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81
Verses of Occasion
“Gelegenheitsgedichte—die erste und
ächteste aller Dichtarten.”
Goethe: Dichtung und Wahrheit
83
An Episode in Mountain Manœuvres
Far down the glacier-streams, by pathways made for mules,
The mountain-troops have come, and crowd our café-stools,
Their elbows brush the board, and in the evening breeze
Their long moustaches wave, their hands rest on their knees.
Weary and soiled they come, from marching, days on days,
Up torrents choked with thorns, down rattling pebbly ways;
Patient and brown they sit, blue-clad, with white-webb'd feet,
The mountain-troops have come, and crowd our café-stools,
Their elbows brush the board, and in the evening breeze
Their long moustaches wave, their hands rest on their knees.
Weary and soiled they come, from marching, days on days,
Up torrents choked with thorns, down rattling pebbly ways;
Patient and brown they sit, blue-clad, with white-webb'd feet,
Like carrier-pigeons perched, half-dozing in the heat,
They seem to bear the hue of gentians in their eyes.
They seem to bear the hue of gentians in their eyes.
The old gray town has scarce awaked from its surprise
At this pacific inroad from the virgin-snows.
Scented and deep the twilight wind that gently blows
From vines engendering slow the tender wine begun;
From beds of matted thyme and mint-weed hot i' the sun;
From vaguely perfumed places rising far to south.
At this pacific inroad from the virgin-snows.
Scented and deep the twilight wind that gently blows
From vines engendering slow the tender wine begun;
From beds of matted thyme and mint-weed hot i' the sun;
From vaguely perfumed places rising far to south.
The children lounge from school, with peaches at their mouth,
And watch the soldiers playing tric-trac in the shade,
Or march with mimic drum and clarion un-afraid,
Until real warriors seize some straggler from the ranks,
And break in shrieks of mirth that insolent phalanx.
And watch the soldiers playing tric-trac in the shade,
Or march with mimic drum and clarion un-afraid,
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And break in shrieks of mirth that insolent phalanx.
Mounting the meadow-side, we start by slow degrees
To gather crocus-buds beneath the walnut-trees;
To watch within the disks of broad rough thistle-flowers
The tipsy velvet bees that suck for hours and hours,
And flounder home at last by mere blind instinct led;—
To hear the gushing spring half-strangled in its bed,
A briar around its brows, thick purslains at its throat,
Its limbs enmeshed in weeds that rather drag than float;
To taste the savorous hour that ushers in the dark.
To gather crocus-buds beneath the walnut-trees;
To watch within the disks of broad rough thistle-flowers
The tipsy velvet bees that suck for hours and hours,
And flounder home at last by mere blind instinct led;—
To hear the gushing spring half-strangled in its bed,
A briar around its brows, thick purslains at its throat,
Its limbs enmeshed in weeds that rather drag than float;
To taste the savorous hour that ushers in the dark.
When lo! returning back, the town is still and stark.
Silence is everywhere! The troops have taken flight!
The tired battalion gone to face a mountain night!
Silence is everywhere! The troops have taken flight!
The tired battalion gone to face a mountain night!
On some high upland crest their bivouack is spread,
And nearer much to heaven than ours their wholesome bed;
Their eyes will open next where all the gentians are,
Close under Hesperus, their sentinel, their star.
And nearer much to heaven than ours their wholesome bed;
Their eyes will open next where all the gentians are,
Close under Hesperus, their sentinel, their star.
Allevard, 1903
85
Poems written in Norway in 1899
I. The Peninsula
The lilac ling my bed, I lay
In that entranced half-isle of ours,—
That Sirmio of a northern bay,
Paven with tiny leaves and flowers;—
Ancestral birches down the blue
Their waterfalls of silver threw.
In that entranced half-isle of ours,—
That Sirmio of a northern bay,
Paven with tiny leaves and flowers;—
Ancestral birches down the blue
Their waterfalls of silver threw.
