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 | The poetical works of Edmund Clarence Stedman |  |
15
This Collection IS AFFECTIONATELY AND REVERENTLY Dedicated TO MY MOTHER.
23
ROSEMARY.
“There 's Rosemary, that 's for Remembrance.”
Years ago, when a summer sun
Warmed the greenwood into life,
I went wandering with one
Soon to be my wife.
Warmed the greenwood into life,
I went wandering with one
Soon to be my wife.
Birds were mating, and Love began
All the copses to infold;
Our two souls together ran
Melting in one mould.
All the copses to infold;
Our two souls together ran
Melting in one mould.
Skies were bluer than ever before:
It was joy to love you then,
And to know I loved you more
Than could other men!
It was joy to love you then,
And to know I loved you more
Than could other men!
24
Winds were fresh and your heart was brave,
Sang to mine a sweet refrain,
And for every pledge I gave
Pledged me back again.
Sang to mine a sweet refrain,
And for every pledge I gave
Pledged me back again.
How it happened I cannot tell,
But there came a cursed hour,
When some hidden shape of hell
Crept within our bower.
But there came a cursed hour,
When some hidden shape of hell
Crept within our bower.
Sudden and sharply either spoke
Bitter words of doubt and scorn;
Pride the golden linklets broke,—
Left us both forlorn.
Bitter words of doubt and scorn;
Pride the golden linklets broke,—
Left us both forlorn.
Seven long years have gone since then,
And I suffered, but, at last,
Rose and joined my fellow-men,
Crushing down the past.
And I suffered, but, at last,
Rose and joined my fellow-men,
Crushing down the past.
Far away over distant hills,
Now I know your life is led;
Have you felt the rust that kills?
Are your lilies dead?
Now I know your life is led;
Have you felt the rust that kills?
Are your lilies dead?
Summer and winter you have dwelt,
Like a statue, cold and white;
None, of all the crowd who knelt,
Read your soul aright.
Like a statue, cold and white;
None, of all the crowd who knelt,
Read your soul aright.
O, I knew the tremulous swell
Of its secret undertone!
That diviner music fell
On my ear alone!
Of its secret undertone!
That diviner music fell
On my ear alone!
25
Ever in dreams we meet with tears:
Lake and mountain—all are past:
With the stifled love of seven long years
Hold each other fast!
Lake and mountain—all are past:
With the stifled love of seven long years
Hold each other fast!
Though the glamoury of the night
Fades with morning far away,
Oftentimes a strange delight
Haunts the after-day.
Fades with morning far away,
Oftentimes a strange delight
Haunts the after-day.
Even now, when the summer sun
Warms the greenwood far within,
Even now my fancies run
On what might have been.
Warms the greenwood far within,
Even now my fancies run
On what might have been.
28
TOO LATE.
Crouch no more by the ivied walls,
Weep no longer over her grave,
Strew no flowers when evening falls:
Idly you lost what angels gave!
Weep no longer over her grave,
Strew no flowers when evening falls:
Idly you lost what angels gave!
Sunbeams cover that silent mound
With a warmer hue than your roses' red;
To-morrow's rain will bedew the ground
With a purer stream than the tears you shed.
With a warmer hue than your roses' red;
To-morrow's rain will bedew the ground
With a purer stream than the tears you shed.
29
But neither the sweets of the scattered flowers,
Nor the morning sunlight's soft command,
Nor all the songs of the summer showers,
Can charm her back from that distant land.
Nor the morning sunlight's soft command,
Nor all the songs of the summer showers,
Can charm her back from that distant land.
Tenderest vows are ever too late!
She, who has gone, can only know
The cruel sorrow that was her fate,
And the words that were a mortal woe.
She, who has gone, can only know
The cruel sorrow that was her fate,
And the words that were a mortal woe.
Earth to earth, and a vain despair;
For the gentle spirit has flown away,
And you can never her wrongs repair,
Till ye meet again at the Judgment Day.
For the gentle spirit has flown away,
And you can never her wrongs repair,
Till ye meet again at the Judgment Day.
30
FLOOD-TIDE.
Just at sunrise, when the land-breeze cooled the fevered air once more,
From a restless couch I wandered to the sounding ocean shore;
Strolling down through furrowed sand-hills, while the splendor of the day
Flashed across the trembling waters to the West and far away.
There I saw, in distant moorings, many an anchored vessel tall;
Heard with cheery morning voices sailor unto sailor call.
Crowned with trailing plumes of sable, right afront my standing-place
Moved a swarthy ocean-steamer in her storm-resisting grace.
Prophet-like, she clove the waters toward the ancient mother-land,
And I heard her clamorous engine and the echo of command,
While the long Atlantic billows to my feet came rolling on,
With the multitudinous music of a thousand ages gone.
From a restless couch I wandered to the sounding ocean shore;
Strolling down through furrowed sand-hills, while the splendor of the day
Flashed across the trembling waters to the West and far away.
There I saw, in distant moorings, many an anchored vessel tall;
Heard with cheery morning voices sailor unto sailor call.
Crowned with trailing plumes of sable, right afront my standing-place
Moved a swarthy ocean-steamer in her storm-resisting grace.
Prophet-like, she clove the waters toward the ancient mother-land,
And I heard her clamorous engine and the echo of command,
While the long Atlantic billows to my feet came rolling on,
With the multitudinous music of a thousand ages gone.
There I stood, with careless ankles half in sand and half in spray,
Till the baleful mist of midnight from my being passed away;
Then, with eager inhalations opening all my mantle wide,
Felt my spirit rise exultant with the rising of the tide;
Felt the joyous morning breezes run afresh through every vein,
Till the natural pulse of manhood beat the call-to-arms again.
Then came utterance self-condemning,—oh, how wild with sudden scorn
Of the chain that held me circling in a little round forlorn!
Of the sloth which, like a vapor, hugs the dull, insensate heart,
That can act in meek submission to the lowness of its part,—
In the broad terrestrial drama play the herald or the clown,
While the warrior wins his garlands and the monarch wears his crown!
Till the baleful mist of midnight from my being passed away;
Then, with eager inhalations opening all my mantle wide,
31
Felt the joyous morning breezes run afresh through every vein,
Till the natural pulse of manhood beat the call-to-arms again.
Then came utterance self-condemning,—oh, how wild with sudden scorn
Of the chain that held me circling in a little round forlorn!
Of the sloth which, like a vapor, hugs the dull, insensate heart,
That can act in meek submission to the lowness of its part,—
In the broad terrestrial drama play the herald or the clown,
While the warrior wins his garlands and the monarch wears his crown!
“Shame” I said, “upon the craven who can rest, content to save
Paltry handfuls of the riches that his guardian-angel gave!
Shame upon all listless dreamers early hiding from the strife,
Sated with some little gleaning of the harvest-fields of life!
Shame upon God's toiling thinkers, who make profit of their brains,
Getting store of scornful pittance for their slow-decaying pains!
Give me purpose, steadfast purpose, and the grandeur of a soul
Born to lead the van of armies or a people to control.
Let me float away and ever, from this shore of bog and mire,
On the mounting waves of effort, buoyed by the soul's desire!
Would that it were mine to govern yon large wonder of our time:
Such a life were worth the living! thus to sail through every clime,
From a hundred spicy shorelands bearing treasures manifold;
Foremost to achieve discovery of the peerless lands of gold;
Or to thrid the crashing hummocks for the silent Northern Pole,
And those solemn open waters that beyond the iceplains roll,—
Cold and shining sea of ages! like a silver fillet set
On the Earth's eternal forehead, for her bridal coronet.
Or to close with some tall frigate, for my country and the right,
Gunwale grinding into gunwale through the rolling cloud of fight.
When the din of cannonading and the jarring war should cease,
From the lion's mouth of battle there should flow the sweets of peace.
