetually, with zeal intense,
To break the tyrannous bonds that bind me down
And revel awhile in red magnificence!
Thus with invisible wrath I chafe and strain
Amid my stern captivity's dreary days,
Till after infinite effort I attain
A riotous liberty, and madly blaze.
Amid my stern captivity's dreary days,
Till after infinite effort I attain
A riotous liberty, and madly blaze.
Then in high watch-towers bells are tolled with might,
And summoning peals ring loud above my roar,
And bold men with my turbulent fury fight,
Till, utterly quelled, I am a slave once more!
And summoning peals ring loud above my roar,
And bold men with my turbulent fury fight,
Till, utterly quelled, I am a slave once more!
But often amid defeat a thought that charms,
While yet the water drowns my crackle and hiss,
Is that I have wrapped some life in these wild arms,
Or laid on some dead face my blackening kiss!
While yet the water drowns my crackle and hiss,
Is that I have wrapped some life in these wild arms,
Or laid on some dead face my blackening kiss!
130
DECAY.
With beauty and health and hardiness it shares
Enduring sovereignty malign and strange;
Innumerable are all its haunts and lairs;
Immeasurable its vast and stealthy range.
Enduring sovereignty malign and strange;
Innumerable are all its haunts and lairs;
Immeasurable its vast and stealthy range.
Forever varying in its forms of ill,
Forever does it borrow, of stores immense,
Those opulent colors that await its will,
Sombrely rich or radiantly intense.
Forever does it borrow, of stores immense,
Those opulent colors that await its will,
Sombrely rich or radiantly intense.
On pools of foul miasmatic stagnance brood
Its gentler tints of violet or of rose;
Through many a wood's majestic solitude,
In ruin of rotting logs its crimson glows.
Its gentler tints of violet or of rose;
Through many a wood's majestic solitude,
In ruin of rotting logs its crimson glows.
Its mellower browns in faded blooms are seen;
Its rancorous yellows in slow rust exist;
In noisome mildew lurks its pestilent green;
Its ghostly grays are in malarial mist.
Its rancorous yellows in slow rust exist;
In noisome mildew lurks its pestilent green;
Its ghostly grays are in malarial mist.
In noxious mold are hidden its ashy blues;
Its ambers are in old marble's crumbling slabs;
On desolate tombstones are its grimmer hues,
Blots of dense black, or sullen-glimmering drabs.
Its ambers are in old marble's crumbling slabs;
On desolate tombstones are its grimmer hues,
Blots of dense black, or sullen-glimmering drabs.
But all its gaudier splendors full to air
In Autumn's blighted foliage are outrolled,
And often amid sweet sunsets it will wear
Deep melancholy purple or vivid gold!
In Autumn's blighted foliage are outrolled,
And often amid sweet sunsets it will wear
Deep melancholy purple or vivid gold!
131
Yet ah! the agony that no words may speak,
When, positive though intangible, it lies
In the red hectic flower on some dear cheek,
Or shines with ominous fire from worshiped eyes!
When, positive though intangible, it lies
In the red hectic flower on some dear cheek,
Or shines with ominous fire from worshiped eyes!
Oh, then what wonder if our difficult lives
Guess vaguely, from the shadow of their dim lot,
How some white incorruptibility thrives
In luminous bournes of peace, where time is not?
Guess vaguely, from the shadow of their dim lot,
How some white incorruptibility thrives
In luminous bournes of peace, where time is not?
WASTE.
Down the long orchard aisles where I have strolled,
On fragrant sward the slanted sunlight weaves,
Rich-flickering through the dusk of plenteous leaves,
Its ever-tremulous arabesques of gold!
On fragrant sward the slanted sunlight weaves,
Rich-flickering through the dusk of plenteous leaves,
Its ever-tremulous arabesques of gold!
In globes of glimmering color, sweet to see,
The apples greaten under halcyon sky,
Green, russet, ruddy, or deep-red of dye,
Or yellow as the girdle of a bee!
The apples greaten under halcyon sky,
Green, russet, ruddy, or deep-red of dye,
Or yellow as the girdle of a bee!
But o'er the verdure's blended shine and shade
Small blighted fruits lie strown in dull array,
Augmenting silently from day to day,
Gnarled and misshapen, worm-gnawed and decayed.
Small blighted fruits lie strown in dull array,
Augmenting silently from day to day,
Gnarled and misshapen, worm-gnawed and decayed.
And over them, as favoring sunbeams bless,
To fair perfection will those others grow,
In mellow hardihood maturing slow,—
While these will shrivel into viewlessness!
To fair perfection will those others grow,
In mellow hardihood maturing slow,—
While these will shrivel into viewlessness!
132
Ah, me! what strange frustration of intent,
What dark elective secret, undescried,
Lives in this dreary failure, side by side
With opulence of full-orbed accomplishment!
What dark elective secret, undescried,
Lives in this dreary failure, side by side
With opulence of full-orbed accomplishment!
O seeming mockery! O strange doubt wherein
The baffled reason gropes and cannot see!
If made at all, why only made to be
In irony for that which might have been?
The baffled reason gropes and cannot see!
If made at all, why only made to be
In irony for that which might have been?
Nay, vain alike to question or surmise! ...
There, plucking white moon-daisies, one by one,
Through yonder meadow comes my little son,
My pale-browed hunchback, with the wistful eyes!
There, plucking white moon-daisies, one by one,
Through yonder meadow comes my little son,
My pale-browed hunchback, with the wistful eyes!
DECORATION DAY.
To-day, as the pulses powerful
Of the glad young year awake,
It would seem that with tokens flowerful
A nation had gone to take,
Of the glad young year awake,
It would seem that with tokens flowerful
A nation had gone to take,
While passing in throngs processional
Over sweeps of mellowed sod,
The sky for a blue confessional,
And to tell its grief to God!
Over sweeps of mellowed sod,
The sky for a blue confessional,
And to tell its grief to God!
But more than to march regretfully
With the earthward-pointing gun,
And more than to merge forgetfully
The Blue and the Gray in one,
With the earthward-pointing gun,
And more than to merge forgetfully
The Blue and the Gray in one,
133
Were to love, with its sweet sublimity,
The thought of an endless peace,
And to swear, in grand unanimity,
That war shall forever cease!