Between their gnarl'd and papery boughs
The radiant lake burned in the sun;
I looked out of their fairy house,
And watched the waves break one by one—
Reverberant turquoise shattered there
Between green earth and golden air.
The radiant lake burned in the sun;
I looked out of their fairy house,
And watched the waves break one by one—
Reverberant turquoise shattered there
Between green earth and golden air.
Hot in the breeze, the distant pines
Cast wafts of spice across our shore;
And unseen rosemaries gave signs,
And secret junipers their store;
From every flower and herb and tree
Sabæan odours sighed to me.
Cast wafts of spice across our shore;
And unseen rosemaries gave signs,
And secret junipers their store;
From every flower and herb and tree
Sabæan odours sighed to me.
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And all things sang, too,—the soft wind,
The birch-leaves' petulant, shy sound,
The lapping waters, and the thinned
Sleek tufts of autumn leafage browned,
The cow-bell far away, that fills
All corners of the folded hills.
The birch-leaves' petulant, shy sound,
The lapping waters, and the thinned
Sleek tufts of autumn leafage browned,
The cow-bell far away, that fills
All corners of the folded hills.
Thus odour, song, and colour wrought
A magic raiment for my soul:
All the dark garments pain had brought
To robe me for the masque of dole
Fell from me straightway; I was clad
As angels when God makes them glad.
A magic raiment for my soul:
All the dark garments pain had brought
To robe me for the masque of dole
Fell from me straightway; I was clad
As angels when God makes them glad.
Blue, golden-green, and silver-white—
Were these not hues for happiness?
In our elysian island bright,
Round the worn pilgrim still they press;
They dress him for the world anew,
These spirits of white and green and blue.
Were these not hues for happiness?
In our elysian island bright,
Round the worn pilgrim still they press;
They dress him for the world anew,
These spirits of white and green and blue.
And so for hours I laid my head
Upon the lilac spires of ling,
And thus, by Beauty islanded,
I heard the lustral waters sing,
And watched the low wind stir the gold
And turn the quavering birch-leaves cold.
Upon the lilac spires of ling,
And thus, by Beauty islanded,
I heard the lustral waters sing,
And watched the low wind stir the gold
And turn the quavering birch-leaves cold.
Næset i Bygland,
August 4.
87
II. The Cataract
From slippery slab to slab I crawl
Above the shattering waterfall.
Above the shattering waterfall.
A mist, like hopeless human prayer,
Curls in the firs and welters there.
Curls in the firs and welters there.
Through them I watch descend, descend
The shuddering waters without end.
The shuddering waters without end.
Gray tears have fallen to swell this flood,
And iron-ruddy drops like blood.
And iron-ruddy drops like blood.
It moans, and sobs, and howls, and sings,
And whispers of heart-breaking things.
And whispers of heart-breaking things.
For ages it has thundered so
Into the slate-blue lake below.
Into the slate-blue lake below.
Each streak of blood, each cold gray tear,
Sinks down into the sullen mere.
Sinks down into the sullen mere.
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Sinks down, and vanishes, and dies,
Yet the lake's borders never rise.
Yet the lake's borders never rise.
So to God's silent heart are hurled
The sorrows of the unsuccoured world.
The sorrows of the unsuccoured world.
Tinnfossen,
August 19.
89
III. The Lake
Nevermore sail or oar
Hears the chorus that once bore us
To the shore,
Where the birches shake their tresses
From the outmost sandy nesses.
Hears the chorus that once bore us
To the shore,
Where the birches shake their tresses
From the outmost sandy nesses.
Fare ye well, brae and dell,
And our meadow, deep in shadow!
Never tell
How we loved your pleasant reaches
And the shade of your sleek beeches.
And our meadow, deep in shadow!
Never tell
How we loved your pleasant reaches
And the shade of your sleek beeches.
Hours and hours, sun and showers,
Quiet-breasted, here we rested
By your flowers.
Flowers will fade and life is tragic;
Keep, sweet lake, your breathless magic.
Quiet-breasted, here we rested
By your flowers.
Flowers will fade and life is tragic;
Keep, sweet lake, your breathless magic.
