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 | [Poems by Hovey in] Last songs from Vagabondia |  |
1
THE CROSSROADS
You to the left and I to the right,
For the ways of men must sever—
And it well may be for a day and a night,
And it well may be forever.
But whether we meet or whether we part
(For our ways are past our knowing),
A pledge from the heart to its fellow heart
On the ways we all are going!
Here's luck!
For we know not where we are going.
For the ways of men must sever—
And it well may be for a day and a night,
And it well may be forever.
But whether we meet or whether we part
(For our ways are past our knowing),
A pledge from the heart to its fellow heart
On the ways we all are going!
Here's luck!
For we know not where we are going.
We have striven fair in love and war,
But the wheel was always weighted;
We have lost the prize that we struggled for,
We have won the prize that was fated.
We have met our loss with a smile and a song,
And our gains with a wink and a whistle,—
For, whether we 're right or whether we 're wrong,
There 's a rose for every thistle.
Here 's luck—
And a drop to wet your whistle!
But the wheel was always weighted;
We have lost the prize that we struggled for,
We have won the prize that was fated.
We have met our loss with a smile and a song,
And our gains with a wink and a whistle,—
For, whether we 're right or whether we 're wrong,
There 's a rose for every thistle.
Here 's luck—
And a drop to wet your whistle!
Whether we win or whether we lose
With the hands that life is dealing,
It is not we nor the ways we choose
But the fall of the cards that 's sealing.
There 's a fate in love and a fate in fight,
And the best of us all go under—
And whether we 're wrong or whether we 're right,
We win, sometimes, to our wonder.
Here 's luck—
That we may not yet go under!
With the hands that life is dealing,
It is not we nor the ways we choose
But the fall of the cards that 's sealing.
There 's a fate in love and a fate in fight,
And the best of us all go under—
And whether we 're wrong or whether we 're right,
We win, sometimes, to our wonder.
Here 's luck—
That we may not yet go under!
2
With a steady swing and an open brow
We have tramped the ways together,
But we 're clasping hands at the crossroads now
In the Fiend's own night for weather;
And whether we bleed or whether we smile
In the leagues that lie before us,
The ways of life are many a mile
And the dark of Fate is o'er us.
Here 's luck!
And a cheer for the dark before us!
We have tramped the ways together,
But we 're clasping hands at the crossroads now
In the Fiend's own night for weather;
And whether we bleed or whether we smile
In the leagues that lie before us,
The ways of life are many a mile
And the dark of Fate is o'er us.
Here 's luck!
And a cheer for the dark before us!
You to the left and I to the right,
For the ways of men must sever,
And it well may be for a day and a night,
And it well may be forever!
But whether we live or whether we die
(For the end is past our knowing),
Here 's two frank hearts and the open sky,
Be a fair or an ill wind blowing!
Here 's luck!
In the teeth of all winds blowing.
For the ways of men must sever,
And it well may be for a day and a night,
And it well may be forever!
But whether we live or whether we die
(For the end is past our knowing),
Here 's two frank hearts and the open sky,
Be a fair or an ill wind blowing!
Here 's luck!
In the teeth of all winds blowing.
“AT LAST, O DEATH”
A FRAGMENT
At last, O death!Not with the sick-room fever and weary heart
And slow subsidence of diminished breath—
But strong and free
With the great tumult of the living sea.
Behold, I have loved.
And though I wept for the long sundering,
I did not fear thee, Death, nor then nor now.
I girded up my loins and sought my kind,
And did a man's work in a world of men,
3
Now come, then, in the shape I love the best.
In the salt, sturdy wrestling of the sea,
I give thee welcome.
10
DAY AND NIGHT
(Read at the Sixty-sixth Annual Convention of the Psi Upsilon Fraternity, at Cornell University, 1899.)
Fair college of the quiet inland lake
And beautiful fair name that like a bell
Rings out its clear sheer call of joy, Cornell!—
Its call of high undaunted dares that take
The hearts of men with fervours for thy sake
And for thy sake with sudden hopes that swell,
Hail first to thee, with praise for thy bold youth,
Thy fearless challenge in the ranks of truth,
Thy forward footing into the unknown!
The new in knowledge that is old in being
Wrenched from the dark and morninged for our seeing—
This is the legend on thy banners blown.
And beautiful fair name that like a bell
Rings out its clear sheer call of joy, Cornell!—
Its call of high undaunted dares that take
11
And for thy sake with sudden hopes that swell,
Hail first to thee, with praise for thy bold youth,
Thy fearless challenge in the ranks of truth,
Thy forward footing into the unknown!
The new in knowledge that is old in being
Wrenched from the dark and morninged for our seeing—
This is the legend on thy banners blown.
Mightier the foes yet that are still to smite,
And fiercer yet the fields we still must fight,
But thou, a David of the sunrise cause,
In the first dawn of the defiant day,
Startled the mumbling hosts that bar the way—
Thou, a young Spartan of the days to be,
Made the vast hordes of Persian darkness pause
And bade our band think of Thermopylæ.