The thought of an endless peace,
And to swear, in grand unanimity,
That war shall forever cease!
For how is your service beautiful,
O mourners that meet to-day,
If the hands that are now so dutiful
Shall to-morrow spoil and slay?
O mourners that meet to-day,
If the hands that are now so dutiful
Shall to-morrow spoil and slay?
If the hate that your love is levelling
Shall to-morrow lift its brow,
And redden with bloody revelling
The graves that you garland now?
Shall to-morrow lift its brow,
And redden with bloody revelling
The graves that you garland now?
For only if all humanity
Could have learned to well abhor
The imperious blind insanity,
The iniquitous waste of war,
Could have learned to well abhor
The imperious blind insanity,
The iniquitous waste of war,
Would the splendid and stainless purity
Of to-day beam out afar,
Down the duskiness of futurity,
As with light of a morning-star!
Of to-day beam out afar,
Down the duskiness of futurity,
As with light of a morning-star!
And then would the blooms you shed upon
These numberless grave-mounds, be
As though the dews they had fed upon
Were the waters of Galilee!
These numberless grave-mounds, be
As though the dews they had fed upon
Were the waters of Galilee!
May 31st, 1875.
134
CUSTER.
(July, 1876.)
Well had he won the honoring love we gave
His resolute martial heart, to fear unknown,
Now lying at rest within his distant grave
Beside the myriad-cañoned Yellowstone.
His resolute martial heart, to fear unknown,
Now lying at rest within his distant grave
Beside the myriad-cañoned Yellowstone.
A spirit of splendid nerve to coolly dare;
Stern as an enemy, as a friend most true,
Impetuous, haughty, gallant, debonair;
Now fierce as fire and now as soft as dew,
Stern as an enemy, as a friend most true,
Impetuous, haughty, gallant, debonair;
Now fierce as fire and now as soft as dew,
In this adventurous life did we behold,
Translated to those perilous lands afar,
The prowess of some new D'Artagnan, the bold
Invincibility of some new Bayard!
Translated to those perilous lands afar,
The prowess of some new D'Artagnan, the bold
Invincibility of some new Bayard!
May the rich picture that his memory leaves
Light history's page for many an unborn year,
While many an unborn soldier proudly weaves
Fresh laurels for this valorous cavalier!
Light history's page for many an unborn year,
While many an unborn soldier proudly weaves
Fresh laurels for this valorous cavalier!
Time the sweet radiance of his fame shall prove,
And, while the unmeasured future flows along,
His sinewy figure, buckskin-clad, shall move
Down glimmering paths of story and of song!
And, while the unmeasured future flows along,
His sinewy figure, buckskin-clad, shall move
Down glimmering paths of story and of song!
For horror thrills through every class and clan
When wrong so riots in victory, and when
One in such eminent lordliness a man
Lies ruined by these red mockeries of men!
When wrong so riots in victory, and when
One in such eminent lordliness a man
Lies ruined by these red mockeries of men!
135
So from thy sorrowing country thou shalt win
Rank beside all her loyalest and her best,
Thou new Leonidas, with thy noble kin,
Dead in that wild Thermopylæ of the West!
Rank beside all her loyalest and her best,
Thou new Leonidas, with thy noble kin,
Dead in that wild Thermopylæ of the West!
CUBA.
We know the black scowl of her brow,
Her tyrant greed, her bigot glee,
Old arrogant Spain, that reaches now
A lean dark arm across the sea!
Her tyrant greed, her bigot glee,
Old arrogant Spain, that reaches now
A lean dark arm across the sea!
“Once slave, and so for ever slave,”
On ocean-winds her proud words float,
While, by the warm Caribbean wave,
Her talons meet in Cuba's throat!
On ocean-winds her proud words float,
While, by the warm Caribbean wave,
Her talons meet in Cuba's throat!
And Cuba, levelled of the grip,
Shivers and strains and fights to rise,
Her own blood on her moaning lip
And anguish in her lurid eyes!
Shivers and strains and fights to rise,
Her own blood on her moaning lip
And anguish in her lurid eyes!
But clear, below that tropic sun,
Gleams the wild hand she stretches forth,
Where the dim domes of Washington
Bulge up against the mighty North!
Gleams the wild hand she stretches forth,
Where the dim domes of Washington
Bulge up against the mighty North!
And we, that know and hear and see
Her strife to break from crushing powers,
To gain our giant help and be
A thing no more that quails and cowers,
Her strife to break from crushing powers,
To gain our giant help and be
A thing no more that quails and cowers,
136
We hold her as some mere hurt brute,
And muse, while watching her mad pain,
“Tobacco ... sugar ... coffee ... fruit ...
She never should belong to Spain!”
And muse, while watching her mad pain,
“Tobacco ... sugar ... coffee ... fruit ...
She never should belong to Spain!”
January, 1873.
ALBERT F. WEBSTER, JR.
(Died at sea, Dec. 27, 1876.)
Like a dreary wanderer, from the West,
This tale of your lonely death departs,
And finding those who have loved you best,
Knocks loud at the doorway of their hearts!
This tale of your lonely death departs,
And finding those who have loved you best,
Knocks loud at the doorway of their hearts!
Our fears had faded; our hope re-bloomed;
You had cheered us happily from afar;
Your danger seemed from the life it gloomed
To pass like a cloud from the morning-star!
You had cheered us happily from afar;
Your danger seemed from the life it gloomed
To pass like a cloud from the morning-star!
But yearning still for the sun that shines
With a richer gladness on summer calms,
You sailed from the dark balsamic pines
For blue Oceania's island-palms!
With a richer gladness on summer calms,
You sailed from the dark balsamic pines
For blue Oceania's island-palms!
But while you were sailing, brief and stern
Came the solemn summons that none can brave,
And now you rest, as in grief we learn,
With the vast Pacific for your grave!
Came the solemn summons that none can brave,
And now you rest, as in grief we learn,
With the vast Pacific for your grave!
O friend, endowed with a worth so rare,
Whom intellect served, whom truth obeyed,
O forehead so chastely, brightly fair
With the shining aureole genius made!
Whom intellect served, whom truth obeyed,
O forehead so chastely, brightly fair
With the shining aureole genius made!
137
What fatal irony follows man
With a curse no wisdom hath understood,
And reels amid nature's ordered plan
Like a drunken faun through a peaceful wood?