To your shore nevermore
Come we sailing, blithely hailing,
As of yore;
To return would break asunder
All the threads we wove in wonder.
Come we sailing, blithely hailing,
As of yore;
To return would break asunder
All the threads we wove in wonder.
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Then, adieu! not of you
Shall a broken heart be token,
Wavelets blue!
We must steer our barque of sorrow
To some darker shore to-morrow.
Shall a broken heart be token,
Wavelets blue!
We must steer our barque of sorrow
To some darker shore to-morrow.
Byglandsfjorden,
August 15.
91
IV. Verses
[_]
Written in the album of Anna Björnaraa, the composer and singer of Stev, where many Norwegian and Danish poets had written.
Immortal song still gushes like a fountain,
And with its delicate enchantment fills
The granite goblet of the hollow mountain,
I come, the pilgrim of an alien clime,
And croon a stave with these my Northland brothers,
Since more than blood-kin is the bond of rhyme,
And sisters were our ancient Muses' mothers.
Vik i Valle, Sætersdalen,
August 8.
92
A Song for the New Year
What graven words shall mark as mine
This milestone of a year?
What prayer shall be the worthy sign
Of all I hope and fear?
Not greed for gold—
I'm growing old;
Burdens I dare no more uphold;
Nor deem I meet for weary feet
The dust and struggle of the street.
This milestone of a year?
What prayer shall be the worthy sign
Of all I hope and fear?
Not greed for gold—
I'm growing old;
Burdens I dare no more uphold;
Nor deem I meet for weary feet
The dust and struggle of the street.
Then shall I wish for utter peace?
For light with calm around?
For all the stir of life to cease
In apathy profound?
Ah! no, too long
I've warred with wrong;
I've loved the clash of battle-song;
For me, to drone in ease alone
Were heavier than a church-yard stone.
For light with calm around?
For all the stir of life to cease
In apathy profound?
Ah! no, too long
I've warred with wrong;
I've loved the clash of battle-song;
For me, to drone in ease alone
Were heavier than a church-yard stone.
And fame? Alas! it comes too late,
Or, coming, flies too soon;
It dawns, as o'er the meadow-gate,
Peers up the yellow moon;
It glows in power
One feverish hour,
Then passes like a perish'd flower;
Or sets, to rise in alien skies,
And cheat me of my lawful prize.
Or, coming, flies too soon;
It dawns, as o'er the meadow-gate,
Peers up the yellow moon;
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One feverish hour,
Then passes like a perish'd flower;
Or sets, to rise in alien skies,
And cheat me of my lawful prize.
Why, then, my New Year's wish shall be
For love, and love alone;
More hands to hold out joy to me,
More hearts for me to own;
And if the gain
In part be pain,—
Since time but gives to take again,—
Yet more than gold a thousand-fold
Is love that's neither bought nor sold.
For love, and love alone;
More hands to hold out joy to me,
More hearts for me to own;
And if the gain
In part be pain,—
Since time but gives to take again,—
Yet more than gold a thousand-fold
Is love that's neither bought nor sold.
94
The Cripples' Guild
To M. S.
Where no light of summer shone
By the streams of Babylon,
There they sate and wept alone;
By the streams of Babylon,
There they sate and wept alone;
Sobbing in the squalid shade
O'er the ruin life had made,
Sobbing, utterly dismayed;
O'er the ruin life had made,
Sobbing, utterly dismayed;
Listening to the wind that saith,
Piping with its hollow breath,
“Who may loose this body of death?”
Piping with its hollow breath,
“Who may loose this body of death?”
Then within that shrouded sky
Love's clear crystal flashed on high;
Voices rang, “Ye shall not die!”
Love's clear crystal flashed on high;
Voices rang, “Ye shall not die!”