And fiercer yet the fields we still must fight,
But thou, a David of the sunrise cause,
In the first dawn of the defiant day,
Startled the mumbling hosts that bar the way—
Thou, a young Spartan of the days to be,
Made the vast hordes of Persian darkness pause
And bade our band think of Thermopylæ.
Day—yes, the day for thee! but all we men
Are twofold, having need of day and night.
Day for the mind, the ardour of the fight,
Night for the soul and silence. So again
To thee I turn, O one of many stars
That make the loyal heaven glorious
But dear among the innumerable to us,
Psi Upsilon, and resting from the scars
Of day, the brunt of battle, lift thy song,
“Now for the joys of night!”—they sing it still
In the old chapters where we had our fill
Of fun and fellowship and frank good will,
I and my fellows, when we too were young.
“Soft as a dream of beauty”—hark, again!
Here 's to his right good health who sang that strain!
Are twofold, having need of day and night.
Day for the mind, the ardour of the fight,
Night for the soul and silence. So again
To thee I turn, O one of many stars
That make the loyal heaven glorious
But dear among the innumerable to us,
Psi Upsilon, and resting from the scars
Of day, the brunt of battle, lift thy song,
“Now for the joys of night!”—they sing it still
In the old chapters where we had our fill
Of fun and fellowship and frank good will,
I and my fellows, when we too were young.
“Soft as a dream of beauty”—hark, again!
Here 's to his right good health who sang that strain!
12
Come with me into the night—
The intimate embracing night!
The night is still;
And we may walk from hill to hill
Silent, with but the murmur of our souls,
As through the woods the murmur of the night.
—Ah, take your heaven of undying light,
Of glare of gold and glint of aureoles!
I think God keeps for us somewhere
A place of cool dusks and caressing air,
Where all the greens and yellows dream of blue
And all the rainbow hints itself in hue
But never speaks outright,—
Never unveils
The unmistakable red or violet,
But lets all colour die to a perfume.
The intimate embracing night!
The night is still;
And we may walk from hill to hill
Silent, with but the murmur of our souls,
As through the woods the murmur of the night.
—Ah, take your heaven of undying light,
Of glare of gold and glint of aureoles!
I think God keeps for us somewhere
A place of cool dusks and caressing air,
Where all the greens and yellows dream of blue
And all the rainbow hints itself in hue
But never speaks outright,—
Never unveils
The unmistakable red or violet,
But lets all colour die to a perfume.
Is it the flapping of sails
And the lurch of a jibing boom
Where a boat comes round, below, on the lake, to set
Off shore again? How clear,
Like the league-distant hills that seem so near
In the thin air of Colorado, rise
The voices of the merry-making crew
Over the waters,—songs of love that strew
The silence with the roses of surmise!
And the lurch of a jibing boom
Where a boat comes round, below, on the lake, to set
Off shore again? How clear,
Like the league-distant hills that seem so near
In the thin air of Colorado, rise
The voices of the merry-making crew
Over the waters,—songs of love that strew
The silence with the roses of surmise!
Hark!
There is no sound beneath the sky
But sails that flap and oars that feather
And the low water whispering by
In the June weather.
My love and I,
My love and I,
My love and I together!
But sails that flap and oars that feather
And the low water whispering by
In the June weather.
My love and I,
My love and I,
My love and I together!
13
The starlight lies upon the lake
Like dreams of vanished days and viewless
Earth never shall recall awake,—
The dim lost Thules!
My love and I,
My love and I,
My love and I together!
Like dreams of vanished days and viewless
Earth never shall recall awake,—
The dim lost Thules!
My love and I,
My love and I,
My love and I together!
The soft wind stirs among the firs,
The great stars wait above and seek not;
The night is full of ministers
For souls that speak not.
My love and I,
My love and I,
My love and I together!
The great stars wait above and seek not;
The night is full of ministers
For souls that speak not.
My love and I,
My love and I,
My love and I together!
I wonder whether you and I
Are real, love—I wonder whether!
I only know that, live or die,
We dream together.
My love and I,
My love and I,
My love and I together!
Are real, love—I wonder whether!
I only know that, live or die,
We dream together.
My love and I,
My love and I,
My love and I together!
Far, so far—
The song dies on the waters like a star
That founders in the surges of the dawn.
The song dies on the waters like a star
That founders in the surges of the dawn.
Ah, the great Night!
The far phantasmal Night!
The delicate dim aisles and domes of dream!
Loosed from the mind, set free
From thought and memory,
The soul goes naked into the vast stream
Of musing spirit like a careless Faun,—
The soul lies naked to the summer night.
The far phantasmal Night!
The delicate dim aisles and domes of dream!
Loosed from the mind, set free
From thought and memory,
The soul goes naked into the vast stream
14
The soul lies naked to the summer night.
Night of the clasped hands of comrades! Night of the kiss
Of lovers trembling at love's mysteries!
Night of desire!
Night of the gaslight-necklaced city! Night
Of revel and laughter and delight!
Night of the starlit Sea!
Night of the waves shot with strange witch-fire!
Night of sleep!
Night of dream!
Night of the lonely soul under the stars!
Of lovers trembling at love's mysteries!
Night of desire!
Night of the gaslight-necklaced city! Night
Of revel and laughter and delight!
Night of the starlit Sea!