With a curse no wisdom hath understood,
And reels amid nature's ordered plan
Like a drunken faun through a peaceful wood?
Should life, in its meagre and troublous term,
Be marred by mockeries harsh as those
That set in the leaf's young green a worm,
That kill in the bud its waiting rose?
Be marred by mockeries harsh as those
That set in the leaf's young green a worm,
That kill in the bud its waiting rose?
That smite the lark as its wings unfold
In the dawn whose thrilling dews they crave,
That shatter the column ere it hold
The sculptured grace of its architrave?
In the dawn whose thrilling dews they crave,
That shatter the column ere it hold
The sculptured grace of its architrave?
Ah, proud philosophy, shut thy book!
Art thou better, for all thy boasted might,
Than a little child, when it turns its look
On the silver labyrinths of the night?
Art thou better, for all thy boasted might,
Than a little child, when it turns its look
On the silver labyrinths of the night?
Ah, haughty science, whose hand can weigh
The monstrous planet in mighty skies,
Thou hast not strength in thine arm, this day,
To tear the bandage from off thine eyes!
The monstrous planet in mighty skies,
Thou hast not strength in thine arm, this day,
To tear the bandage from off thine eyes!
Yet, precious friend, into distance past,
All Godlike mercy can only seem,
All sweet intuitions, first and last,
Are wild delusion, are baseless dream,
All Godlike mercy can only seem,
All sweet intuitions, first and last,
Are wild delusion, are baseless dream,
Or still, dear lost one, your soul endures,
High-sheltered from earthly cares and fears,
While brows that are more divinely yours
Bend down in pity upon our tears!
High-sheltered from earthly cares and fears,
While brows that are more divinely yours
Bend down in pity upon our tears!
138
TO EDWIN BOOTH.
On his Return to the American Stage.
Death, shadowing for a time thy future, leaves
Its heaven unclouded, and the applausive throng
Gathers again where pale Melpomene weaves,
In statuesque attitude austerely sweet,
Still lordlier laurel-chaplets, fresh and strong,
For him who walks again, with reverent feet,
Through stately lands of loved Shakspearian song!
Its heaven unclouded, and the applausive throng
Gathers again where pale Melpomene weaves,
In statuesque attitude austerely sweet,
Still lordlier laurel-chaplets, fresh and strong,
For him who walks again, with reverent feet,
Through stately lands of loved Shakspearian song!
As Denmark's prince we shall behold thy face
Lighten or gloom in passionate change once more;
Watch thee, with calm and meditative pace,
Move toward the gates of death, to pause afraid!
Or, like some terrible angel, stand before
The cowering queen; or meet thy father's shade
Among the moon-bathed towers of Elsinore!
Lighten or gloom in passionate change once more;
Watch thee, with calm and meditative pace,
Move toward the gates of death, to pause afraid!
Or, like some terrible angel, stand before
The cowering queen; or meet thy father's shade
Among the moon-bathed towers of Elsinore!
Marvels of falsehood in the Moor's thrilled ear,
As subtle Iago thou shalt softly sigh,
And be, while thy swart victim quakes to hear,
The appalling incarnation of deceit,
Untruth's transcendent charlatan, vastly sly,
Snakily cunning, loathsomely discreet,
With lean dead smile and cold metallic eye!
As subtle Iago thou shalt softly sigh,
And be, while thy swart victim quakes to hear,
The appalling incarnation of deceit,
Untruth's transcendent charlatan, vastly sly,
Snakily cunning, loathsomely discreet,
With lean dead smile and cold metallic eye!
And we shall watch ambition's fiercest fang
Gnaw thee as Cawdor's throne-aspiring thane;
Hear, in the witches' vault, thy footstep clang;
See thee, at gory Banquo's grim rebuff,
Shackled with guilty horror's iciest chain;
Or, under that hot falchion of Mac Duff,
Die like a slaughtered bull, at Dunsinane!
Gnaw thee as Cawdor's throne-aspiring thane;
Hear, in the witches' vault, thy footstep clang;
See thee, at gory Banquo's grim rebuff,
Shackled with guilty horror's iciest chain;
Or, under that hot falchion of Mac Duff,
Die like a slaughtered bull, at Dunsinane!
139
In these, and many immortal moods like these,
May wondering thousands, with delighted care,
Note thy chaste charms of classic-postured ease,
Thy sculptural face, thy rich voice, nor forget
That thou of Kean, Macready and all who wear
The buskin grandly in art's annals yet,
Beamest the radiant equal and true heir!
May wondering thousands, with delighted care,
Note thy chaste charms of classic-postured ease,
Thy sculptural face, thy rich voice, nor forget
That thou of Kean, Macready and all who wear
The buskin grandly in art's annals yet,
Beamest the radiant equal and true heir!
October, 1875.
THE SCHOLAR'S SWEETHEART.
All day he toils, with zeal severe,
On something learnedly polemic;
From Harvard he returned last year,
With bounteous honors academic.
His parents name him but in praise,
His little sisters quite adore him,
And all the loving household lays
Allegiance willingly before him!
On something learnedly polemic;
From Harvard he returned last year,
With bounteous honors academic.
His parents name him but in praise,
His little sisters quite adore him,
And all the loving household lays
Allegiance willingly before him!
What forms his labor, week by week?
They could not understand—oh, never!
'Tis something eminently Greek,
'Tis something intricately clever!
But still his task, unfinished yet,
He shapes with industry unflagging,
And writes his treatise that shall set
The heads of noted pundits wagging!
They could not understand—oh, never!
'Tis something eminently Greek,
'Tis something intricately clever!
But still his task, unfinished yet,
He shapes with industry unflagging,
And writes his treatise that shall set
The heads of noted pundits wagging!
Is it of Homer's doubtful lines?
Or yet some question, subtly finer,
Of whether certain famous wines
Were first obtained from Asia Minor?
Is it of dialects impure?
Is it some long-fought rule of grammar?
Is it old Sanscrit roots obscure?
Is it that wearisome digamma?
Or yet some question, subtly finer,
Of whether certain famous wines
Were first obtained from Asia Minor?
140
Is it some long-fought rule of grammar?
Is it old Sanscrit roots obscure?
Is it that wearisome digamma?