I should count repose in cities from my seventy years a loss,—
Resting only on the waters, like the dusk-winged albatross.
I should lay the wire-wrought cable—a ghostly depth below—
Along the marly summit of the plummet-found plateau;
To the old Antipodes with the olive branch should roam,
Joining swart Mongolian races to the ranks of Christendom.
Oftentimes our stately presence in a tyrant's port should save
Captives, rash in freedom-loving, from the dungeon and the grave;
And a hymn should greet our coming, far across the orient sea,
Like the glad apostles' anthem, when an angel set them free.
Paltry handfuls of the riches that his guardian-angel gave!
Shame upon all listless dreamers early hiding from the strife,
Sated with some little gleaning of the harvest-fields of life!
Shame upon God's toiling thinkers, who make profit of their brains,
Getting store of scornful pittance for their slow-decaying pains!
Give me purpose, steadfast purpose, and the grandeur of a soul
Born to lead the van of armies or a people to control.
Let me float away and ever, from this shore of bog and mire,
32
Would that it were mine to govern yon large wonder of our time:
Such a life were worth the living! thus to sail through every clime,
From a hundred spicy shorelands bearing treasures manifold;
Foremost to achieve discovery of the peerless lands of gold;
Or to thrid the crashing hummocks for the silent Northern Pole,
And those solemn open waters that beyond the iceplains roll,—
Cold and shining sea of ages! like a silver fillet set
On the Earth's eternal forehead, for her bridal coronet.
Or to close with some tall frigate, for my country and the right,
Gunwale grinding into gunwale through the rolling cloud of fight.
When the din of cannonading and the jarring war should cease,
From the lion's mouth of battle there should flow the sweets of peace.
I should count repose in cities from my seventy years a loss,—
Resting only on the waters, like the dusk-winged albatross.
I should lay the wire-wrought cable—a ghostly depth below—
Along the marly summit of the plummet-found plateau;
To the old Antipodes with the olive branch should roam,
Joining swart Mongolian races to the ranks of Christendom.
33
Captives, rash in freedom-loving, from the dungeon and the grave;
And a hymn should greet our coming, far across the orient sea,
Like the glad apostles' anthem, when an angel set them free.
Such the nobler life heroic! life which ancient Homer sung
Of the sinewy Grecian worthies, when the blithesome Earth was young,
And a hundred marvellous legends lay about the misty land
Where the wanton Sirens carolled and the cliffs of Scylla stand.
How their lusty strokes made answer, when Ulysses held the helm,
And with subtle words of wisdom spake of many a wondrous realm!
Neither Circè, nor the languor of enchanted nights and days
Soothed their eager-eyed disquiet,—tamed their venturous, epic ways;
And the dread Sicilian monster, in his cavern by the shore,
Felt the shadow of their coming, and was blind for evermore.
Of the sinewy Grecian worthies, when the blithesome Earth was young,
And a hundred marvellous legends lay about the misty land
Where the wanton Sirens carolled and the cliffs of Scylla stand.
How their lusty strokes made answer, when Ulysses held the helm,
And with subtle words of wisdom spake of many a wondrous realm!
Neither Circè, nor the languor of enchanted nights and days
Soothed their eager-eyed disquiet,—tamed their venturous, epic ways;
And the dread Sicilian monster, in his cavern by the shore,
Felt the shadow of their coming, and was blind for evermore.
So lived all those stalwart captains of the loyal Saxon blood,
Grasping morsels of adventure as an eagle grasps his food;
Fought till death for queen and country, hating Anti-christ and Spain;
Sacked the rich Castilian cities of the glittering western main;
Hacked and hewed the molten idols of each gray cathedral pile,
And with Carthaginian silver dowered the virgin English isle.
Up and down the proud Antilles still the ringing echoes go:
Ho! a Raleigh! Ho! a Drake!—and, forever, Westward Ho!
Grasping morsels of adventure as an eagle grasps his food;
34
Sacked the rich Castilian cities of the glittering western main;
Hacked and hewed the molten idols of each gray cathedral pile,
And with Carthaginian silver dowered the virgin English isle.
Up and down the proud Antilles still the ringing echoes go:
Ho! a Raleigh! Ho! a Drake!—and, forever, Westward Ho!
Why should not my later pæan catch the swell of that refrain,
And, with bursts of fresh endeavor, send it down the age again?
But I know, that, while the mariner wafts along the golden year,
Broader continents of action open up in every sphere.
And I deem those noble also, who, with strong persuasive art,
Strike the chords of aspiration in a people's lyric heart.
If in mine—of all republics the Atlantis and supreme—
There be little cause for mouthing on the old, undying theme—
Yet I falter while I say it:—ours of every crime the worst!
For the long revenge of Heaven crying loud and calling first:
But if fiery Carolina and all the sensual South,
Like the world before the deluge, laugh to scorn the warning mouth,—
In the lap of hoary Europe lie her children ill at rest,
Reaching hands of supplication to their brethren of the West;
Pale about the lifeless fountain of their ancient freedom, wait
Till the angel move its waters and avenge their stricken state.
Let me then, a new crusader, to the eastward set my face,
Wake the fires of old tradition on each sacred altar-place,
Till a trodden people rouse them, with a clamor as divine
As the winds of autumn roaring through the clumps of forest-pine.
I myself would seize their banner; they should follow where it led,
To the triumph of the victors or the pallor of the dead.
It were better than to conquer—from the light of life to go
With such words as once were uttered, off the isle of Floreo:
Here die I, Sir Richard Grenvile, of a free and joyful mood:
Ending earth for God and honor, as a valiant soldier should!
But my present life—what is it? mated, housed, like other men;
Thoughtful of the cost of feeding, valiant only with the pen;
Lying, walled about with custom, on an iron bed of creeds;
Peering out through grated windows at the joy my spirit needs.
And I hear the sound of chanting,—mailed men are passing by;
Crumble, walls, and loosen, fetters! I will join them, ere I die!”
And, with bursts of fresh endeavor, send it down the age again?
But I know, that, while the mariner wafts along the golden year,
Broader continents of action open up in every sphere.
And I deem those noble also, who, with strong persuasive art,
Strike the chords of aspiration in a people's lyric heart.
If in mine—of all republics the Atlantis and supreme—
There be little cause for mouthing on the old, undying theme—
Yet I falter while I say it:—ours of every crime the worst!
For the long revenge of Heaven crying loud and calling first:
But if fiery Carolina and all the sensual South,
Like the world before the deluge, laugh to scorn the warning mouth,—
35
Reaching hands of supplication to their brethren of the West;
Pale about the lifeless fountain of their ancient freedom, wait
Till the angel move its waters and avenge their stricken state.
Let me then, a new crusader, to the eastward set my face,
Wake the fires of old tradition on each sacred altar-place,
Till a trodden people rouse them, with a clamor as divine
As the winds of autumn roaring through the clumps of forest-pine.
I myself would seize their banner; they should follow where it led,
To the triumph of the victors or the pallor of the dead.
It were better than to conquer—from the light of life to go
With such words as once were uttered, off the isle of Floreo:
Here die I, Sir Richard Grenvile, of a free and joyful mood:
Ending earth for God and honor, as a valiant soldier should!
But my present life—what is it? mated, housed, like other men;
Thoughtful of the cost of feeding, valiant only with the pen;
Lying, walled about with custom, on an iron bed of creeds;
Peering out through grated windows at the joy my spirit needs.
36
Crumble, walls, and loosen, fetters! I will join them, ere I die!”
So the sleeping thoughts of boyhood oped their eyes and newly stirred,
And my muscles cried for usage, till the man their plainings heard:
While the star that lit me ever in the dark and thorny ways,
Mine by natal consecration, by the choice of after days,—
Seen through all the sorrow thickening round the hopes of younger years,—
Rayless grew, and left me groping in the valley of my tears.