Night of the waves shot with strange witch-fire!
Night of sleep!
Night of dream!
Night of the lonely soul under the stars!
But ever the self put away
With the day,
And the soul soaring, glorying into the night!
With the day,
And the soul soaring, glorying into the night!
Night!
The masked mysterious Night!
The infinite unriddled beautiful Witch!
The Sibyl of the universal Doom!
The masked mysterious Night!
The infinite unriddled beautiful Witch!
The Sibyl of the universal Doom!
This is the joy of man's spirit—
When peace falls,
Unknown, undivined, inexplicable,
Over the face of the world.
When peace falls,
Unknown, undivined, inexplicable,
Over the face of the world.
Oh, praise for the glory of battle—the Day and its strife!
And praise for the sweat and the struggle, the turmoil of life!
But the work is not wrought for the working, increase for increase;
We toil for the rest that comes after, we battle for peace.
Let us take up our work every man, meet our fate with a cheer—
But the best is the clasped hands of comrades, when nightfall is near,
The best is the rest and the friendship, the calm of the soul
When the stars are in heaven and the runner lies down at the goal.
And praise for the sweat and the struggle, the turmoil of life!
But the work is not wrought for the working, increase for increase;
15
Let us take up our work every man, meet our fate with a cheer—
But the best is the clasped hands of comrades, when nightfall is near,
The best is the rest and the friendship, the calm of the soul
When the stars are in heaven and the runner lies down at the goal.
Let us take up our work as a nation, the work of the day,
Clasp hands with our brothers of England—and who shall say nay?
And who shall say nay to our navies—the ships of us, sons of the Sea?
And who shall say nay to our Empires, to the Law that we set for the free?
But the best is the bond that's between us, the bond of the brothers in blood,
The bond of the men who keep silence, as the night when it falls on the flood,
As the night when it falls on the vastness, the splendour and lone of the wave,
The bond of the English forever, the bond of the free and the brave!
Clasp hands with our brothers of England—and who shall say nay?
And who shall say nay to our navies—the ships of us, sons of the Sea?
And who shall say nay to our Empires, to the Law that we set for the free?
But the best is the bond that's between us, the bond of the brothers in blood,
The bond of the men who keep silence, as the night when it falls on the flood,
As the night when it falls on the vastness, the splendour and lone of the wave,
The bond of the English forever, the bond of the free and the brave!
And at last when the bugles are silent or call but to rouse
A cheer for the memory of crowned and victorious brows,
When the drums beat no more to the battle and, smitten in one,
The hearts of the nations uplift but one song to the sun,
When, the Law once made good for all peoples by stress of the sword,
The spent world shall rest from its wrestling, clasp hands in accord,
Then, best of all bests, in the silence that falls on man's soul,
We shall feel we are comrades and brothers from tropic to pole.
All men by the pledge of their manhood made one in the will
To achieve for all men as their fellows each conquest o'er ill,
No glory or beauty or music or triumph or mirth
If it be not made good for the least of the sons of the earth,
And the bond of all bonds shall be manhood, the right of all rights
The right to the hearts of our fellows, to the love that requites
All the strain and the pain and the fag, all the wrench of the day,
When the stars shine at last in the heavens and Night has its way.
A cheer for the memory of crowned and victorious brows,
When the drums beat no more to the battle and, smitten in one,
The hearts of the nations uplift but one song to the sun,
16
The spent world shall rest from its wrestling, clasp hands in accord,
Then, best of all bests, in the silence that falls on man's soul,
We shall feel we are comrades and brothers from tropic to pole.
All men by the pledge of their manhood made one in the will
To achieve for all men as their fellows each conquest o'er ill,
No glory or beauty or music or triumph or mirth
If it be not made good for the least of the sons of the earth,
And the bond of all bonds shall be manhood, the right of all rights
The right to the hearts of our fellows, to the love that requites
All the strain and the pain and the fag, all the wrench of the day,
When the stars shine at last in the heavens and Night has its way.
THE BATTLE OF MANILA
A FRAGMENT
By Cavite on the bay
'T was the Spanish squadron lay;
And the red dawn was creeping
O'er the city that lay sleeping
To the east, like a bride, in the May.
There was peace at Manila,
In the May morn at Manila,—
When ho, the Spanish admiral
Awoke to find our line
Had passed by gray Corregidor,
Had laughed at shoal and mine,
And flung to the sky its banners
With “Remember” for a sign!
'T was the Spanish squadron lay;
And the red dawn was creeping
O'er the city that lay sleeping
To the east, like a bride, in the May.
There was peace at Manila,
In the May morn at Manila,—
17
Awoke to find our line
Had passed by gray Corregidor,
Had laughed at shoal and mine,
And flung to the sky its banners
With “Remember” for a sign!
With the ships of Spain before
In the shelter of the shore,
And the forts on the right,
They drew forward to the fight,
And the first was the gallant Commodore;
In the bay of Manila,
In the doomed bay of Manila—
With succour half the world away,
No port beneath that sky,
With nothing but their ships and guns
And Yankee pluck to try,
They had left retreat behind them,
They had come to win or die!
