 | The Ballad of Babie Bell And Other Poems |  |
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Poems and Ballads.
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INFELICISSIMUS.
I.
I walked with him one melancholy nightDown by the sea, upon the moon-lit strands,
While in the dreary heaven the Northern Light
Beckoned with flaming hands—
II.
Beckoned and vanished, like a woeful ghostThat fain would lure us to some dismal wood,
And tell us tales of ships that have been lost,
Of violence and blood.
III.
And where yon dædal rocks o'erhang the froth,We sat together, Lycidas and I,
Watching the great star-bear that in the North
Guarded the midnight sky.
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IV.
And while the moonlight wrought its miracles,Drenching the world with silent silver rain,
He spoke of life and its tumultuous ills:
He told me of his pain.
V.
He said his life was like the troubled seaWith autumn brooding over it: and then
Spoke of his hopes, of what he yearned to be,
And what he might have been.
VI.
‘I hope,’ said Lycidas, ‘for peace at last,I only ask for peace! My god is Ease!
Day after day some rude Iconoclast
Breaks all my images!
VII.
‘There is a better life than I have known—A surer, purer, sweeter life than this:
There is another, a celestial zone,
Where I shall know of bliss.‘
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VIII.
So, close his eyes, and cross his helpless hands,And lay the flowers he loved upon his breast;
For time and death have stayed the golden sands
That ran with such unrest!
IX.
You weep: I smile: I know that he is dead,So is his passion, and 'tis better so!
Take him, O Earth, and round his lovely head
Let countless roses blow!
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A BALLAD OF NANTUCKET.
‘Where go you, pretty Maggie,
Where go you in the rain?’
I go to ask the sailors
Who sailed the Spanish main,
Where go you in the rain?’
I go to ask the sailors
Who sailed the Spanish main,
‘If they have seen my Willie,
If he'll come back to me—
It is so sad to have him
A-sailing on the sea!’
If he'll come back to me—
It is so sad to have him
A-sailing on the sea!’
‘O Maggie, pretty Maggie,
Turn back to yonder town;
Your Willie's in the ocean,
A hundred fathoms down!
Turn back to yonder town;
Your Willie's in the ocean,
A hundred fathoms down!
‘His hair is turned to sea-pelt,
His eyes are changed to stones,
And twice two years have knitted
The coral round his bones!
His eyes are changed to stones,
And twice two years have knitted
The coral round his bones!
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‘The blossoms and the clover
Shall bloom and bloom again,
But never shall your lover
Come o'er the Spanish main!’
Shall bloom and bloom again,
But never shall your lover
Come o'er the Spanish main!’
But Maggie never heeded,
For mournfully said she:
‘It is so sad to have him
A-sailing on the sea!’
For mournfully said she:
‘It is so sad to have him
A-sailing on the sea!’
She left me in the darkness:
I heard the sea-gulls screech,
And burly winds were growling
With breakers on the beach!
I heard the sea-gulls screech,
And burly winds were growling
With breakers on the beach!
The blythe bells of Nantucket,
What touching things they said,
When Maggie lay a-sleeping
With lilies round her head!
What touching things they said,
When Maggie lay a-sleeping
With lilies round her head!
The parson preached a sermon,
And prayed and preached again—
But she had gone to Willie
Across the Spanish main!
And prayed and preached again—
But she had gone to Willie
Across the Spanish main!
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THE SPENDTHRIFT'S FEAST.
[FROM A PLAY.]
To-night we sup with Fiole—We shall be delicately banqueted.
But do you know wherewith he pays for this?
No? Then I'll tell you; it is laughable.
A week ago his miserly father died—
Despite his swollen money-bags, he died—
But not a para of his hoarded wealth
Goes to Fiole. No; he builds a church
And gives it candles for a century,
Endows a hospital, and God knows what,
And only leaves that precious son of his
An antique drinking-cup all rough with gems
And moist with the grapes' bleeding—a shrewd hit
At Fiole, whose lady-love is Wine.
Neat, was it not? and worthy of the Count.
Well, this gold satire, this begemmed lampoon,
Fiole pawns to Jacobi the Jew,
And we're to dine on it!
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A PASTORAL HYMN TO THE FAIRIES.
I.
O ye little tricksy gods!Tell me where ye sleep o' nights,
Where ye laugh and weep o' nights!
Is it in the velvet pods
Of the drooping violets—
In the purple palaces,
Scooped and shaped like chalices?
Or beneath the silver bend,
In among the cooling jets,
Of Iris-haunted, wood cascades
That tumble down from porphyry heights?
Do ye doze in rose-leaf boats
Where the dreamy streamlet floats,
Full of fish and phosphorus motes,
Through the heart of quiet glades?