And my muscles cried for usage, till the man their plainings heard:
While the star that lit me ever in the dark and thorny ways,
Mine by natal consecration, by the choice of after days,—
Seen through all the sorrow thickening round the hopes of younger years,—
Rayless grew, and left me groping in the valley of my tears.
Seaward now the steamer hovered; seaward far her pennons trailed,
Where the blueness of the heavens at the clear horizon paled;
Where the mingled sky and water faded into fairyland,
Smaller than her tiny model, deftly launched from childhood's hand.
With a statelier swell and longer, up the glacis of the shore,
Came the waves that leapt so freshly in their youth, an hour before.
So I made an end and, turning, reached a scallop-crested rock,
In the stormy spring-tides hurling back the tumult of their shock.
There reclining, gazed a moment at the pebbles by my feet,
Left behind the billowy armies on their oceanward retreat;
Thousands lying close together, where the hosts a passage wore,
Many-hued, and tesselated in a quaint mosaic floor.
Where the blueness of the heavens at the clear horizon paled;
Where the mingled sky and water faded into fairyland,
Smaller than her tiny model, deftly launched from childhood's hand.
With a statelier swell and longer, up the glacis of the shore,
Came the waves that leapt so freshly in their youth, an hour before.
So I made an end and, turning, reached a scallop-crested rock,
37
There reclining, gazed a moment at the pebbles by my feet,
Left behind the billowy armies on their oceanward retreat;
Thousands lying close together, where the hosts a passage wore,
Many-hued, and tesselated in a quaint mosaic floor.
Thinking then upon their fitness,—each adjusted to its place,
Fairly strewn, and smoothed by Nature with her own exceeding grace,—
All at once some unseen warder drew the curtains wide apart,
That awhile had cast their shadow on the picture of my heart;
Told me—“Thou thyself hast said it; in thy calling be of cheer:
Broader continents of action open up in every sphere!
Hold thy lot as great as any: each shall magnify his own,
Each shall find his time to enter, though unheralded and lone,
On the inner life's arena—there to sound his battlecry,
Self with self in secret tourney, underneath the silent sky.
Strong of faith in that mute umpire, some have conquered, and withstood
All the pangs of long endurance, the dear pains of fortitude;
Felt a harsh misapprehension gall the wounds of martyrdom;
In the present rancor measured even the scorn of days to come;
Known that never should the whiteness of their virtue shine revealed,
Never should the truer Future rub the tarnish from the shield.
That diviner abnegation hath not yet been asked of thee:
Art thou able to attain it, if perchance it were to be?
O, our feeble tests of greatness! Look for one so calm of soul
As to take the even chalice of his life and drink the whole.
Noble deeds are held in honor, but the wide world sorely needs
Hearts of patience to unravel this,—the worth of common deeds.”
Fairly strewn, and smoothed by Nature with her own exceeding grace,—
All at once some unseen warder drew the curtains wide apart,
That awhile had cast their shadow on the picture of my heart;
Told me—“Thou thyself hast said it; in thy calling be of cheer:
Broader continents of action open up in every sphere!
Hold thy lot as great as any: each shall magnify his own,
Each shall find his time to enter, though unheralded and lone,
On the inner life's arena—there to sound his battlecry,
Self with self in secret tourney, underneath the silent sky.
Strong of faith in that mute umpire, some have conquered, and withstood
All the pangs of long endurance, the dear pains of fortitude;
Felt a harsh misapprehension gall the wounds of martyrdom;
38
Known that never should the whiteness of their virtue shine revealed,
Never should the truer Future rub the tarnish from the shield.
That diviner abnegation hath not yet been asked of thee:
Art thou able to attain it, if perchance it were to be?
O, our feeble tests of greatness! Look for one so calm of soul
As to take the even chalice of his life and drink the whole.
Noble deeds are held in honor, but the wide world sorely needs
Hearts of patience to unravel this,—the worth of common deeds.”
As the darkened earth forever to the morning turns again;
As the dreaming soldier, after all the perilous campaign,
Struggling long with horse and rider, in his sleep smites fiercely out,
And, with sudden pang awaking, through the darkness peers about,—
Hearing but the crickets chirrup loud, beneath his chimney-stone,
Feeling but the warm heart throbbing, in the form beside his own,—
Then to knowledge of his hamlet, dearer for the toil he knows,
Comes at last, content to nestle in the sweets of his repose,
So fell I, from those high fancies, to the quiet of a heart
Knowing well how Duty maketh each one's share the better part.
As again I looked about me—North and South, and East and West—
Now of all the wide world over still my haven seemed the best.
As the dreaming soldier, after all the perilous campaign,
Struggling long with horse and rider, in his sleep smites fiercely out,
And, with sudden pang awaking, through the darkness peers about,—
Hearing but the crickets chirrup loud, beneath his chimney-stone,
Feeling but the warm heart throbbing, in the form beside his own,—
Then to knowledge of his hamlet, dearer for the toil he knows,
Comes at last, content to nestle in the sweets of his repose,
39
Knowing well how Duty maketh each one's share the better part.
As again I looked about me—North and South, and East and West—
Now of all the wide world over still my haven seemed the best.
Calm, and slowly lifting upward, rose the eastern glory higher,
Gilding sea, and shore, and vessel, and the city-crowning spire.
Then the sailors shook their canvas to the dryness of the sun,
And along the harbor-channel glided schooners, one by one.
At the last I sought my cottage; there, before the garden gate,
By the lilac, stood my darling, looking for her truant mate.
Stooping at the porch, we entered;—where the morning meal was laid,
Turning over holy pages, one as pure and holy played,—
Little Paul, who links more firmly our two hearts than clasp of gold;
And I caught a blessed sentence, while I took him to my hold:
“Peace,” it said, “O restless spirit, eager as the climbing wave!
With my peace there flows a largesse such as monarchs never gave.”
Gilding sea, and shore, and vessel, and the city-crowning spire.
Then the sailors shook their canvas to the dryness of the sun,
And along the harbor-channel glided schooners, one by one.
At the last I sought my cottage; there, before the garden gate,
By the lilac, stood my darling, looking for her truant mate.
Stooping at the porch, we entered;—where the morning meal was laid,
Turning over holy pages, one as pure and holy played,—
Little Paul, who links more firmly our two hearts than clasp of gold;
And I caught a blessed sentence, while I took him to my hold:
“Peace,” it said, “O restless spirit, eager as the climbing wave!
With my peace there flows a largesse such as monarchs never gave.”
1857.
40
THE ORDEAL BY FIRE.
To many a one there comes a day
So black with maledictions, they
Hide every earthly hope away.
So black with maledictions, they
Hide every earthly hope away.
In earlier woes the sufferer bore,
Consolement entered at his door,
And raised him gently from the floor.
Consolement entered at his door,
And raised him gently from the floor.
To this great anguish, newly come,
All former sorrows, in their sum,
Were but a faint exordium.
All former sorrows, in their sum,
Were but a faint exordium.
41
His days and nights are full of groans;
Sorely, and with a thousand moans,
For many wanderings he atones.
Sorely, and with a thousand moans,
For many wanderings he atones.
Old errors, vanquished for a space,
Rise up to smite him in the face
And threaten him with new disgrace.
Rise up to smite him in the face
And threaten him with new disgrace.
And others, shadows of the first,
From slanderous charnel-houses burst,
Pursuing, cry, Thou art accurst!
From slanderous charnel-houses burst,
Pursuing, cry, Thou art accurst!
Dear, feeble voices ask for bread;
The dross, for which he bowed his head
So long, has taken wings and fled.
The dross, for which he bowed his head
So long, has taken wings and fled.
The strong resources of his health
Have softly slipt away by stealth:
No future toil may bring him wealth.