[OMITTED]
For we spoke at Manila,
We said it at Manila,
Oh be ye brave, or be ye strong,
Ye build your ships in vain;
The children of the sea queen's brood
Will not give up the main;
We hold the sea against the world
As we held it against Spain.
In the shelter of the shore,
And the forts on the right,
They drew forward to the fight,
And the first was the gallant Commodore;
In the bay of Manila,
In the doomed bay of Manila—
With succour half the world away,
No port beneath that sky,
With nothing but their ships and guns
And Yankee pluck to try,
They had left retreat behind them,
They had come to win or die!
[OMITTED]
For we spoke at Manila,
We said it at Manila,
Oh be ye brave, or be ye strong,
Ye build your ships in vain;
The children of the sea queen's brood
Will not give up the main;
We hold the sea against the world
As we held it against Spain.
Be warned by Manila,
Take warning by Manila,
Ye may trade by land, ye may fight by land.
Ye may hold the land in fee;
But go not down to the sea in ships
To battle with the free;
For England and America
Will keep and hold the sea!
Take warning by Manila,
Ye may trade by land, ye may fight by land.
Ye may hold the land in fee;
18
To battle with the free;
For England and America
Will keep and hold the sea!
35
THE OPEN DOOR
Love me, love me not,—
What is that to me?
I have not forgot
When we two were three.
What is that to me?
I have not forgot
When we two were three.
She who loved us twain
Well enough to die,—
Can we love again
While her ghost stands by?
Well enough to die,—
Can we love again
While her ghost stands by?
Love me, love me not,—
I can love no more,
For the empty cot
And the open door.
I can love no more,
For the empty cot
And the open door.
JAPANESE LOVE-SONG
How you start away!
—As a flame starts from a gust.
Flame-heart o' the dust!
Sudden startle of dismay!
Swift triumph in distrust!
—As a flame starts from a gust.
Flame-heart o' the dust!
Sudden startle of dismay!
Swift triumph in distrust!
Flash and tremble of escape,
Fierce with desire!
Rippled water shot with fire
Wary of the rape
Of the eyes that sire!
Fierce with desire!
Rippled water shot with fire
Wary of the rape
Of the eyes that sire!
Radiant no-and-yes!
Deer-flight and panther-thirst!
Blest and accurst!
Sword-splendour past the guess
Of Heaven's best and Hell's worst!
Deer-flight and panther-thirst!
Blest and accurst!
Sword-splendour past the guess
Of Heaven's best and Hell's worst!
36
So you sprang up from yourself,
Burnt to supremacies,
Star-demoned by a kiss—
Night turned fire-elf,—
Wonder and all amiss!
Burnt to supremacies,
Star-demoned by a kiss—
Night turned fire-elf,—
Wonder and all amiss!
“HOW SHOULD LOVE KNOW?”
How should Love knowThe face of sorrow?
Love is so young a thing!
Roses that blow
To-day, lie to-morrow
Faded and withering.
UNFORESEEN
Why did I kiss you, sweet?
Nor you nor I can say.
You might have said some commonplace,
I might have turned away.
Nor you nor I can say.
You might have said some commonplace,
I might have turned away.
No thought was in our hearts
Of what we were to be.
Fate sent a madness on our souls
And swept us out to sea.
Of what we were to be.
Fate sent a madness on our souls
And swept us out to sea.
Fate, between breath and breath,
Has made the world anew,
And the bare skies of yesterday
Are all aflame with you.
Has made the world anew,
And the bare skies of yesterday
Are all aflame with you.
37
CHILD'S SONG
But just across the furthest hill
I know the fairies live.
I know the fairies live.
Please, sir, take me in your carriage
And ride me home! You see,
I've been to find the fairies
And I'm tired as I can be.
And ride me home! You see,
I've been to find the fairies
And I'm tired as I can be.
I crossed the meadow and the brook
And climbed Rapalye's hill,
But when I reached the top of it
There was another still.
And climbed Rapalye's hill,
But when I reached the top of it
There was another still.
HARMONICS
“Truth is not a creed,
For it does not need
Ever an apology.
Truth is not an ology;
'T is not part, but all.
Priests and savans shall
Never solve the mystic
Problem. The artistic
Mind alone of all can tell
What is Truth.
For it does not need
Ever an apology.
Truth is not an ology;
'T is not part, but all.
Priests and savans shall
Never solve the mystic
Problem. The artistic
Mind alone of all can tell
What is Truth.
“Poet, thou art wisest;
Dogmas thou despisest—
Science little prizest.
Tell us, for thou knowest well,
What is Truth.”
Dogmas thou despisest—
Science little prizest.
Tell us, for thou knowest well,
What is Truth.”
Spake the seekers to an holy
Bard, who answered, mild and lowly—
This, all this, was in the olden
Days when Saturn's reign was golden—
Bard, who answered, mild and lowly—
This, all this, was in the olden
Days when Saturn's reign was golden—
38
“Shall I read the riddle—
Tell you what is Truth?
Truth is not the first
Not the last or middle;
'T is the beautiful
And symmetric whole,
Embracing best and worst,
Embracing age and youth.
Tell you what is Truth?