Hope, by morning breezes fanned,
Waved the clarion in her hand,
Blew evangel through the land;
Waved the clarion in her hand,
Blew evangel through the land;
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Melted with her smile the snows;
Clothed the desert with the rose;
Brimmed the stream that fuller flows;
Clothed the desert with the rose;
Brimmed the stream that fuller flows;
Dried the tears that dropped like rain
On pale folded hands in vain;
Soothed the wild heart's fluttering pain;
On pale folded hands in vain;
Soothed the wild heart's fluttering pain;
Gave the untended fingers will
For the work that combats ill;
Proved the useless useful still.
For the work that combats ill;
Proved the useless useful still.
And the life that was so dark
Wins a rapture now, and, hark!
Carols like the soaring lark!
Wins a rapture now, and, hark!
Carols like the soaring lark!
Colour wakens in the grass,
And the river shines like glass,
While the moods of languor pass,
And the river shines like glass,
While the moods of languor pass,
Till the world that sobbed for grief,
Till the thin hours, bald and brief,
Smile in joy beyond belief.
Till the thin hours, bald and brief,
Smile in joy beyond belief.
96
Omariana
I
One cup of joy before the banquet ends!
One thought for vanish'd, for transfigur'd friends,
Stars on the living cope of heaven emboss'd,—
The heaven of love which o'er us beams and bends.
One thought for vanish'd, for transfigur'd friends,
Stars on the living cope of heaven emboss'd,—
The heaven of love which o'er us beams and bends.
Roses and bay for many a phantom head!
Death is but what we make it—for the dead;
Held fast in memory, those we've loved and lost
Shall live while blood is warm and wine is red.
Death is but what we make it—for the dead;
Held fast in memory, those we've loved and lost
Shall live while blood is warm and wine is red.
July 1895.
97
II
While
Zál and Rustum drew their thunderous line
Across the rolling veldts that shift and shine,
Or marching down the long sun-bitten road
Went wheeling round Rhinocerosfontejn,
Across the rolling veldts that shift and shine,
Or marching down the long sun-bitten road
Went wheeling round Rhinocerosfontejn,
We, laagered safe from all our shadowy foes,
Performed our rites and waved the double rose,
Feasted in innocently Persian mode,
And told the Master—what the Master knows.
Performed our rites and waved the double rose,
Feasted in innocently Persian mode,
And told the Master—what the Master knows.
In peace we drank: yet never might forget
With what rare wine the wilderness was wet,
What vintage, pour'd for us, the withering grass
Held to our glory and eternal debt.
With what rare wine the wilderness was wet,
What vintage, pour'd for us, the withering grass
Held to our glory and eternal debt.
Nor will forget! Yet are we folk of peace;
We long to hear the ringing warfare cease;
Then o'er our feast a purpler flush will pass
When Zál comes home with Rustum from the seas.
We long to hear the ringing warfare cease;
Then o'er our feast a purpler flush will pass
When Zál comes home with Rustum from the seas.
April 1900.
98
Experiments
I. Choriambics
To the late J. B. L.-W.
Warren, waken to verse! chant to us some new song!
Greece, Rome call not in vain, heroes of old, and gods;
Egypt, rending her veil, cries
“See where laughter has reigned, and tears!”
Greece, Rome call not in vain, heroes of old, and gods;
Egypt, rending her veil, cries
“See where laughter has reigned, and tears!”
Chant thou, till, in our hearts, veiled by the sands of time,
Sorrow, beauty and love, stirred by the antique shell
More than mortally stricken,
Echo, e'en as tho' Pindar sang.
Sorrow, beauty and love, stirred by the antique shell
More than mortally stricken,
Echo, e'en as tho' Pindar sang.
1878.
99
II. The Bob-Wheel
To the late W. C. M.
A bob-wheel Monkhouse bids me try,
Ten rhymes on two, besides the “bob”!
I hesitate, and start, and sigh:
The fear of failure makes me throb.
Can such a breathless bard as I
On these frail pinions heavenward fly?
Some dædal wizard let me rob!
Courage! the rhymes are gliding by;
'Tis almost done! See, knob by knob,
The bob-wheel turns!
Put something, Cosmo, in my fob,—
His wage the poet earns.
1880.
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