Have softly slipt away by stealth:
No future toil may bring him wealth.
Dreading the shadow of his shame,
False friends, who with the sunshine came,
Forego the mention of his name.
False friends, who with the sunshine came,
Forego the mention of his name.
Thus on a fiery altar tost,
The harvests of his life are lost
In one consuming holocaust.
The harvests of his life are lost
In one consuming holocaust.
What can he, but to beat the air,
And, from the depth of his despair,
Cry “Is there respite anywhere?
And, from the depth of his despair,
Cry “Is there respite anywhere?
“Is Life but Death? Is God unjust
Shall all the castle of my trust
Dissolve, and crumble into dust?”
Shall all the castle of my trust
Dissolve, and crumble into dust?”
42
There are, who, with a wild desire
For slumber, blinded by the fire,
Sink in its ashes and expire.
For slumber, blinded by the fire,
Sink in its ashes and expire.
God pity them! too harsh a test
Has made them falter; sore distrest,
They barter everything for rest.
Has made them falter; sore distrest,
They barter everything for rest.
But many, of a sterner mould,
Themselves within themselves infold,
Even make Death unloose his hold,
Themselves within themselves infold,
Even make Death unloose his hold,
Athough it were a grateful thing
To drain the cup his heralds bring,
And yield them to his ransoming;
To drain the cup his heralds bring,
And yield them to his ransoming;
To quaff the calm, Lethean wave,—
In passionless tenure of the grave
Forgetting all they could not save.
In passionless tenure of the grave
Forgetting all they could not save.
What angels hold them up, among
The ruins of their lives, so long?
What visions make their spirits strong?
The ruins of their lives, so long?
What visions make their spirits strong?
In sackcloth, at the outer gate,
They chant the burden of their fate,
Yet are not wholly desolate.
They chant the burden of their fate,
Yet are not wholly desolate.
A blessed ray from darkness won
It may be, even, to know the sun
Hath distant lands he shines upon;
It may be, even, to know the sun
Hath distant lands he shines upon;
It may be that they deem it vile
For one to mount his funeral pile,
Because the heavens cease to smile;
For one to mount his funeral pile,
Because the heavens cease to smile;
43
That scorn of cowardice holds fast,
Lighting the forehead to the last,
Though all of bravery's hopes are past.
Lighting the forehead to the last,
Though all of bravery's hopes are past.
Perchance the sequence of an art
Leads to a refuge for the heart,—
A sanctuary far apart.
Leads to a refuge for the heart,—
A sanctuary far apart.
It may be that, in dearest eyes,
They see the light of azure skies,
And keep their faith in Paradise.
They see the light of azure skies,
And keep their faith in Paradise.
Thou, who dost feel Life's vessel strand
Full-length upon the shifting sand,
And hearest breakers close at hand,
Full-length upon the shifting sand,
And hearest breakers close at hand,
Be strong and wait! nor let the strife,
With which the winds and waves are rife,
Disturb that sacred inner life.
With which the winds and waves are rife,
Disturb that sacred inner life.
Anon thou shalt regain the shore,
And walk—though naked, maimed, and sore—
A nobler being than before!
And walk—though naked, maimed, and sore—
A nobler being than before!
No lesser griefs shall work thee ill;
No malice shall have power to kill:
Of woe thy soul has drunk its fill.
No malice shall have power to kill:
Of woe thy soul has drunk its fill.
Tempests, that beat us to the clay,
Drive many a lowering cloud away,
And bring a clearer, holier day.
Drive many a lowering cloud away,
And bring a clearer, holier day.
The fire, that every hope consumes,
Either the inmost soul entombs
Or evermore the face illumes!
Either the inmost soul entombs
Or evermore the face illumes!
44
Robes of asbestos do we wear;
Before the memories we bear,
The flames leap backward everywhere.
Before the memories we bear,
The flames leap backward everywhere.
THE PROTEST OF FAITH.
TO REV. ---
Dear Friend and Teacher,—not by word alone,
But by the plenteous virtues shining out
Along the zodiac of a good man's life;
Dear gentle friend! from one so loved as you,—
Because so loving, and so finely apt
In tender ministry to a little flock,
With whom you joy and suffer ... and, withal,
So constant to the spirit of our time
That I must hold you of a different sort
From those dry lichens on the altar steps,
Those mutes in surplices, school-trained to sink
The ashes of their own experience
So low, in doctrinal catacombs, that none
Find token they can love and mourn like us,—
From such an one as you, I cannot brook
What from these mummies were a pleasant draught
Of bitter hyssop—pleasant unto me,
Drunk from a chalice worthier men have held
And emptied to the lees.
But by the plenteous virtues shining out
Along the zodiac of a good man's life;
Dear gentle friend! from one so loved as you,—
Because so loving, and so finely apt
In tender ministry to a little flock,
With whom you joy and suffer ... and, withal,
So constant to the spirit of our time
That I must hold you of a different sort
From those dry lichens on the altar steps,
Those mutes in surplices, school-trained to sink
The ashes of their own experience
So low, in doctrinal catacombs, that none
Find token they can love and mourn like us,—
From such an one as you, I cannot brook
What from these mummies were a pleasant draught
Of bitter hyssop—pleasant unto me,
Drunk from a chalice worthier men have held
And emptied to the lees.
I cannot brook
The shake o' the head and earnest, sorrowing glance,
Which often seem to say:—“Be wise in time!
Give up the iron key that locks your heart.
I grant you charity, and patient zeal,
And something of a young, romantic love
For what is good, as children love the fields
And birds and babbling brooks, they know not why.
You have your moral virtues, but you err:
To err is fatal. O, my heart is faint
Lest that sweet prize I win should not be yours!”
The shake o' the head and earnest, sorrowing glance,
Which often seem to say:—“Be wise in time!
Give up the iron key that locks your heart.
45
And something of a young, romantic love
For what is good, as children love the fields
And birds and babbling brooks, they know not why.
You have your moral virtues, but you err:
To err is fatal. O, my heart is faint
Lest that sweet prize I win should not be yours!”
In some such wise I read your half-dropped thoughts;
Yet wondrous compensation falls to all,
And every soul has strongholds of its own,
Invisible, yet answering to its needs.
And even I may have a secret tower
Up storm-cleft Pisgah, whence I see beyond
Jordan, and far across the happy plains,
Where gleams the Holy City, like a queen,
The crown of all our hopes and perfect faith.
I may have gone somewhat within the veil,
Though few repose serenely in the light
Of that divinest splendor, till they shine,
With countenance aglow, like him of old,—
Prophet and priest and warrior, all in one.
But every human path leads on to God;
He holds a myriad finer threads than gold,
And strong as holy wishes, drawing us
With delicate tension upward to Himself.
You see the strand that reaches down to you;
Haply I see mine own, and make essay
To trace its glimmerings—up the shadowy hills
Forever narrowing to that unknown sky.
Yet wondrous compensation falls to all,
And every soul has strongholds of its own,
Invisible, yet answering to its needs.
And even I may have a secret tower
Up storm-cleft Pisgah, whence I see beyond
Jordan, and far across the happy plains,
Where gleams the Holy City, like a queen,
The crown of all our hopes and perfect faith.
I may have gone somewhat within the veil,
Though few repose serenely in the light
Of that divinest splendor, till they shine,
With countenance aglow, like him of old,—
Prophet and priest and warrior, all in one.
But every human path leads on to God;
He holds a myriad finer threads than gold,
And strong as holy wishes, drawing us
With delicate tension upward to Himself.
You see the strand that reaches down to you;
Haply I see mine own, and make essay
To trace its glimmerings—up the shadowy hills
Forever narrowing to that unknown sky.