Truth is not the first
Not the last or middle;
'T is the beautiful
And symmetric whole,
Embracing best and worst,
Embracing age and youth.
“All the universe
Is one mighty song,
Wherein every star
Chants out loud and strong
Each set note and word
It must aye rehearse.
Though the parts may jar,
The whole is as one chord.”
Is one mighty song,
Wherein every star
Chants out loud and strong
Each set note and word
It must aye rehearse.
Though the parts may jar,
The whole is as one chord.”
ORNITHOLOGY
Sweetheart, do you see up yonder through the leaves
The elm tree interweaves,
How that cock-sparrow chases his brown mate?
Look, where she perches now
Upon the bough
And turns her head to see if he pursue her,
Half frightened, half elate
To have so bold and beautiful a wooer.
See, he alights beside her. How his wings
Quiver with amorous passionings!
How voluble their chattering courtship is!
Soon will he know
Love's joys in overflow,
Love's extreme ecstasies.
The elm tree interweaves,
How that cock-sparrow chases his brown mate?
Look, where she perches now
Upon the bough
And turns her head to see if he pursue her,
Half frightened, half elate
To have so bold and beautiful a wooer.
See, he alights beside her. How his wings
Quiver with amorous passionings!
How voluble their chattering courtship is!
Soon will he know
Love's joys in overflow,
Love's extreme ecstasies.
39
No, off she flies!
Just as she seemed about to be subdued
To his impetuous desire!
How angrily he scolds, with wicked eyes
Following her flight, and turns his tiny ire
Against the innocent tree and pecks the wood!
While she—ah, the coquette!—
Lurks yonder in the cleft where the great tree
Breaks into boughs, and peeps about to see
If he is coming yet.
She 's in for a game of lovers' hide-and-seek,
And longs to have him find the hiding-place,
Although she feigns concealment, so to pique
His passion to a chase.
Just as she seemed about to be subdued
To his impetuous desire!
How angrily he scolds, with wicked eyes
Following her flight, and turns his tiny ire
Against the innocent tree and pecks the wood!
While she—ah, the coquette!—
Lurks yonder in the cleft where the great tree
Breaks into boughs, and peeps about to see
If he is coming yet.
She 's in for a game of lovers' hide-and-seek,
And longs to have him find the hiding-place,
Although she feigns concealment, so to pique
His passion to a chase.
In vain—he will not look
For all her sweet allurements. Out she whisks
Demurely from her nook,
As if she did not see and were not seen,
And perks herself and frisks
Her delicate tail as a lady flirts her fan,
And now slips back again to her retreat
And waits for one hushed moment in serene
Unfluttered expectation that the plan
Have issue sweet.
What, will he not come yet?
See how she glances at him unawares,
Tosses her head and gives herself high airs
In such a pretty pet.
For all her sweet allurements. Out she whisks
Demurely from her nook,
As if she did not see and were not seen,
And perks herself and frisks
Her delicate tail as a lady flirts her fan,
And now slips back again to her retreat
And waits for one hushed moment in serene
Unfluttered expectation that the plan
Have issue sweet.
What, will he not come yet?
See how she glances at him unawares,
Tosses her head and gives herself high airs
In such a pretty pet.
Cruel! he turns away,
Affecting unconcern.
All those endearing wiles are wrought in vain.
Alas, unlucky flirt! too late you learn
That long delays will make the eagerest lover
Aweary of pursuing. Nay,
Too late you fly half way to him again.
You will not so recover
The passion that you played with. Off he flies
And now is lost in the thick shade
Of lilac bushes further down the glade.
Another mistress charms his amorous eyes.
Have a care, sweetheart, or as he some day
I too will fly away.
Affecting unconcern.
All those endearing wiles are wrought in vain.
Alas, unlucky flirt! too late you learn
That long delays will make the eagerest lover
40
Too late you fly half way to him again.
You will not so recover
The passion that you played with. Off he flies
And now is lost in the thick shade
Of lilac bushes further down the glade.
Another mistress charms his amorous eyes.
Have a care, sweetheart, or as he some day
I too will fly away.
49
FROM THE CLIFF
Here on this ledge, the broad plain stretched below,The calm hills smiling in immortal mirth,
The blue sky whitening as it nears the earth,
Afar where all the summits are aglow,
I feel a mighty wind upon me blow
Like God's breath kindling in my soul a birth
Of turbulent music struggling to break girth.
I pass with Dante through eternal woe,
Quiver with Sappho's passion at my heart,
See Pindar's chariots flashing past the goal,
Triumph o'er splendours of unutterable light
And know supremely this, O God,—Thou art,
Feeling in all this tumult of my soul
Grand kinship with the glory of Thy might.
SEA SONNETS
I
Out with the tide—afar, afar, afar,Where will the wide dark take us, you and me—
The darkness and the tempest and the sea?
How long we waited where the tall ships are,
Disconsolate and safe within the bar!
Ocean forever calling us, but we—
God, how we stifled there, nor dared be free
With a sharp knife and night and the wild dare!
But now, the hawser cut, adrift, away—
Mad with escape, what care we to what doom
50
In a vague world of roaring surge astray,
Out with the tide and into the unknown,
Compassed about with rapture and the gloom!