But whether this or whether that,
Through fragrant fields, when work is ended,
While darkly wheels the zigzag bat
And all the West is warmly splendid,
He steals to meet, in loving wise,
With eager steps that do not tarry,
A rosy girl whose shining eyes
Grow tender as she calls him “Harry.”
Through fragrant fields, when work is ended,
While darkly wheels the zigzag bat
And all the West is warmly splendid,
He steals to meet, in loving wise,
With eager steps that do not tarry,
A rosy girl whose shining eyes
Grow tender as she calls him “Harry.”
What altered thoughts can she awake,
This pearl of sweethearts, best and fairest!
And what a contrast does she make
To ‘comments on the Second Aorist’!
So strongly round him can she throw
Her dazzling spells of sweet retention,
'Tis doubtful now if he could go
Correctly through his first declension!
This pearl of sweethearts, best and fairest!
And what a contrast does she make
To ‘comments on the Second Aorist’!
So strongly round him can she throw
Her dazzling spells of sweet retention,
'Tis doubtful now if he could go
Correctly through his first declension!
For while near mossy meadow-bars,
With spirit thrilled by sacred pleasures,
He lingers till the dawn of stars,
He lingers by the girl he treasures,
This grave young scholar scarcely knows
If Hector was a fighting seaman,
If lofty Pindar wrote in prose,
Or Athens lay in Lacedaemon!
With spirit thrilled by sacred pleasures,
He lingers till the dawn of stars,
He lingers by the girl he treasures,
This grave young scholar scarcely knows
If Hector was a fighting seaman,
If lofty Pindar wrote in prose,
Or Athens lay in Lacedaemon!
141
LA BELLE HÉLÈNE.
I sat in my small loge, five francs' worth,
At the Variétés, unknown, ignored,
And heard, in its mad Parisian mirth,
How the thousand-throated audience roared.
At the Variétés, unknown, ignored,
And heard, in its mad Parisian mirth,
How the thousand-throated audience roared.
With all its volatile rompish glee,
Do I often view that gay play yet,
As when, a wave in the living sea,
I stared at the stage through my good lorgnette.
Do I often view that gay play yet,
As when, a wave in the living sea,
I stared at the stage through my good lorgnette.
It was travesty under its wildest spell,
It was sad Melpomene, grand, serene,
With her stately peplum tucked up well,
To frolic in French à la Colombine.
It was sad Melpomene, grand, serene,
With her stately peplum tucked up well,
To frolic in French à la Colombine.
The Belle Hélène—who has forgotten it?
That mass of incongruous lights and shades—
That making a new French roof to sit
On the Parthenon's haughty colonnades!
That mass of incongruous lights and shades—
That making a new French roof to sit
On the Parthenon's haughty colonnades!
That blending of most antipodal things—
Old reverend Homer stretched on the rack—
Sublime Agamemnon, a king of kings,
Keeping time to the tunes of Offenbach!
Old reverend Homer stretched on the rack—
Sublime Agamemnon, a king of kings,
Keeping time to the tunes of Offenbach!
142
The mighty Achilles made to forget
Both prince and demigod in a trice,
And Calchas, the awful soothsayer, set
To playing at “Goose” with loaded dice!
Both prince and demigod in a trice,
And Calchas, the awful soothsayer, set
To playing at “Goose” with loaded dice!
It is all so droll that my lips, I know,
Give lusty share to the laughter brave;
But my mirth has a mournful thought below,
Like the darkness under a sparkling wave!
Give lusty share to the laughter brave;
But my mirth has a mournful thought below,
Like the darkness under a sparkling wave!
I remember the dead heroic days,
The reckless sin of the Spartan wife,
The black ships thronging the blue sea-ways,
And the ten wild stubborn years of strife!
The reckless sin of the Spartan wife,
The black ships thronging the blue sea-ways,
And the ten wild stubborn years of strife!
I think of how many solemn scenes
In that old majestic story dwell;
Of slaughtered heroes and weeping queens,
Of woful appeal and wailed farewell!
In that old majestic story dwell;
Of slaughtered heroes and weeping queens,
Of woful appeal and wailed farewell!
I see Andromache strive to check
The tears from a soul that sorrow racks,
With one white arm about Hector's neck
And one round the babe, Astyanax.
The tears from a soul that sorrow racks,
With one white arm about Hector's neck
And one round the babe, Astyanax.
I see, at the fatal fearful hour,
Pale Iphigeneia wait to die;
Or Helen stands on the Scæan tower,
And curses life with a bitter sigh.
Pale Iphigeneia wait to die;
Or Helen stands on the Scæan tower,
And curses life with a bitter sigh.
Cassandra, crying her people's doom,
Disdained of those that should heed her most;
Lonely Penelope, at her loom,
On desolate Ithaca's gray coast.
Disdained of those that should heed her most;
Lonely Penelope, at her loom,
On desolate Ithaca's gray coast.
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And saddest of all, in pathos sweet,
Old white-haired Priam, a suppliant one,
Low-bent at the proud Pelides' feet,
To beg the corpse of his dearest son!
Old white-haired Priam, a suppliant one,
Low-bent at the proud Pelides' feet,
To beg the corpse of his dearest son!
So these and so other legends kept
The feet of memory wandering slow
Near the hearts that throbbed and the eyes that wept
Two thousand shadowy years ago!
The feet of memory wandering slow
Near the hearts that throbbed and the eyes that wept
Two thousand shadowy years ago!
And I said to myself, “Those tricks of song,
Those can-can follies that half appall,
Those odd buffooneries, witty and wrong,
Are sorry ways to remember it all.”
Those can-can follies that half appall,
Those odd buffooneries, witty and wrong,
Are sorry ways to remember it all.”
“And yet,” I mused, “it is surely best
That the meanest weed on a grave should grow
Than that barren sods lie above the rest
Of the crumbling slumberer below!
That the meanest weed on a grave should grow
Than that barren sods lie above the rest
Of the crumbling slumberer below!
“And here on this busy and fickle earth,
It were wiser, doubtless, did one confess
Even such sham memories more of worth
Than voids of utter forgetfulness!”
It were wiser, doubtless, did one confess
Even such sham memories more of worth
Than voids of utter forgetfulness!”
144
GENTLEMAN JO.