There grows a hedge about you pulpit-folk:
You reason ex cathedra. Little gain
Have we to clash in tourney on the least
Of points, wherewith you trammel down the Faith,
It being, at outset, understood right well
By lay knights-errant, that their Reverend foes,
Fore-pledged to hold their own, will sound their trumps,
Though spearless and unhorsed! Why take the field,
When, at the best, both sides go bowing off
With mutual courtesy, and fair white flags
Afloat at camp, and every fight is drawn?
As soon encounter statues, balanced well
Upon their granite, fashioned not to move,
And drawing all mankind to hold in awe
Their grim persistence.
You reason ex cathedra. Little gain
Have we to clash in tourney on the least
46
It being, at outset, understood right well
By lay knights-errant, that their Reverend foes,
Fore-pledged to hold their own, will sound their trumps,
Though spearless and unhorsed! Why take the field,
When, at the best, both sides go bowing off
With mutual courtesy, and fair white flags
Afloat at camp, and every fight is drawn?
As soon encounter statues, balanced well
Upon their granite, fashioned not to move,
And drawing all mankind to hold in awe
Their grim persistence.
If, indeed, I sin
In counting somewhat freely on that Love
From which, through rolling ages, worlds have sprung,
And—last and best of all—the lords of worlds,
Through type on type uplifted from the clay;
If I have been exultant in the thought
That such humanity came so near to God,
He held us as His children, and would find
Imperial progress through the halls of Time
For every soul,—why, then, my crescent faith
Clings round the promise; if it spread beyond,
You think, too far, I say that Peter sprang
Upon the waves of surging Galilee,
While all the eleven hugged the ship in fear:
The waters were as stone unto his feet
Until he doubted, even then the Christ
Put forth a blesséd hand, and drew him on
To closer knowledge!
In counting somewhat freely on that Love
From which, through rolling ages, worlds have sprung,
And—last and best of all—the lords of worlds,
Through type on type uplifted from the clay;
If I have been exultant in the thought
That such humanity came so near to God,
He held us as His children, and would find
Imperial progress through the halls of Time
For every soul,—why, then, my crescent faith
Clings round the promise; if it spread beyond,
You think, too far, I say that Peter sprang
Upon the waves of surging Galilee,
While all the eleven hugged the ship in fear:
The waters were as stone unto his feet
Until he doubted, even then the Christ
Put forth a blesséd hand, and drew him on
To closer knowledge!
So, if it be mine
First of us twain to pass the sable gates,
That guard so well their mysteries, and thou,
With some dear friend, may'st stand beside my grave,
Speak no such words as these:—“Not long ago
His voice rang out as cheerly as mine own;
And we were friends, and, far into the nights,
Would analyze the wisdom of old days
By all the tests of Science in her prime;
Anon would tramp afield, to fruits and flowers,
And the long prototypes of trees and beasts
Graven in sandstone; so, at last, would come,
Through lanes of talk, to that perennial tree,—
The Tree of Life, on which redemption hangs,
But there fell out of tune; we parted there,
He bolstering up a creed too broad for me!
I held him kindly for an ardent soul,
Who lacked not skill to make his argument
Seem fair and specious. But he groped in doubt:
His head and heart were young; he wandered off,
And fell afoul of all those theorists
Who soften down our dear New England faith
With German talk of ‘Nature,’ ‘inner lights
And harmonies’: so, taken with the wind
Of those high-sounding terms, he spoke at large,
And held discussion bravely till he died.
Here sleep his ashes; where his soul may be,
Myself, who loved him, do not care to think.”
First of us twain to pass the sable gates,
47
With some dear friend, may'st stand beside my grave,
Speak no such words as these:—“Not long ago
His voice rang out as cheerly as mine own;
And we were friends, and, far into the nights,
Would analyze the wisdom of old days
By all the tests of Science in her prime;
Anon would tramp afield, to fruits and flowers,
And the long prototypes of trees and beasts
Graven in sandstone; so, at last, would come,
Through lanes of talk, to that perennial tree,—
The Tree of Life, on which redemption hangs,
But there fell out of tune; we parted there,
He bolstering up a creed too broad for me!
I held him kindly for an ardent soul,
Who lacked not skill to make his argument
Seem fair and specious. But he groped in doubt:
His head and heart were young; he wandered off,
And fell afoul of all those theorists
Who soften down our dear New England faith
With German talk of ‘Nature,’ ‘inner lights
And harmonies’: so, taken with the wind
Of those high-sounding terms, he spoke at large,
And held discussion bravely till he died.
Here sleep his ashes; where his soul may be,
Myself, who loved him, do not care to think.”
The ecstasy of Faith has no such fears
As those you nurse for me! The marvellous love,
Which folds the systems in a flood of light,
Makes no crude works to shatter out of joint
Through all the future. O, believe, with me,
For every instinct in these hearts of ours
A full fruition hastens! O, believe
That promise greater than our greatest trust
And loftiest aspiration! Tell thy friend,
Beside my grave: “He did the best he could,
With earnest spirit polishing the lens
By which he took the heavens in his ken,
And through the empyrean sought for God;
He caught, or thought he caught, from time to time,
Bright glimpses of the Infinite, on which
He fed in rapturous and quiet joy,
That helped him keep a host of troubles down.
He went his way,—a different path from mine,
But took his place among the ranks of men
Who toil and suffer. If, in sooth, it be
Religion keeps us up, this man had that.
God grant his yearnings were a living faith!
Heaven lies above us: may we find him there
Beside the waters still, and crowned with palms!”
As those you nurse for me! The marvellous love,
Which folds the systems in a flood of light,
Makes no crude works to shatter out of joint
Through all the future. O, believe, with me,
For every instinct in these hearts of ours
A full fruition hastens! O, believe
48
And loftiest aspiration! Tell thy friend,
Beside my grave: “He did the best he could,
With earnest spirit polishing the lens
By which he took the heavens in his ken,
And through the empyrean sought for God;
He caught, or thought he caught, from time to time,
Bright glimpses of the Infinite, on which
He fed in rapturous and quiet joy,
That helped him keep a host of troubles down.
He went his way,—a different path from mine,
But took his place among the ranks of men
Who toil and suffer. If, in sooth, it be
Religion keeps us up, this man had that.
God grant his yearnings were a living faith!
Heaven lies above us: may we find him there
Beside the waters still, and crowned with palms!”
56
THE SLEIGH-RIDE.
Hark! the jingle
Of the sleigh-bells' song!
Earth and air in snowy sheen commingle;
Swiftly throng
Norseland fancies, as we sail along.
Of the sleigh-bells' song!
Earth and air in snowy sheen commingle;
Swiftly throng
Norseland fancies, as we sail along.
Like the maiden
Of some fairy-tale,
Lying, spell-bound, in her diamond-laden
Bridal veil,
Sleeps the Earth beneath a garment pale.
Of some fairy-tale,
Lying, spell-bound, in her diamond-laden
Bridal veil,
Sleeps the Earth beneath a garment pale.
57
High above us
Gleams the ancient moon,
Gleam the eyes of shining ones that love us:
Could their tune
Only fill our ears at heaven's noon,
Gleams the ancient moon,
Gleam the eyes of shining ones that love us:
Could their tune
Only fill our ears at heaven's noon,
You and I, love,
With a wild delight,
Hearing that seraphic strain would die, love,
This same night,
Straight to join them in their starry height!
With a wild delight,
Hearing that seraphic strain would die, love,
This same night,
Straight to join them in their starry height!
Closer nestle,
Dearest, to my side.
What enchantment, in our magic vessel
Thus to glide,
Making music, on a silver tide!
Dearest, to my side.
What enchantment, in our magic vessel
Thus to glide,
Making music, on a silver tide!
Jingle! jingle!
How the fields go by!
Earth and air in snowy sheen commingle,
Far and nigh;
Is the ground beneath us, or the sky?
How the fields go by!