II
We two, waifs, wide-eyed and without fear,With the dark swirl of life about our prow,
The hollow, heedless swash of year on year
That bears us on and recks not where nor how!
Our skiff is but a feather on the foam,
No mighty galleon strong to meet the storm—
An open boat—God's gift to us for home,
And but each other's arms to keep us warm!
What port for us to make? Our only star
To steer by is the star of missing sails,
Our only haven where the kelpies are—
Yet, you great merchantmen with freighted bales,
Rebel and lost and aimless as we go,
We keep a joy your pride can never know.
III
Moon of my midlight! Moon of the dark sea,Where like a petrel's ghost my sloop is driven!
Behold, about me and under and over me,
The darkness and the waters and the heaven—
Huge, shapeless monsters as of worlds in birth,
Dragons of Fate, that hold me not in scope—
Bar up my way with fierce, indifferent mirth,
And fall in giant frolic on my hope.
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The dreaded horror of the sightless deep—
Only thy love, like moonlight, pours to save
My soul from the despairs that lunge and leap.
Moon of my night, though hell and death assail,
The tremble of thy light is on my sail.
AT A SUMMER RESORT
I miss you so by day, your look, your walk,The rustle of your draperies on the stair,
Our Leyden-jar-fuls of electric talk,
The sense of you about me everywhere.
The people bore me in the boarding-house,
I hardly can accord them yes or no;
The beauty of the valleys can arouse
No such elation as a year ago.
But when the last dull guest has gone to bed
And only crickets keep me company,
In the mesmeric night when truth is said—
When you, dear loveliness with drooping eye,
Demurely enter through the unreal wall,
And I forget you went away at all.
NEW YORK
The low line of the walls that lie outspreadMiles on long miles, the fog and smoke and slime,
The wharves and ships with flags of every clime,
The domes and steeples rising overhead!
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Of the million heavy feet that keep sad time
To heavy thoughts, the want that mothers crime,
The weary toiling for a bitter bread,
The perishing of poets for renown,
The shriek of shame from the concealing waves.
Ah, me! how many heart-beats day by day
Go to make up the life of the vast town!
O myriad dead in unremembered graves!
O torrent of the living down Broadway!
A GROTESQUE
Our Gothic minds have gargoyle fancies.Odd,
That there will come a day when you and I
Shall not be you and I, that we shall lie,
We two, in the damp earth-mould, above each clod
A drunken headstone in the neglected sod,
Thereon the phrase, Hic Jacet, worn awry,
And then our virtues, bah!—and piety—
Perhaps some cheeky reference to God!
And haply after many a century
Some spectacled old man shall drive the birds
A moment from their song in the lonely spot
And make a copy of the quaint old words—
They will then be quaint and old—and all for what?
To fill a gap in a genealogy.
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WHEN THE PRIEST LEFT
What did he say?
To seek love otherwhere
Nor bind the soul to clay?
It may be so—I cannot tell—
But I know that life is fair,
And love's bold clarion in the air
Outdins his little vesper-bell.
To seek love otherwhere
Nor bind the soul to clay?
It may be so—I cannot tell—
But I know that life is fair,
And love's bold clarion in the air
Outdins his little vesper-bell.
Love God? Can I touch God with both my hands?
Can I breathe in his hair and brush his cheek
He is too far to seek.
If nowhere else be love, who understands
What thing it is?
This love is but a name that wise men speak.
God hath no lips to kiss.
Can I breathe in his hair and brush his cheek
He is too far to seek.
If nowhere else be love, who understands
What thing it is?
This love is but a name that wise men speak.
God hath no lips to kiss.
Let God be; surely, if he will,
At the end of days,
He can win love as well as praise.
Why must we spill
The human love out at his feet?
Let be this talk of good and ill!
Though God be God, art thou not fair and sweet?
At the end of days,
He can win love as well as praise.
Why must we spill
The human love out at his feet?
Let be this talk of good and ill!
Though God be God, art thou not fair and sweet?
Open the window; let the air
Blow in on us.
It is enough to find you fair,
To touch with fingers timorous
Your sunlit hair,—
To turn my body to a prayer,
And kiss you—thus.
Blow in on us.
It is enough to find you fair,
To touch with fingers timorous
Your sunlit hair,—
To turn my body to a prayer,
And kiss you—thus.
54
THE GIFT OF ART
A FRAGMENT
I dreamed that a child was born; and at his birthThe Angel of the Word stood by the hearth
And spake to her that bare him: “Look without!
Behold the beauty of the Day, the shout
Of colour to glad colour, rocks and trees
And sun and sea and wind and sky! All these
Are God's expression, art-work of his hand,
Which men must love ere they may understand,
By which alone he speaks till they have grace
To hear his voice and look upon his face.
For first and last of all things in the heart
Of God as man the glory is of art.
What gift could God bestow or man beseech,
Save spirit unto spirit uttered speech?
Wisdom were not, for God himself could find
No way to reach the unresponsive mind,
Sweet Love were dead, and all the crowded skies
A loneliness and not a Paradise.
Teach the child language, mother. . . .”