In the years of youth, ere the years despoil,
When death is a word we seldom say,
When the Hebe of health pours wine all day
And the lamp of life burns odorous oil,
Oh, sweet to clasp, and to clasp anew,
One friend by the hand whose heart rings true,
And glows with your own lost love's rare glow,
Gentleman Jo! Gentleman Jo!
When death is a word we seldom say,
When the Hebe of health pours wine all day
And the lamp of life burns odorous oil,
Oh, sweet to clasp, and to clasp anew,
One friend by the hand whose heart rings true,
And glows with your own lost love's rare glow,
Gentleman Jo! Gentleman Jo!
I see your eyes, of a brown so warm,
Your deep sweet dimples, your tossed brown hair,
Your easeful gracious courteous air,
And the strong fine curves of your manful form.
Not a hint of the clever stuff you wrote
In trick of collar, caprice of coat,—
Not a touch of the false, the flippant, no!
Gentleman Jo! Gentleman Jo!
Your deep sweet dimples, your tossed brown hair,
Your easeful gracious courteous air,
And the strong fine curves of your manful form.
Not a hint of the clever stuff you wrote
In trick of collar, caprice of coat,—
Not a touch of the false, the flippant, no!
Gentleman Jo! Gentleman Jo!
Was there ever a man as keen as you
To strip all sham of its gaudy guise?
To aim your scorn upon social lies
And with shafts of laughter shoot them through?
When your cheek flushed up with the circling cheer,
What a happy thing was your voice to hear,
In its rhythmic richness, loud or low,
Gentleman Jo! Gentleman Jo!
To strip all sham of its gaudy guise?
To aim your scorn upon social lies
And with shafts of laughter shoot them through?
When your cheek flushed up with the circling cheer,
What a happy thing was your voice to hear,
In its rhythmic richness, loud or low,
Gentleman Jo! Gentleman Jo!
145
Yet you dealt in nothing to flash and fade,
No smart grandiloquence mock-sublime,
No dainty curse of the men, the time,
No brilliant brummagem of tirade;
No flimsily-dazzling cynic trope,
Where the egotist hides in the misanthrope;
Not the least word meant for mere bald show,
Gentleman Jo! Gentleman Jo!
No smart grandiloquence mock-sublime,
No dainty curse of the men, the time,
No brilliant brummagem of tirade;
No flimsily-dazzling cynic trope,
Where the egotist hides in the misanthrope;
Not the least word meant for mere bald show,
Gentleman Jo! Gentleman Jo!
For the love was large in your breast innate,
Your charity mild as a mother's tears;
When you flung at the world your trenchant sneers
It was duty spoke, it was never hate!
And the blows were struck with a better nerve,
Since the hand that gave them was fain to serve;
Would have rather blest than have struck one blow,
Gentleman Jo! Gentleman Jo!
Your charity mild as a mother's tears;
When you flung at the world your trenchant sneers
It was duty spoke, it was never hate!
And the blows were struck with a better nerve,
Since the hand that gave them was fain to serve;
Would have rather blest than have struck one blow,
Gentleman Jo! Gentleman Jo!
You counted the petty spites and greeds
That buzz like flies about human souls;
You marked the vice and the pride that lolls
In the pompous purple of Christly creeds;
You saw how life, in its long advance,
Is slave to satiric circumstance;
You shared all loftiest want and woe,
Gentleman Jo! Gentleman Jo!
That buzz like flies about human souls;
You marked the vice and the pride that lolls
In the pompous purple of Christly creeds;
You saw how life, in its long advance,
Is slave to satiric circumstance;
You shared all loftiest want and woe,
Gentleman Jo! Gentleman Jo!
No sounding cant could your faith convince
To adore some God whom the people plan
In the poor similitude of a man,
A little larger than priest or prince.
That impious piety vexed you well
Which says of God, the unthinkable,
He is or He is not thus and so,
Gentleman Jo! Gentleman Jo!
To adore some God whom the people plan
In the poor similitude of a man,
A little larger than priest or prince.
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Which says of God, the unthinkable,
He is or He is not thus and so,
Gentleman Jo! Gentleman Jo!
What wonder you dropt off tired, my friend,
From the brutelike human rush for gain?
What wonder that your true heart and brain
Turned very weary before the end? ...
Till your spirit's beautiful steadfast light
Flickered in death's cold wind, one night,
As I watched your last breath weakly go,
Gentleman Jo! Gentleman Jo!
From the brutelike human rush for gain?
What wonder that your true heart and brain
Turned very weary before the end? ...
Till your spirit's beautiful steadfast light
Flickered in death's cold wind, one night,
As I watched your last breath weakly go,
Gentleman Jo! Gentleman Jo!
You are vanished away in shadow vast,
Yet your loss has left to me moments dear
When the stars of memory steal out clear,
To tremble in twilights of the past!
The world, although she owed you a crown
Of lordliest laurel, smote you down!
And all she lost she shall never know,
Gentleman Jo! Gentleman Jo!
Yet your loss has left to me moments dear
When the stars of memory steal out clear,
To tremble in twilights of the past!
The world, although she owed you a crown
Of lordliest laurel, smote you down!
And all she lost she shall never know,
Gentleman Jo! Gentleman Jo!
147
PIPES AND BEER.
Before I was famous I used to sit
In a dull old underground room I knew,
And sip cheap beer, and be glad for it,
With a wild Bohemian friend or two.
In a dull old underground room I knew,
And sip cheap beer, and be glad for it,
With a wild Bohemian friend or two.
And oh, it was joy to loiter thus,
At peace in the heart of the city's stir,
Entombed, while life hurried over us,
In our lazy bacchanal sepulchre.
At peace in the heart of the city's stir,
Entombed, while life hurried over us,
In our lazy bacchanal sepulchre.
There was artist George, with the blond Greek head,
And the startling creeds, and the loose cravat;
There was splenetic journalistic Fred,
Of the sharp retort and the shabby hat;
And the startling creeds, and the loose cravat;
There was splenetic journalistic Fred,
Of the sharp retort and the shabby hat;
There was dreamy Frank, of the lounging gait,
Who lived on nothing a year, or less,
And always meant to be something great,
But only meant, and smoked to excess;
Who lived on nothing a year, or less,
And always meant to be something great,
But only meant, and smoked to excess;
And last myself, whom their funny sneers
Annoyed no whit as they laughed and said,
‘I listened to all their grand ideas
And wrote them out for my daily bread.’