Earth and air in snowy sheen commingle,
Far and nigh;
Is the ground beneath us, or the sky?
Heavenward yonder,
In the lurid north,
From Valhalla's gates that roll asunder,
Red and wroth,
Balder's funeral flames are blazing forth.
In the lurid north,
From Valhalla's gates that roll asunder,
Red and wroth,
Balder's funeral flames are blazing forth.
O, what splendor!
How the hues expire!
All the elves of light their tribute render
To the pyre,
Clad in robes of gold and crimson fire.
How the hues expire!
All the elves of light their tribute render
To the pyre,
Clad in robes of gold and crimson fire.
58
Jingle! jingle!
Let the Earth go by!
With a wilder thrill our pulses tingle;
You and I
Will shout our loves, but aye forget to sigh!
Let the Earth go by!
With a wilder thrill our pulses tingle;
You and I
Will shout our loves, but aye forget to sigh!
80
ODE TO PASTORAL ROMANCE.
“Sounds and sweet airs, that give delight and hurt not.”
The Tempest.
The Tempest.
I.
Queen of the shadowy clime!Thou of the fairy-spell and wondrous lay:
Sweet Romance! breathe upon my way,
Not with the breath of this degenerate time,
But of that age when life was summer play,
When Nature wore a verdurous hue,
And Earth kept holiday;
When on the ground Chaldæan shepherds lay,
81
Into the overhanging blue,
And found, amid the many-twinkling stars,
Warriors and maidens fair,
Heroes of marvellous deeds and direful wars,
Serpents and flaming hair,
The Dragon and the Bear,
A silvery Venus and a lurid Mars.
II.
Come at thy lover's call,Thou, that, with embraces kind,
Throwing thy tendrils round the lives of all,
Something in all to beautify dost find!
So thine own ivy, on the Gothic wall,
Or pendent from the arms
Of gnarléd oaks, where'er its clusters fall,
Clings to adorn and adds perennial charms.
And therefore, Romance, would I greet
Thee by the fairest of fair names,
Calling thee debonair and sweet;
For sweet thou art—inspiring Manhood's dreams,
When all aweary of the actual life;
And sweet thy influence seems
To Woman, shrinking from the strife,
The sordid tumult of the wrangling mart.
But doubly sweet thou art,
Leading the tender child by gentle streams,
Among the lilies of our flowery Youth;
Filling his all-believing heart
With thoughts that glorify the common truth;
Building before him, in the lustrous air,
Ethereal palaces and castles fair.
82
III.
With such mild innocence the EarthReceived thy blessings at her birth;
And in the pastoral days of yore,
To Man's enchanted gaze,
Nature was fair—O, how much more
Than in our wiser days!
Then deities of sylvan form,
While yet the hearts of men were young and warm,
Like shepherds wandered through the arching groves,
Or sang aloud, the listening flocks among,
Sweet legends of their loves;
Then Cupid and fair Psyche breathed their vows,—
He with the feathered darts and bow unstrung,
And garlands on his brows;
She folding gently to her bosom doves
Snow-white, forever, as their mistress, young;
And, as they sighed together, peerless Joy
Enwreathed the maiden and the raptured boy!
IV.
Yes! on romantic pilgrimage,To the calm piety of Nature's shrine,
Through summer-paths, thou ledst our human-kind,
With influence divine.
In that orient, elden age,
Ere man had learned to wage
Dispassionate war against his natural mind,
Thy voice of mystery,
Reading aloud the Earth's extended page,
Bade human aspirations find
83
A sentient imagery;
The flowing river and the murmuring wind,
The land—the sea—
Were all informed by thee!
V.
Through coral grottoes wandering and singing,The merry Nereid glided to her cave;
Anon, with warm, luxurious motion flinging
Her sinuous form above the moonlit wave,
To the charmed mariner gave
A glimpse of snowy arms and amber tresses,
While on his startled ear
The sea-nymph's madrigal fell clear;
Then to the far recesses,
Where drowsy Neptune wears the emerald crown,
Serenely floated down,
Leaving the mariner all amort with fear.
In the under-opening wood,
What time the Gods had crowned the full-grown year,
The Dryad and the Hamadryad stood
Among the fallow deer;
Bending the languid branches of their trees,
With every breeze,
To view their image in the fountains near:—
The fountains! whence the white-limbed Naiads sang,
Pouring upon the air melodious trills,
And, while the echoes through the forest rang,
The white-limbed Naiads of a thousand rills
Far o'er the Arcadian vales a pæan spread.
Led by Diana, in the dewy dawn,
The Oread sisters chased the dappled fawn
84
Home, with the spoils, at sultry noon they fled,—
Home to their shaded bowers,
Where, with the ivy, and those sacred flowers
That now have faded from the weary earth,
Each laughing Oread crowned an Oread's head.
The mountains echoed back their maiden mirth,
Rousing old Pan, who, from a secret lair,
Shook the wild tangles of his frosty hair,
And laid him down again with sullen roar:
But now the frightened nymphs like statues stand,
One balancing her body half in air,
Dreading to hear again that tumult sore;
One, with a liquid tremor in her eye,
Waving above her head a glimmering hand;
Till suddenly, like dreams, away they fly,
Leaving the forest stiller than before!
VI.
Such was thy power, O Pastoral Romance!In that ambrosial age of classic fame,
The spirit to entrance.
Fain would I whisper of the latter days,
When, in thy royal name,
The mailéd knights encountered lance to lance,
All for sweet Romance and fair ladies' praise;
But no! I bowed the knee
And vowed allegiance to thee,
As I beheld thee in thy golden prime,
And now from thy demesne must haste away:
Perchance that of the aftertime,
Of nodding plumes and chivalrous array,
In aftertime I sing a roundelay.
85
VII.
Fair Spirit of ethereal birth,In whom such mysteries and beauties blend!
Still from thine ancient dwelling-place descend
And idealize our too material earth;
Still to the Bard thy chaste conceptions lend,
To him thine early purity renew;
Round every image grace majestic throw!
Till rapturously the living song shall glow
With inspiration as thy being true,
And Poesy's creations, decked by thee,
Shall wake the tuneful thrill of sensuous ecstasy.
1850.
168
WILD WINDS WHISTLE.
I.
Sir ULRIC a Southern dame has wed;
Wild winds whistle and snow is come;
He has brought her home to his bower and bed.
Hither and thither the birds fly home.
Wild winds whistle and snow is come;
He has brought her home to his bower and bed.
Hither and thither the birds fly home.
Her hair is darker than thick of night;
Wild winds whistle, &c.
Her hands are fair, and her step is light.
Hither and thither, &c.
Wild winds whistle, &c.
Her hands are fair, and her step is light.
Hither and thither, &c.
From out his castel in the North
Sir Ulric to hunt rode lightly forth.
Sir Ulric to hunt rode lightly forth.
Three things he left her for good or ill,—
A bonny bird that should sing at will,
A bonny bird that should sing at will,
With carol sweeter than silver bell,
Day and night in the old castel;
Day and night in the old castel;
A lithe little page to gather flowers;
And a crystal dial to mark the hours.
And a crystal dial to mark the hours.
2.
Lady Margaret watched Sir Ulric speed
Away to the chase on his faithful steed.
Away to the chase on his faithful steed.
From morning till night, the first day long,
She sat and listened the bonny bird's song.
She sat and listened the bonny bird's song.
169
The second day long, with fingers fair,
She curled and combed her page's hair.
She curled and combed her page's hair.
The third day's sun rose up on high;
By the dial she was seated nigh:
By the dial she was seated nigh:
She loathed the bird and the page's face,
And counted the shadow's creeping pace.
And counted the shadow's creeping pace.
3.
The strange knight drew his bridle-rein;
He looked at the sky and he looked at the plain.
He looked at the sky and he looked at the plain.