II.
When we crush a pouting bloom,Ten to one we kill a Fairy!
May be that the light perfume
In our nostrils, sweet and airy,
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Floating upward. O, be wary!
Who can tell what size or make
The wilful little beings take?
There's a bird; now, who can say
'Tis a Robin or a Fay?
Why may not immortal things
Go on red and yellow wings!
Ah! if so the Fairies bide
Round us, with us, tell me why
Is their silver speech denied?
Are they deafened to my cry?
III.
If you ask me why my songMorn, and noon, and night complains,
I will tell you ... Long ago,
When the orchards and the lanes
Were, with fragrant apple-blooms,
White as in a fall of snow,
It was then we missed a Voice—
It was little Mary's!
For one morn she wandered forth,
In the spring-time of the earth,
And was lost among the Fairies!
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Through the shadows, by the brooks,
Talking to the solemn woods,
Peering into mossy nooks,
Asking sadly, now and then,
After tiny maids and men!
For my thoughts are with the child,
All my heart is gone with Mary's—
O, sad day she fled away,
And was lost among the Fairies!
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A POET'S GRAVE.
In this pleasant beechen shade
Where the wild-rose blossoms red,
Lieth one who, being dead,
Is neither matron, man, nor maid.
Where the wild-rose blossoms red,
Lieth one who, being dead,
Is neither matron, man, nor maid.
But once he wore the form of God,
And walked the earth with meaner things:
Death snapt him. See! above him springs
The very grass whereon he trod!
And walked the earth with meaner things:
Death snapt him. See! above him springs
The very grass whereon he trod!
Let the world swing to and fro,
The slant rain fall, the wind blow strong:
Time cannot do him any wrong
While he is wrapped and cradled so!
The slant rain fall, the wind blow strong:
Time cannot do him any wrong
While he is wrapped and cradled so!
Ah, much he suffered in his day:
He knelt with Virtue, kissed with Sin—
Wild Passion's child, and Sorrow's twin,
A meteor that had lost its way!
He knelt with Virtue, kissed with Sin—
Wild Passion's child, and Sorrow's twin,
A meteor that had lost its way!
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He walked with goblins, ghouls, and things
Unsightly,—terrors and despairs;
And ever in the starry airs
A dismal raven flapped its wings!
Unsightly,—terrors and despairs;
And ever in the starry airs
A dismal raven flapped its wings!
He died. Six people bore his pall;
And three were sorry, three were not:
They buried him, and then forgot
His very grave—the lot of all!
And three were sorry, three were not:
They buried him, and then forgot
His very grave—the lot of all!
But strains of music here and there,
Weird children whom nobody owns,
Are blown across the fragrant zones
Forever in the midnight air!
Weird children whom nobody owns,
Are blown across the fragrant zones
Forever in the midnight air!
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A GREAT MAN'S DEATH.
To-day a god died. Never any more
Shall man look on him. Never any more,
In hall or senate, shall his eloquent voice
Give hope to a sick nation. In his prime
Not all the world could daunt him: yet a ghost,
A poor mute ghost, a something we call Death,
Has silenced him forever! Let the land
Look for his peer: he hath not yet been found.
Shall man look on him. Never any more,
In hall or senate, shall his eloquent voice
Give hope to a sick nation. In his prime
Not all the world could daunt him: yet a ghost,
A poor mute ghost, a something we call Death,
Has silenced him forever! Let the land
Look for his peer: he hath not yet been found.
A crimson bird, of not so many days
As there are leaves upon the wildling rose,
Sings from yon sycamore; this violet
Sprung up an hour since from the fibrous earth:
At noon the rain fell, and to-night the sun
Will sink with its old splendor in the sea!—
And yet to-day a god died. ... Nature smiles
On our mortality. A robin's death,
Or the unnoticed falling of a leaf,
Is more to her than when a great man dies!
As there are leaves upon the wildling rose,
Sings from yon sycamore; this violet
Sprung up an hour since from the fibrous earth:
At noon the rain fell, and to-night the sun
Will sink with its old splendor in the sea!—
And yet to-day a god died. ... Nature smiles
On our mortality. A robin's death,
Or the unnoticed falling of a leaf,
Is more to her than when a great man dies!
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THE BLUE-BELLS OF NEW-ENGLAND.
The roses are a regal troop,
And humble folks the daisies;
But, Blue-bells of New-England,
To you I give my praises—
To you, fair phantoms in the sun,
Whom merry Spring discovers,
With blue-birds for your laureates,
And honey-bees for lovers!