TO JAMES WHITCOMB RILEY
Though aiblins some deserve as highlyO' that braw winsome lass an' wily
What gi'es a kiss to bardies slyly
An' sets 'em liltin',
I ken there's nane can equal Riley
To 'scape her jiltin'.
How comes it, man, ye ken sae well
The Muse's tricks? Hae ye a spell
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An' fu' in Fame's e'e?
Fame?—let that hizzie gae to hell!
Here 's to you, Jamesie!
TO RUDYARD KIPLING
What need have you of praising? Could I findSome lonely poet no one praises yet,
Him rather would I choose, that he might know
A fellow-craftsman knew him, marked him, loved.
But you—the whole world praises you. What need
Have you of any speech I have to give?
Yet for the craft's sake I must give you praise;
And for the craft's sake you will pardon me.
But I would rather meet you face to face
And talk of other and indifferent things,
And say no word of all that I would say,
Praise and thanksgiving for your splendid song,
Praise and the pride of the empires of the Blood—
But leave you, silent, as we English do—
And you would know—and you would understand.
68
HER VALENTINE
What, send her a valentine? Never!
I see you don't know who “she” is.
I should ruin my chances forever;
My hopes would collapse with a fizz.
I see you don't know who “she” is.
I should ruin my chances forever;
My hopes would collapse with a fizz.
I can't see why she scents such disaster
When I take heart to venture a word;
I 've no dream of becoming her master,
I 've no notion of being her lord.
When I take heart to venture a word;
I 've no dream of becoming her master,
I 've no notion of being her lord.
All I want is to just be her lover!
She 's the most up-to-date of her sex,
And there 's such a multitude of her,
No wonder they call her complex.
She 's the most up-to-date of her sex,
And there 's such a multitude of her,
No wonder they call her complex.
She 's a bachelor, even when married,
She 's a vagabond, even when housed;
And if ever her citadel 's carried
Her suspicions must not be aroused.
She 's a vagabond, even when housed;
And if ever her citadel 's carried
Her suspicions must not be aroused.
69
She 's erratic, impulsive and human,
And she blunders,—as goddesses can;
But if she's what they call the New Woman,
Then I'd like to be the New Man.
And she blunders,—as goddesses can;
But if she's what they call the New Woman,
Then I'd like to be the New Man.
I'm glad she makes books and paints pictures,
And typewrites and hoes her own row,
And it 's quite beyond reach of conjectures
How much further she's going to go.
And typewrites and hoes her own row,
And it 's quite beyond reach of conjectures
How much further she's going to go.
When she scorns, in the L-road, my proffer
Of a seat and hangs on to a strap;
I admire her so much, I could offer
To let her ride up on my lap.
Of a seat and hangs on to a strap;
I admire her so much, I could offer
To let her ride up on my lap.
Let her undo the stays of the ages,
That have cramped and confined her so long!
Let her burst through the frail candy cages
That fooled her to think they were strong!
That have cramped and confined her so long!
Let her burst through the frail candy cages
That fooled her to think they were strong!
She may enter life's wide vagabondage,
She may do without flutter or frill,
She may take off the chains of her bondage,—
And anything else that she will.
She may do without flutter or frill,
She may take off the chains of her bondage,—
And anything else that she will.
She may take me off, for example,
And she probably does when I'm gone.
I'm aware the occasion is ample;
That 's why I so often take on.
And she probably does when I'm gone.
I'm aware the occasion is ample;
That 's why I so often take on.
I'm so glad she can win her own dollars
And know all the freedom it brings.
I love her in shirt-waists and collars,
I love her in dress-reform things.
And know all the freedom it brings.
I love her in shirt-waists and collars,
I love her in dress-reform things.
70
I love her in bicycle skirtlings—
Especially when there's a breeze—
I love her in crinklings and quirklings
And anything else that you please.
Especially when there's a breeze—
I love her in crinklings and quirklings
And anything else that you please.
I dote on her even in bloomers—
If Parisian enough in their style—
In fact, she may choose her costumers,
Wherever her fancy beguile.
If Parisian enough in their style—
In fact, she may choose her costumers,
Wherever her fancy beguile.
She may box, she may shoot, she may wrestle,
She may argue, hold office or vote,
She may engineer turret or trestle,
And build a few ships that will float.
She may argue, hold office or vote,
She may engineer turret or trestle,
And build a few ships that will float.
She may lecture (all lectures but curtain)
Make money, and naturally spend,
If I let her have her way, I'm certain
She'll let me have mine in the end!
Make money, and naturally spend,
If I let her have her way, I'm certain
She'll let me have mine in the end!
72
PEACE
There is peace, you say. I believe you. Peace? Ay, we know it well—
Not the peace of the smile of God, but the peace of the leer of Hell,
Peace, that the rich may fatten and barter their souls for gain,
Peace, that the hungry may slay and rob the corpse of the slain,
Peace, that the heart of the people may rot with a vile gangrene.
What though the men are bloodless! What's a man to a machine?
Not the peace of the smile of God, but the peace of the leer of Hell,
Peace, that the rich may fatten and barter their souls for gain,
Peace, that the hungry may slay and rob the corpse of the slain,
Peace, that the heart of the people may rot with a vile gangrene.