Annoyed no whit as they laughed and said,
‘I listened to all their grand ideas
And wrote them out for my daily bread.’
The Teuton beer-bibbers came and went,
Night after night, and stared, good folk,
At our table, noisy with argument,
And our chronic aureoles of smoke.
Night after night, and stared, good folk,
At our table, noisy with argument,
And our chronic aureoles of smoke.
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And oh, my life! but we all loved well
The talk, free, fearless, keen, profound,
The rockets of wit that flashed and fell
In that dull old tavern underground! ...
The talk, free, fearless, keen, profound,
The rockets of wit that flashed and fell
In that dull old tavern underground! ...
But there came a change in my days at last,
And fortune forgot to starve and stint,
And the people chose to admire aghast
The book I had eaten dirt to print.
And fortune forgot to starve and stint,
And the people chose to admire aghast
The book I had eaten dirt to print.
And new friends gathered about me, then,
New voices summoned me there and here;
The world went down in my dingy den,
And drew me forth from the pipes and beer.
New voices summoned me there and here;
The world went down in my dingy den,
And drew me forth from the pipes and beer.
I took the stamp of my altered lot,
As the sands of the certain seasons ran,
And slowly, whether I would or not,
I felt myself growing a gentleman.
As the sands of the certain seasons ran,
And slowly, whether I would or not,
I felt myself growing a gentleman.
But now and then I would break the thrall,
I would yield to a pang of dumb regret,
And steal to join them, and find them all,
With the amber wassail near them yet.
I would yield to a pang of dumb regret,
And steal to join them, and find them all,
With the amber wassail near them yet.
Find, and join them, and try to seem
A fourth for the old queer merry three,
With my fame as much of a yearning dream
As my morrow's dinner was wont to be.
A fourth for the old queer merry three,
With my fame as much of a yearning dream
As my morrow's dinner was wont to be.
But the wit would lag, and the mirth would lack,
And the god of jollity hear no call,
And the prosperous broadcloth on my back
Hung over their spirits like a pall!
And the god of jollity hear no call,
And the prosperous broadcloth on my back
Hung over their spirits like a pall!
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It was not that they failed, each one, to try
Their warmth of welcome to speak and show;
I should just have risen and said good-bye,
With a haughty look, had they served me so.
Their warmth of welcome to speak and show;
I should just have risen and said good-bye,
With a haughty look, had they served me so.
It was rather that each would seem, instead,
With not one vestige of spleen or pride,
Across a chasm of change to spread
His greeting hands to the further side.
With not one vestige of spleen or pride,
Across a chasm of change to spread
His greeting hands to the further side.
And our gladdest words rang strange and cold,
Like the echoes of other long-lost words;
And the nights were no more the nights of old
Than Spring would be Spring without the birds!
Like the echoes of other long-lost words;
And the nights were no more the nights of old
Than Spring would be Spring without the birds!
So they waned and waned, these visits of mine,
Till I married the heiress, ending here.
For if caste approves the cigars and wine,
She must frown perforce upon pipes and beer.
Till I married the heiress, ending here.
For if caste approves the cigars and wine,
She must frown perforce upon pipes and beer.
And now 'tis years since I saw these men,
Years since I knew them living yet.
And of this alone I am sure, since then—
That none has gained what he toiled to get.
Years since I knew them living yet.
And of this alone I am sure, since then—
That none has gained what he toiled to get.
For I keep strict watch on the world of art,
And George, with his wide rich-dowered brain!
His fervent fancy, his ardent heart,
Though he greatly toiled, has toiled in vain.
And George, with his wide rich-dowered brain!
His fervent fancy, his ardent heart,
Though he greatly toiled, has toiled in vain.
And Fred, for all he may sparkle bright
In caustic column, in clever quip,
Of a truth must still be hiding his light
Beneath the bushel of journalship.
In caustic column, in clever quip,
Of a truth must still be hiding his light
Beneath the bushel of journalship.
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And dreamy Frank must be dreaming still,
Lounging through life, if yet alive,
Smoking his vast preposterous fill,
Lounging, smoking, striving to strive.
Lounging through life, if yet alive,
Smoking his vast preposterous fill,
Lounging, smoking, striving to strive.
And I, the fourth in that old queer throng,
Fourth and least, as my soul avows,—
I alone have been counted strong,
I alone have the laurelled brows!
Fourth and least, as my soul avows,—
I alone have been counted strong,
I alone have the laurelled brows!
Well, and what has it all been worth?
May not my soul to my soul confess
That “succeeding,” here upon earth,
Does not alway assume success?
May not my soul to my soul confess
That “succeeding,” here upon earth,
Does not alway assume success?
I would cast, and gladly, from this gray head
Its crown, to regain one sweet lost year
With artist George, with splenetic Fred,
With dreamy Frank, with the pipes and beer!
Its crown, to regain one sweet lost year
With artist George, with splenetic Fred,
With dreamy Frank, with the pipes and beer!
TO AN OLD STREET-LAMP.
I watch thee now, with meditative mood,
In the old street, noiseless under midnight's spell,
Whereof through many a midnight hast thou stood,
Poor flickering lamp, the yellow sentinel.
Thine humble flame no rivalry invites;
More than thyself thou dost not care to seem;
Thou art not of the world's most shining lights,
Yet what thou art is of benignant beam!
In the old street, noiseless under midnight's spell,
Whereof through many a midnight hast thou stood,
Poor flickering lamp, the yellow sentinel.
Thine humble flame no rivalry invites;
More than thyself thou dost not care to seem;
Thou art not of the world's most shining lights,
Yet what thou art is of benignant beam!
151
Harsh gusts that haughtiest waves have reared and rocked,
Sweeping the untraversed street with lonely roar,
Have paused amid their savage speed and knocked
With frigid knuckles at thy glassy door.
Half draped in snow-drift thou hast burned obscure;
Innumerous rain-streaks thy dull panes have crost,
And cold has vestured thine uncouth contour
In pale fantastic filigrees of frost!
Sweeping the untraversed street with lonely roar,
Have paused amid their savage speed and knocked
With frigid knuckles at thy glassy door.