And humble folks the daisies;
But, Blue-bells of New-England,
To you I give my praises—
To you, fair phantoms in the sun,
Whom merry Spring discovers,
With blue-birds for your laureates,
And honey-bees for lovers!
The south-wind breathes, and lo! ye throng
This rugged land of ours—
Methinks the pale blue clouds of May
Drop down, and turn to flowers!
By cottage doors along the roads,
You show your winsome faces,
And, like the spectre lady, haunt
The lonely woodland places.
This rugged land of ours—
Methinks the pale blue clouds of May
Drop down, and turn to flowers!
By cottage doors along the roads,
You show your winsome faces,
And, like the spectre lady, haunt
The lonely woodland places.
All night your eyes are closed in sleep,
But open at the dawning;
Such simple faith as yours can see
God's coming in the morning!
You lead me by your holiness,
To pleasant ways of duty:
You set my thoughts to melody,
You fill me with your beauty.
But open at the dawning;
Such simple faith as yours can see
God's coming in the morning!
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To pleasant ways of duty:
You set my thoughts to melody,
You fill me with your beauty.
And you are like the eyes I love,
So modest and so tender,
Just touched with morning's glorious light,
And evening's gentle splendor.
Long may the heavens give you rain,
The sunshine its caresses,
Long may the little girl I love
Entwine you in her tresses.
So modest and so tender,
Just touched with morning's glorious light,
And evening's gentle splendor.
Long may the heavens give you rain,
The sunshine its caresses,
Long may the little girl I love
Entwine you in her tresses.
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A LEGEND OF ELSINORE.
O but she had not her peer!
In the kingdom far or near,
There were never such brown tresses, such a faultless hand:
She had youth, and she had gold,
She had jewels all untold;
And many a lover bold
Wooed the Lady of the Land.
In the kingdom far or near,
There were never such brown tresses, such a faultless hand:
She had youth, and she had gold,
She had jewels all untold;
And many a lover bold
Wooed the Lady of the Land.
But, alack! they won not Maud,
Neither belted knight nor lord:
“Woo me not, for Jesus' sake, good gentlemen,” she said.
If they wooed, then,—with a frown
She would strike their passion down.
O she might have wed a crown
To the ringlets on her head!
Neither belted knight nor lord:
“Woo me not, for Jesus' sake, good gentlemen,” she said.
If they wooed, then,—with a frown
She would strike their passion down.
O she might have wed a crown
To the ringlets on her head!
From the dizzy castle tips,
She would watch the silent snips,
Like sheeted phantoms, coming and going evermore,
While the twilight settled down
On the sleepy little town.
On the gables peaked and brown,
That had sheltered kings of yore.
She would watch the silent snips,
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While the twilight settled down
On the sleepy little town.
On the gables peaked and brown,
That had sheltered kings of yore.
Her blue eyes drank in the sight,
With a full and still delight;
For it was as fair a scene as aught in Arcadie:
Through the yellow-beaded grain,
Through the hamlet-studded plain,
Like a trembling azure vein,
Ran the river to the sea.
With a full and still delight;
For it was as fair a scene as aught in Arcadie:
Through the yellow-beaded grain,
Through the hamlet-studded plain,
Like a trembling azure vein,
Ran the river to the sea.
Spotted belts of cedar-wood
Partly clasped the widening flood;
Like a knot of daisies lay the hamlets on the hill;
In the ancient town below,
Sparks of light would come and go,
And faint voices, strangely low,
From the garrulous old mill.
Partly clasped the widening flood;
Like a knot of daisies lay the hamlets on the hill;
In the ancient town below,
Sparks of light would come and go,
And faint voices, strangely low,
From the garrulous old mill.
Here the land, in grassy swells,
Gently rose; there, sank in dells
With wide mouths of crimson moss, and teeth of rock and peat;
Here, in statue-like repose,
An old wrinkled mountain rose,
With its hoary head in snows
And musk-roses at its feet!
Gently rose; there, sank in dells
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Here, in statue-like repose,
An old wrinkled mountain rose,
With its hoary head in snows
And musk-roses at its feet!
And so oft she sat alone,
In the turret of gray stone,
Looking o'er red miles of heath, dew-dabbled, to the sea,
That there grew a village cry,
How Maud's cheeks did lose their dye,
As a ship, once, sailing by,
Melted on the sapphire lea.
In the turret of gray stone,
Looking o'er red miles of heath, dew-dabbled, to the sea,
That there grew a village cry,
How Maud's cheeks did lose their dye,
As a ship, once, sailing by,
Melted on the sapphire lea.
‘Lady Maud,’ they said, ‘is vain;
With a cold and fine disdain
She walks o'er mead and moorland, she wanders by the sea—
Sits within her tower alone,
Like Œnone carved in stone,
Like the queen of half a zone,
Ah, so icy-proud is she!’
