 | The Poems of Richard Watson Gilder |  |
UNDER THE STARS
A REQUIEM FOR AUGUSTUS SAINT-GAUDENS
I
O kindred stars, wherethrough his soul in flightPast to the immortals! 'neath your ageless light
I stand perplext, remembering that keen spirit
Quenched in mid-strength; the world, that shall inherit
His legacy of genius, all deprived
Of wealth untold, the still ungathered fruit
Of that great art! What honey all unhived;
What unborn grandeurs; noble music mute!
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II
O silent stars! even as I harken here,Heart-heavy, a murmurous and mysterious voice,
Blent with sweet wiry tones, on the inward ear
Strikes, and I hear the summons: “O rejoice,
Rejoice and mourn not!” Then that wondrous star
Now drawn near earth,—named for the god of war,—
The fiery planet cries across the night:
“Victory, Victory, he hath won the fight!”
III
O star of fire! he was thy very child!Mixt with his blood thy fierce, ensanguined ray!
'Gainst the proud forces of the sordid day
He battled valiantly, all unbeguiled
By what might tempt or foil a lesser soul.
Not wealth, nor ease, nor praise unworthily won
Could touch his spirit;—“There the swift course to run!”
“There, there, O see! the bright, immortal goal!”
IV
Thou star of blood and battle! rich and sweetThy liquid gleam, where, in the twilight sky,
Thou shinest greatly! So did his art repeat
Thy strength, thy loveliness; thy ministry,—
In a dark, harmful world,—of Beauty's guerdon;—
Beauty that broods, enlightens, and makes endure
The heart of man beneath its heavy burden,
Lifting above the strife a deathless lure.
V
O starry skies! O palpitant winds whose throbbingsFrom out the vast of heaven pulse and flow!
In light and sound eterne our human sobbings
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The garment wonderful wild nature throws
About its inner life: green glades withdrawn;
Anger of ocean; radiance of the rose;
The pomp superb of sunset and of dawn.
VI
White, trembling fires of the unknown universe!Ye speak of some august, inscrutable Power
Creative, from whose hand, to bless or curse,
Ye were sent forth—thrillingly, in an hour
Of force stupendous, swift, immeasurable;
To-night those unconsuming fires tell
Of one who, in the splendor of his passion,
Alas! tho' mortal, could the immortal fashion.
VII
O stars that sing as in creation's prime!He whom, with love and tears, we celebrate,
He, like the Power that made ye, could create—
Bringing to birth new beauty for all time:
Once, lo! these shapes were not, now do they live,
And shall forever in the hearts of men;
And from their life new life shall spring again,
To souls unborn new light and joy to give.
VIII
Ye stars, all music to the spirit's ear!Before the imperial music-masters knelt
This master of an art sublime, austere;
The very soul of music in him dwelt,
So in his lines the haunting strains of lyres,
From gracious forms deep tones symphonic spring;
Once more we hear the sound of heavenly wires,
Again the stars of morn together sing.
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IX
Red star of war! thy sons did he enshrineIn glorious art—fighters on sea and land;
In bronze they give again the brave command;
In bronze they march resistless, in divine
Ecstasy of devotion, not in wrath;
The fire and fury of battle he made real,
But like God's prophets moved they on their path
Led and uplifted by the great Ideal.
X
O fateful stars! that lit the climbing wayOf that dear, martyred son of fate and fame,—
The supreme soul of an immortal day,—
Linked with his name is our great sculptor's name;
For now in art eternal breathes again
The gaunt, sweet presence of our chief of men—
That soul of tenderness; that spirit stern,
Whose fires divine forever flame and burn.
XI
Stars of white midnight! tho' unseen by day,Imagined! He the unseen could subtly see
And image forth in most divine array:
Blest Charity, and Love, and Loyalty,
And Victory, and Grief; and, with a touch
Made tender by heroic years of pain,—
Telling in art what words might not contain,—
The calm, sweet face of Him who suffered much.
XII
Mysterious sky! where orbs constellate reign!Toward which the heart of man through endless ages
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Yet hath he read a little in thy pages;
And him we miss, learned well from thee to mold,—
As by the hand of Fate, in time's dark womb,—
That mystic form, a thousand centuries old;
That mournless mourner near a tragic tomb.
XIII
Ye stars eternal! in your motions wideI feel the march of time; audibly pours
To faithful ears the immemorial tide
Of starry seas that beat on infinite shores;
And, in that music magical, cold death,—
And grief its shadow,—melt and are undone;
And that which brings the miracle of breath,
And that which takes,—ay, that which takes,—are one.
XIV
O star of war! beyond thy troublous beamsHis freed soul wings to a great calm at last;
The deep night, with its tremulous, starry streams
Of light celestial, pours repose so vast
Naught can escape that flood; and now the faces,
Angelical, he molded with pure art,
In majesty look forth from heavenly spaces.
Enter thy peace, O high, tempestuous heart!
| The Poems of Richard Watson Gilder | |