Half draped in snow-drift thou hast burned obscure;
Innumerous rain-streaks thy dull panes have crost,
And cold has vestured thine uncouth contour
In pale fantastic filigrees of frost!
And ah, the uncounted faces thou hast lit,
Seen but by fleeting intervals before
Each into distance and the dark would flit,
Some to return again, and some no more!
The moneyed autocrat; the beggar meek;
The shambling rag-pick, half a man for mud;
The exhausted work-girl, on whose wasting cheek
Blooms the white flower that drinks the toiler's blood!
Seen but by fleeting intervals before
Each into distance and the dark would flit,
Some to return again, and some no more!
The moneyed autocrat; the beggar meek;
The shambling rag-pick, half a man for mud;
The exhausted work-girl, on whose wasting cheek
Blooms the white flower that drinks the toiler's blood!
The young bride, near her lord, all life at rest;
The expectant lover, speeding to his tryst;
The wearied house-drudge, with her babe at breast,
And forehead purpled from a brutish fist;
The ruminant poet, with his rusty coat;
The thief that shoots to covert in hot flight;
The reveller, flinging from audacious throat
A reckless dithyramb on the startled night!
The expectant lover, speeding to his tryst;
The wearied house-drudge, with her babe at breast,
And forehead purpled from a brutish fist;
The ruminant poet, with his rusty coat;
The thief that shoots to covert in hot flight;
The reveller, flinging from audacious throat
A reckless dithyramb on the startled night!
Theirs hast thou seen, and many another's face,
Since this thy special flame was called by fate
To illume, from its unclassic biding-place,
These stolid pavements' monochrome of slate.
For now the ladder that first scaled thine height
Is fallen, perchance, to utter rot and rust,
And doubtless the first hand that gave thee light
Knows now the unending quietude of dust!
Since this thy special flame was called by fate
To illume, from its unclassic biding-place,
These stolid pavements' monochrome of slate.
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Is fallen, perchance, to utter rot and rust,
And doubtless the first hand that gave thee light
Knows now the unending quietude of dust!
Hast thou not sometimes heard a bacchanal tongue
Pay thee sad slanders, worth no honest heed,
While arms about thy rigid pillar clung
With the fierce friendship of a friend in need?
Yet then, I doubt not, thou wert calm no less,
Though named unstable in delirious strain,
Too proudly conscious of thy steadfastness
For any answer but a dumb disdain!
Pay thee sad slanders, worth no honest heed,
While arms about thy rigid pillar clung
With the fierce friendship of a friend in need?
Yet then, I doubt not, thou wert calm no less,
Though named unstable in delirious strain,
Too proudly conscious of thy steadfastness
For any answer but a dumb disdain!
Patient and unpretentious, with the sweet
Desire alike to live for low and high,
Shine on, old lamp, within the shadowy street
Where fortune hath ordained thy lot to lie!
And mayst thou fade, when time at last shall tell
The gaseous ardor from thy pipe to cease,
Like one that having done his duty well
Sinks to oblivion with a brow of peace!
Desire alike to live for low and high,
Shine on, old lamp, within the shadowy street
Where fortune hath ordained thy lot to lie!
And mayst thou fade, when time at last shall tell
The gaseous ardor from thy pipe to cease,
Like one that having done his duty well
Sinks to oblivion with a brow of peace!
153
A BARNYARD ECLOGUE.
Good neighbor mine, can you endure
To look on man in miniature?
I keep no magic mirror hid,
(As the ancient Cagliostros did)
Unveiling it for one to see
Humanity in epitome.
Or, if at all with such I deal,
'Tis only that my powers reveal
Those fleet fantastic shapes which pass
O'er caricature's cracked looking-glass?
To look on man in miniature?
I keep no magic mirror hid,
(As the ancient Cagliostros did)
Unveiling it for one to see
Humanity in epitome.
Or, if at all with such I deal,
'Tis only that my powers reveal
Those fleet fantastic shapes which pass
O'er caricature's cracked looking-glass?
Now do you love your race too well
To admit the comic parallel
That lies between ourselves and this
Ornithologic metropolis,
Which near us clucks and struts and thrives,—
Four hundred appetizing lives?
That fowl in whose tail's ebon sweep
Rich emerald lustres love to sleep,
Who deems his top-knot, black as tar,
To have doubtless crowned him barnyard czar,
Or heir presumptive, beyond all ban,
To El Dorados of golden bran—
Search Europe, and you shall not see
Such an aristocrat as he!
To admit the comic parallel
That lies between ourselves and this
Ornithologic metropolis,
Which near us clucks and struts and thrives,—
Four hundred appetizing lives?
That fowl in whose tail's ebon sweep
Rich emerald lustres love to sleep,
Who deems his top-knot, black as tar,
To have doubtless crowned him barnyard czar,
Or heir presumptive, beyond all ban,
To El Dorados of golden bran—
Search Europe, and you shall not see
Such an aristocrat as he!
But there are those before whose brow
Even this black Marmion must bow,
Though ill can brook his haughty eye
Precedence from such low canaille.
Look yonder, where the lord doth stand
Of all this polygamic land,—
The sultan, caliph, Brigham Young
Of the abject throngs he rules among;
Or, as we call, in homelier talk,
His Highness—Cock of All the Walk!
What boots it in one's veins to hold
A royal current, rare and old—
Be prince by right of head-tuft, legs,
Through ancestries of blameless eggs,
When some vile upstart crows with zeal
On heights no vulgar claw should feel,
Rearing a head that seems to glow
With Communism's red overflow?
Alas! the tribes are few on earth
Where brute force may not level birth!
These feathered Bourbons do but serve
To show the usurper's hardy nerve,
And prove by their own bitter smarts
Even barnyards may have Bonapartes!
Even this black Marmion must bow,
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Precedence from such low canaille.
Look yonder, where the lord doth stand
Of all this polygamic land,—
The sultan, caliph, Brigham Young
Of the abject throngs he rules among;
Or, as we call, in homelier talk,
His Highness—Cock of All the Walk!
What boots it in one's veins to hold
A royal current, rare and old—
Be prince by right of head-tuft, legs,
Through ancestries of blameless eggs,
When some vile upstart crows with zeal
On heights no vulgar claw should feel,
Rearing a head that seems to glow
With Communism's red overflow?