With a cold and fine disdain
She walks o'er mead and moorland, she wanders by the sea—
Sits within her tower alone,
Like Œnone carved in stone,
Like the queen of half a zone,
Ah, so icy-proud is she!’
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When Maud walked abroad, her feet
Seemed far sweeter than the sweet
Wild flowers that would follow her with iridescent eyes;
And the spangled eglantine,
And the honeysuckle vine,
Running round and round the pine
Grew tremulous with surprise.
Seemed far sweeter than the sweet
Wild flowers that would follow her with iridescent eyes;
And the spangled eglantine,
And the honeysuckle vine,
Running round and round the pine
Grew tremulous with surprise.
But she passed by with a stare,
With a half unconscious air,
Making waves of amber froth, upon a sea of maize:
With her large and heavenly eyes
Looking through and through the skies,
As if God's rich paradise,
Were growing upon her gaze!
With a half unconscious air,
Making waves of amber froth, upon a sea of maize:
With her large and heavenly eyes
Looking through and through the skies,
As if God's rich paradise,
Were growing upon her gaze!
Her lone walks led all one way,
And all ended at the gray
And the ragged, jagged rocks, that tooth the dreadful beach;
There Queen Maud would stand, the Sweet!
With the white surf at her feet,
While above her wheeled the fleet
Sparrow-hawk with startling screech.
And all ended at the gray
And the ragged, jagged rocks, that tooth the dreadful beach;
There Queen Maud would stand, the Sweet!
With the white surf at her feet,
While above her wheeled the fleet
Sparrow-hawk with startling screech.
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When the stars had blossomed bright,
And the gardens of the night
Were full of golden marigolds, and violets astir,
Lady Maud would sit alone,
And the sea with inner tone,
Half of melody and moan,
Would rise up and speak with her.
And the gardens of the night
Were full of golden marigolds, and violets astir,
Lady Maud would sit alone,
And the sea with inner tone,
Half of melody and moan,
Would rise up and speak with her.
And she ever loved the sea—
God's half-uttered mystery—
With its million lips of shells, its never-ceasing roar:
And 'twas well that, when she died,
They made Maud a grave beside
The blue pulses of the tide,
'Mong the crags of Elsinore.
God's half-uttered mystery—
With its million lips of shells, its never-ceasing roar:
And 'twas well that, when she died,
They made Maud a grave beside
The blue pulses of the tide,
'Mong the crags of Elsinore.
One chill, red leaf-falling morn,
Many russet Autumns gone,
A lone ship with folded wings, lay dozing off the lea:
It had lain throughout the night,
With its wings of murky white
Folded, after weary flight—
The worn nursling of the sea!
Many russet Autumns gone,
A lone ship with folded wings, lay dozing off the lea:
It had lain throughout the night,
With its wings of murky white
Folded, after weary flight—
The worn nursling of the sea!
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Crowds of peasants flocked the sands;
There were tears and clasping hands;
And a sailor from the ship passed through the kirk-yard gate.
Then amid the grass that crept,
Fading, over her who slept,
How he hid his face and wept,
Crying, ‘Late, alas! too late!’
There were tears and clasping hands;
And a sailor from the ship passed through the kirk-yard gate.
Then amid the grass that crept,
Fading, over her who slept,
How he hid his face and wept,
Crying, ‘Late, alas! too late!’
And they called her cold. God knows ..
Underneath the winter snows,
The invisible hearts of flowers grow ripe for blossoming!
And the lives that look so cold,
If their stories could be told,
Would seem cast in gentler mould,
Would seem full of love and spring.
Underneath the winter snows,
The invisible hearts of flowers grow ripe for blossoming!
And the lives that look so cold,
If their stories could be told,
Would seem cast in gentler mould,
Would seem full of love and spring.
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PASSING ST. HELENA.
And this is St. Helena? This the spotHaunted forever by an Emperor!
Methinks 'twere meet that such a royal ghost
Should pace these gloomy battlements by night!
—The ship veered off, and we passed out to sea:
And in the first fair moonrise of the month,
I watched the island, till it seemed a speck
No bigger than Astarte. Year by year,
The picture came and went upon my brain,
Like frost-work on the windows: in my dreams
I saw those jagged turrets of dull rock
Uplifted in the moonlight: saw the gulls
Darting in sudden circles; heard the low
And everlasting anthem of the sea!
And from the nether world a voice would come,
Here did they bring the Corsican, and here
Died the chained eagle by these dismal cliffs!
| The Ballad of Babie Bell And Other Poems | |