“O lady!” he said, “'t was a sin and shame
To leave for the chase so fair a dame.
To leave for the chase so fair a dame.
“O lady!” he said, “we two will flee
To the blithesome land of Italie;
To the blithesome land of Italie;
“There the orange grows, and the fruitful vine,
And a bower of myrtle shall be thine.”
And a bower of myrtle shall be thine.”
He has taken her hand and kissed her mouth:
Now Ho! sing Ho! for the sunny South.
Now Ho! sing Ho! for the sunny South.
He has kissed her mouth and clasped her waist:
Now, good gray steed, make haste, make haste!
Now, good gray steed, make haste, make haste!
4.
Sir Ulric back from the chase has come,
And sounds the horn at his castel-home.
And sounds the horn at his castel-home.
Or ever he drew his bridle-rein,
He saw the dial split in twain;
He saw the dial split in twain;
170
The bonny blithe bird was stark and dead,
And the lithe little page hung down his head.
And the lithe little page hung down his head.
The lithe little page hung down his head;
Wild winds whistle and snow is come;
“O where, Sir Page, has my lady fled?”
Hither and thither the birds fly home.
Wild winds whistle and snow is come;
“O where, Sir Page, has my lady fled?”
Hither and thither the birds fly home.
239
LAURA, MY DARLING.
Laura, my darling, the roses have blushed
At the kiss of the dew, and our chamber is hushed;
Our murmuring babe to your bosom has clung,
And hears in his slumber the song that you sung;
I watch you asleep with your arms round him thrown,
Your links of dark tresses wound in with his own,
And the wife is as dear as the gentle young bride
Of the hour when you first, darling, came to my side.
At the kiss of the dew, and our chamber is hushed;
Our murmuring babe to your bosom has clung,
And hears in his slumber the song that you sung;
I watch you asleep with your arms round him thrown,
Your links of dark tresses wound in with his own,
And the wife is as dear as the gentle young bride
Of the hour when you first, darling, came to my side.
Laura, my darling, our sail down the stream
Of Youth's summers and winters has been like a dream;
Years have but rounded your womanly grace,
And added their spell to the light of your face;
Your soul is the same as though part were not given
To the two, like yourself, sent to bless me from heaven,—
Dear lives, springing forth from the life of my life,
To make you more near, darling, mother and wife!
Of Youth's summers and winters has been like a dream;
Years have but rounded your womanly grace,
And added their spell to the light of your face;
Your soul is the same as though part were not given
To the two, like yourself, sent to bless me from heaven,—
Dear lives, springing forth from the life of my life,
To make you more near, darling, mother and wife!
Laura, my darling, there 's hazel-eyed Fred,
Asleep in his own tiny cot by the bed,
And little King Arthur, whose curls have the art
Of winding their tendrils so close round my heart;
Yet fairer than either, and dearer than both,
Is the true one who gave me in girlhood her troth:
For we, when we mated for evil and good,—
What were we, darling, but babes in the wood?
Asleep in his own tiny cot by the bed,
240
Of winding their tendrils so close round my heart;
Yet fairer than either, and dearer than both,
Is the true one who gave me in girlhood her troth:
For we, when we mated for evil and good,—
What were we, darling, but babes in the wood?
Laura, my darling, the years which have flown
Brought few of the prizes I pledged to my own.
I said that no sorrow should roughen her way,—
Her life should be cloudless, a long summer's day.
Shadow and sunshine, thistles and flowers,
Which of the two, darling, most have been ours?
Yet to-night, by the smile on your lips, I can see
You are dreaming of me, darling, dreaming of me.
Brought few of the prizes I pledged to my own.
I said that no sorrow should roughen her way,—
Her life should be cloudless, a long summer's day.
Shadow and sunshine, thistles and flowers,
Which of the two, darling, most have been ours?
Yet to-night, by the smile on your lips, I can see
You are dreaming of me, darling, dreaming of me.
Laura, my darling, the stars, that we knew
In our youth, are still shining as tender and true;
The midnight is sounding its slumberous bell,
And I come to the one who has loved me so well.
Wake, darling, wake, for my vigil is done:
What shall dissever our lives which are one?
Say, while the rose listens under her breath,
“Naught until death, darling, naught until death!”
In our youth, are still shining as tender and true;
The midnight is sounding its slumberous bell,
And I come to the one who has loved me so well.
Wake, darling, wake, for my vigil is done:
What shall dissever our lives which are one?
Say, while the rose listens under her breath,
“Naught until death, darling, naught until death!”
259
THE HILLSIDE DOOR.
Sometimes within my hand
A Spirit puts the silver key
Of Fairyland:
From the dark, barren heath he beckons me,
Till by that hidden hillside door,
Where bards have passed before,
I seem to stand.
A Spirit puts the silver key
Of Fairyland:
From the dark, barren heath he beckons me,
Till by that hidden hillside door,
Where bards have passed before,
I seem to stand.
The portal opens wide:
In, through the wondrous, lighted halls,
Voiceless I glide
Where tinkling music magically falls,
And fair in fountained gardens move
The heroes, blest with love
And glorified.
In, through the wondrous, lighted halls,
Voiceless I glide
Where tinkling music magically falls,
And fair in fountained gardens move
The heroes, blest with love
And glorified.
Then by the meadows green,
Down winding walks of elf and fay,
I pass unseen:
There rest the valiant chieftains wreathed with bay;
Here maidens to their lovers cling,
And happy minstrels sing,
Praising their queen.
Down winding walks of elf and fay,
I pass unseen:
There rest the valiant chieftains wreathed with bay;
Here maidens to their lovers cling,
And happy minstrels sing,
Praising their queen.
260
For where yon pillars are,
And birds with tuneful voices call,
There shines a star,—
The crown she wears, the Fairy Queen of all!
Led to that inmost, wooded haunt
By maidens ministrant,
I halt afar.
And birds with tuneful voices call,
There shines a star,—
The crown she wears, the Fairy Queen of all!
Led to that inmost, wooded haunt
By maidens ministrant,
I halt afar.
O joy! she sees me stand
Doubting, and calls me near her throne,
And waves her wand,
As in my dreams, and smiles on me alone.
O royal beauty, proud and sweet!
I bow me at her feet
To kiss that hand:
Doubting, and calls me near her throne,
And waves her wand,
As in my dreams, and smiles on me alone.
O royal beauty, proud and sweet!
I bow me at her feet
To kiss that hand:
Ah woe! ah, fate malign!
By what a rude, revengeful gust,
From that fair shrine
Which holds my sovran mistress I am thrust!
Then comes a mocking voice's taunt,
Crying, Thou fool, avaunt!
She is not thine!
By what a rude, revengeful gust,
From that fair shrine
Which holds my sovran mistress I am thrust!
Then comes a mocking voice's taunt,
Crying, Thou fool, avaunt!
She is not thine!
And I am backward borne
By unseen awful hands, and cast,
In utter scorn,
Forth from that brightness to the midnight blast:
Not mine the minstrel-lover's wreath,
But the dark, barren heath,
And heart forlorn.
By unseen awful hands, and cast,
In utter scorn,
Forth from that brightness to the midnight blast:
Not mine the minstrel-lover's wreath,
But the dark, barren heath,
And heart forlorn.
272
THE FEAST OF HARVEST.
The fair Earth smiled and turned herself and woke,
And to the Sun with nuptial greeting said:
“I had a dream, wherein it seemed men broke
A sovran league, and long years fought and bled,
Till down my sweet sides ran my children's gore,
And all my beautiful garments were made red,
And all my fertile fields were thicket-grown,
Nor could thy dear light reach me through the air;
At last a voice cried, ‘Let them strive no more!’
Then music breathed, and lo! from my despair
I wake to joy,—yet would not joy alone!