Alas! the tribes are few on earth
Where brute force may not level birth!
These feathered Bourbons do but serve
To show the usurper's hardy nerve,
And prove by their own bitter smarts
Even barnyards may have Bonapartes!
Mark with what grave maternal pride
This patient hen, her chicks at side,
Moves like a dame of proud degree,
Each chick a sort of live pe-wee,
Filling with sound that scarce knows hush
Its biped ball of tawny plush.
Ill could we find in human mood
More motherly solicitude,
Or the intense devotion match
Of that same strenuous awkward scratch,
Whose good results, whate'er they be,
Her offspring seize in hot sortie,
While o'er them, softly wishing luck,
Sounds her self-abnegating cluck.
Ah, what rich burlesque may we trace
On the “fat, fair and forty” race,
In this majestic hen, this gray
Cornelia of a latter day,
Showing, with all their plaintive din,
Her downy Gracchi, six times twin!
What eye but plainly finds in her,
The yard's bucolic dowager,
A life that stands (no common boon!)
At chickenhood's mellow afternoon?
Her figure, as one promptly sees,
Attains embonpoint's ampler ease,
From early indiscretions born
(Girls will be girls) in granary-corn;
And with her matron mien we find
A sad austerity entwined—
Something that tells us, at a glance,
She has outlived her first romance,
And buried young love's dream, may be,
In some long-eaten fricassee!
This patient hen, her chicks at side,
Moves like a dame of proud degree,
Each chick a sort of live pe-wee,
Filling with sound that scarce knows hush
Its biped ball of tawny plush.
Ill could we find in human mood
More motherly solicitude,
Or the intense devotion match
Of that same strenuous awkward scratch,
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Her offspring seize in hot sortie,
While o'er them, softly wishing luck,
Sounds her self-abnegating cluck.
Ah, what rich burlesque may we trace
On the “fat, fair and forty” race,
In this majestic hen, this gray
Cornelia of a latter day,
Showing, with all their plaintive din,
Her downy Gracchi, six times twin!
What eye but plainly finds in her,
The yard's bucolic dowager,
A life that stands (no common boon!)
At chickenhood's mellow afternoon?
Her figure, as one promptly sees,
Attains embonpoint's ampler ease,
From early indiscretions born
(Girls will be girls) in granary-corn;
And with her matron mien we find
A sad austerity entwined—
Something that tells us, at a glance,
She has outlived her first romance,
And buried young love's dream, may be,
In some long-eaten fricassee!
Notice that plain ill-favored cock,
Commonplace, of indifferent stock.
Thus far about his earthly lot
The least delights have gathered not.
Always, through some harsh whim of fate's,
A neighbor beak beside him waits,
Ready to seize, ere he can guess,
The yellow corn-grain of success.
And much change hath he seen withal,
Since first he served as fortune's ball:
The low turned high, the high made low
By flashy plume and pompous crow;
Discord and pecking; rise and fall,
Now social, now political;
Governments trembling with the shock
Of some great head brought to the block;
Those reigns of terror that we men
Rouse in the barnyard now and then,
Robespierres, Dantons setting free
When company drops in to tea,
And eating broiled, with no regrets,
Gallinaceous Marie Antoinettes!
Such change and more hath passed him by,
Met now with philosophic eye,
Since he at last in heart has come
To observe events in Roosterdom
With ripened wisdom's critic view,
As so much ... cockadoodledoo!
Commonplace, of indifferent stock.
Thus far about his earthly lot
The least delights have gathered not.
Always, through some harsh whim of fate's,
A neighbor beak beside him waits,
156
The yellow corn-grain of success.
And much change hath he seen withal,
Since first he served as fortune's ball:
The low turned high, the high made low
By flashy plume and pompous crow;
Discord and pecking; rise and fall,
Now social, now political;
Governments trembling with the shock
Of some great head brought to the block;
Those reigns of terror that we men
Rouse in the barnyard now and then,
Robespierres, Dantons setting free
When company drops in to tea,
And eating broiled, with no regrets,
Gallinaceous Marie Antoinettes!
Such change and more hath passed him by,
Met now with philosophic eye,
Since he at last in heart has come
To observe events in Roosterdom
With ripened wisdom's critic view,
As so much ... cockadoodledoo!
Ah, friend, for hours my speech might brood
O'er many an odd similitude,
And let, while murmuring careless things,
Analogy fly with fancy's wings.
We all know well, who know aright,
Some foolish fowls will sometimes fight;
But far too rudely have I rent
The apparent veil of sweet content
That wraps with such idyllic charm
These simple gypsies of the farm.
Best in their harmless joys believe,
Nor brush, with too bold sweep of sleeve,
From fruit so seeming-fresh of hue
The illusive damask of its dew!
If human greed, spite, envy stirs
These gentle wayside foragers,
(Captives that never need a guard,
Meek tentless Bedouins of the yard)
Why, best that we should shirk intact
The disenchanting realm of fact,
Skeptic as though some lip to-day
To our incredulous ear should say:
In yonder garden's glimmering close,
The lily wrangles with the rose.”
O'er many an odd similitude,
And let, while murmuring careless things,
Analogy fly with fancy's wings.
We all know well, who know aright,
Some foolish fowls will sometimes fight;
But far too rudely have I rent
The apparent veil of sweet content
157
These simple gypsies of the farm.
Best in their harmless joys believe,
Nor brush, with too bold sweep of sleeve,
From fruit so seeming-fresh of hue
The illusive damask of its dew!
If human greed, spite, envy stirs
These gentle wayside foragers,
(Captives that never need a guard,
Meek tentless Bedouins of the yard)
Why, best that we should shirk intact
The disenchanting realm of fact,
Skeptic as though some lip to-day
To our incredulous ear should say:
In yonder garden's glimmering close,
The lily wrangles with the rose.”
Ah, that recalls, before you go,
The new grand rose I was to show;
(Follow this narrow footpath, please,
Down-hill beyond the cedar-trees).
A royal rose, good neighbor mine,
Large, deep and gold as Rhenish wine!
The new grand rose I was to show;
(Follow this narrow footpath, please,
Down-hill beyond the cedar-trees).
A royal rose, good neighbor mine,
Large, deep and gold as Rhenish wine!
| Fantasy and Passion | |