And to the Sun with nuptial greeting said:
“I had a dream, wherein it seemed men broke
A sovran league, and long years fought and bled,
Till down my sweet sides ran my children's gore,
And all my beautiful garments were made red,
And all my fertile fields were thicket-grown,
Nor could thy dear light reach me through the air;
At last a voice cried, ‘Let them strive no more!’
Then music breathed, and lo! from my despair
I wake to joy,—yet would not joy alone!
273
“For, hark! I hear a murmur on the meads,—
Where as of old my children seek my face,—
The low of kine, the peaceful tramp of steeds,
Blithe shouts of men in many a pastoral place,
The noise of tilth through all my goodliest land,
And happy laughter of a dusky race
Whose brethren lift them from their ancient toil,
Saying: “The year of jubilee has come;
Gather the gifts of Earth with equal hand;
Henceforth ye too may share the birthright soil,
The corn, the wine, and all the harvest-home.”
Where as of old my children seek my face,—
The low of kine, the peaceful tramp of steeds,
Blithe shouts of men in many a pastoral place,
The noise of tilth through all my goodliest land,
And happy laughter of a dusky race
Whose brethren lift them from their ancient toil,
Saying: “The year of jubilee has come;
Gather the gifts of Earth with equal hand;
Henceforth ye too may share the birthright soil,
The corn, the wine, and all the harvest-home.”
“O my dear lord, my radiant bridegroom, look!
Behold their joy who sorrowed in my dreams,—
The sword a share, the spear a pruning-hook;
Lo, I awake, and turn me toward thy beams
Even as a bride again! O, shed thy light
Upon my fruitful places in full streams!
Let there be yield for every living thing;
The land is fallow,—let there be increase
After the darkness of the sterile night;
Ay, let us twain a festival of Peace
Prepare, and hither all my nations bring!”
Behold their joy who sorrowed in my dreams,—
The sword a share, the spear a pruning-hook;
Lo, I awake, and turn me toward thy beams
Even as a bride again! O, shed thy light
Upon my fruitful places in full streams!
Let there be yield for every living thing;
The land is fallow,—let there be increase
After the darkness of the sterile night;
Ay, let us twain a festival of Peace
Prepare, and hither all my nations bring!”
The fair Earth spake: the glad Sun speeded forth,
Hearing her matron words, and backward drave
To frozen caves the icy Wind of the North,—
And bade the South Wind from the tropic wave
Bring watery vapors over river and plain,—
And bade the East Wind cross her path, and lave
The lowlands, emptying there her laden mist,—
And bade the Wind of the West, the best wind, blow
After the early and the latter rain,—
And beamed himself, and oft the sweet Earth kissed,
While her swift servitors sped to and fro.
Hearing her matron words, and backward drave
To frozen caves the icy Wind of the North,—
And bade the South Wind from the tropic wave
Bring watery vapors over river and plain,—
And bade the East Wind cross her path, and lave
The lowlands, emptying there her laden mist,—
And bade the Wind of the West, the best wind, blow
After the early and the latter rain,—
And beamed himself, and oft the sweet Earth kissed,
While her swift servitors sped to and fro.
274
Forthwith the troop that, at the beck of Earth,
Foster her children, brought a glorious store
Of viands, food of immemorial worth,
Her earliest gifts, her tenderest evermore.
First came the Silvery Spirit, whose marshalled files
Climb up the glades in billowy breakers hoar,
Nodding their crests; and at his side there sped
The Golden Spirit, whose yellow harvests trail
Across the continents and fringe the isles,
And freight men's argosies where'er they sail:
O, what a wealth of sheaves he there outspread!
Foster her children, brought a glorious store
Of viands, food of immemorial worth,
Her earliest gifts, her tenderest evermore.
First came the Silvery Spirit, whose marshalled files
Climb up the glades in billowy breakers hoar,
Nodding their crests; and at his side there sped
The Golden Spirit, whose yellow harvests trail
Across the continents and fringe the isles,
And freight men's argosies where'er they sail:
O, what a wealth of sheaves he there outspread!
Came the dear Spirit whom Earth doth love the best,
Fragrant of clover-bloom and new-mown hay,
Beneath whose mantle weary ones finds rest,
On whose green skirts the little children play:
She bore the food our patient cattle crave.
Next, robed in silk, with tassels scattering spray,
Followed the generous Spirit of the Maize;
And many a kindred shape of high renown
Bore in the clustering grape, the fruits that wave
On orchard branches or in gardens blaze,
And those the wind-shook forest hurtles down.
Fragrant of clover-bloom and new-mown hay,
Beneath whose mantle weary ones finds rest,
On whose green skirts the little children play:
She bore the food our patient cattle crave.
Next, robed in silk, with tassels scattering spray,
Followed the generous Spirit of the Maize;
And many a kindred shape of high renown
Bore in the clustering grape, the fruits that wave
On orchard branches or in gardens blaze,
And those the wind-shook forest hurtles down.
Even thus they laid a great and marvellous feast,
And Earth her children summoned joyously,
Throughout that goodliest land wherein had ceased
The vision of battle, and with glad hands free
These took their fill, and plenteous measures poured,
Beside, for those who dwelt beyond the sea;
Praise, like an incense, upward rose to Heaven
For that full harvest; and the autumnal Sun
Stayed long above; and ever at the board,
Peace, white-robed angel, held the high seat given,
And War far off withdrew his visage dun.
And Earth her children summoned joyously,
Throughout that goodliest land wherein had ceased
The vision of battle, and with glad hands free
These took their fill, and plenteous measures poured,
Beside, for those who dwelt beyond the sea;
Praise, like an incense, upward rose to Heaven
For that full harvest; and the autumnal Sun
Stayed long above; and ever at the board,
Peace, white-robed angel, held the high seat given,
And War far off withdrew his visage dun.
276
BETROTHED ANEW.
The sunlight fills the trembling air,
And balmy days their guerdons bring;
The Earth again is young and fair,
And amorous with musky Spring.
And balmy days their guerdons bring;
The Earth again is young and fair,
And amorous with musky Spring.
The golden nurslings of the May
In splendor strew the spangled green,
And hues of tender beauty play,
Entangled where the willows lean.
In splendor strew the spangled green,
And hues of tender beauty play,
Entangled where the willows lean.
Mark how the rippled currents flow:
What lustres on the meadows lie!
And hark, the songsters come and go,
And trill between the earth and sky.
What lustres on the meadows lie!
And hark, the songsters come and go,
And trill between the earth and sky.
277
Who told us that the years had fled,
Or borne afar our blissful youth?
Such joys are all about us spread,
We know the whisper was not truth.
Or borne afar our blissful youth?
Such joys are all about us spread,
We know the whisper was not truth.
The birds, that break from grass and grove,
Sing every carol that they sung
When first our veins were rich with love,
And May her mantle round us flung.
Sing every carol that they sung
When first our veins were rich with love,
And May her mantle round us flung.
O fresh-lit dawn! immortal life!
O Earth's betrothal, sweet and true,
With whose delights our souls are rife
And aye their vernal vows renew!
O Earth's betrothal, sweet and true,
With whose delights our souls are rife
And aye their vernal vows renew!
Then, darling, walk with me this morn:
Let your brown tresses drink its sheen;
These violets, within them worn,
Of floral fays shall make you queen.
Let your brown tresses drink its sheen;
These violets, within them worn,
Of floral fays shall make you queen.
What though there comes a time of pain
When autumn winds forbode decay;
The days of love are born again,
That fabled time is far away!
When autumn winds forbode decay;
The days of love are born again,
That fabled time is far away!
And never seemed the land so fair
As now, nor birds such notes to sing,
Since first within your shining hair
I wove the blossoms of the Spring.
As now, nor birds such notes to sing,
Since first within your shining hair
I wove the blossoms of the Spring.
| The poetical works of Edmund Clarence Stedman | |