What though the men are bloodless! What's a man to a machine?
Here you come with your Economics. If ever the Devil designed
A science, 'twas yours, I doubt not, a study to Hell's own mind,
Merciless, soulless, sordid, the science of selfish greed,
Blind to the light of wisdom, and deaf to the voice of need.
And you prate of the wealth of nations, as if it were bought and sold!
The wealth of nations is men, not silk and cotton and gold.
A science, 'twas yours, I doubt not, a study to Hell's own mind,
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Blind to the light of wisdom, and deaf to the voice of need.
And you prate of the wealth of nations, as if it were bought and sold!
The wealth of nations is men, not silk and cotton and gold.
How will you measure in money the cost of knowledge and Art?
Is honour valued in bank-notes? Can you pay for a broken heart?
Can you reckon the worth of a poem by a standard of meat and drink?
Can you buy with gold and silver a heart too great to shrink?
Tell me, how many dollars will pay for the lifeblood shed
From the veins of the true and valiant who feared not and are dead?
Is honour valued in bank-notes? Can you pay for a broken heart?
Can you reckon the worth of a poem by a standard of meat and drink?
Can you buy with gold and silver a heart too great to shrink?
Tell me, how many dollars will pay for the lifeblood shed
From the veins of the true and valiant who feared not and are dead?
Battle is fearful—I grant it. The fields are burnt bare with its breath,
Death and the wrongs of women that cry out louder than death,
The grime and the trampled faces and the shrieking of shells in the air,
White lips of victims that pray and there comes no help for their prayer,
And Famine that follows the armies, and Crime that skulks in their rear,—
These are fearful alike to the soldiers that strike and the cravens that fear.
Death and the wrongs of women that cry out louder than death,
The grime and the trampled faces and the shrieking of shells in the air,
White lips of victims that pray and there comes no help for their prayer,
And Famine that follows the armies, and Crime that skulks in their rear,—
These are fearful alike to the soldiers that strike and the cravens that fear.
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But there 's yet one woe far worse than war with its griefs and graves—
To sink to a nation of cowards, sycophants, thieves and slaves,
There is one thing for man or nation more within man's control
And worse than the death of the body, and that is the death of the soul.
But the sins of the city are silent and her ruin is wrought by stealth
And the sores that fester are cloaked and her rottenness masks as health.
To sink to a nation of cowards, sycophants, thieves and slaves,
There is one thing for man or nation more within man's control
And worse than the death of the body, and that is the death of the soul.
But the sins of the city are silent and her ruin is wrought by stealth
And the sores that fester are cloaked and her rottenness masks as health.
True Peace is a holy thing—the peace God gives to his own,
Heart's peace, though the body move where the thickest shot is thrown,
Deeps of peace forever unplumbed by a mortal eye—
But the peace of the world is the Devil's, a mockery and a lie,
Better city arrayed against city and hamlet with hamlet at strife,
So valour outvalue lucre and honour be more than life.
Heart's peace, though the body move where the thickest shot is thrown,
Deeps of peace forever unplumbed by a mortal eye—
But the peace of the world is the Devil's, a mockery and a lie,
Better city arrayed against city and hamlet with hamlet at strife,
So valour outvalue lucre and honour be more than life.
A LYRIC
From the French of Maurice Maeterlinck.
And if some day he come back,
What should he be told?—
Tell him he was waited for,
Till my heart was cold.
What should he be told?—
Tell him he was waited for,
Till my heart was cold.
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And if he ask me yet again,
Not recognizing me?—
Speak him fair and sisterly;
His heart breaks, maybe.
Not recognizing me?—
Speak him fair and sisterly;
His heart breaks, maybe.
And if he ask me where you are,
What shall I reply?—
Give him my golden ring,
And make no reply.
What shall I reply?—
Give him my golden ring,
And make no reply.
And if he ask me why the hall
Is left desolate?—
Show him the unlit lamp
And the open gate.
Is left desolate?—
Show him the unlit lamp
And the open gate.
And if he should ask me, then,
How you fell asleep?—
Tell him I smiled, for fear
Lest he should weep.
How you fell asleep?—
Tell him I smiled, for fear
Lest he should weep.
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TEN COMMANDMENTS
It is right:I. LOVE
To love everybody a little and some people a great deal.II. FAITH
To trust the God who made us is good and will not forget us.III. OBEDIENCE
To obey those who have the right to hold themselves responsible for us.IV. HOPE
To look on the bright side of things and keep a good heart up.V. COURAGE
To dare do whatever we think we ought to do.VI. CHEERFULNESS
To express our good, happy feelings, not the others.VII. PRUDENCE
To use our intelligence to avoid trouble.VIII
To hate or hurt any one, except for a greater good; to be mean and selfish; to be unjust.IX
To tell lies, except when people ask what they have no right to know.X
To do anything dirty, or ugly, or intemperate.78
QUATRAINS
I
Life as it is! Accept it; it is thine!The God that gave it, gave it for thy good.
The God that made it had not been divine
Could he have set thee poison for thy food.
II
Abstain not; Life and Love, like night and day,Offer themselves to us on their own terms,
—Not ours. Accept their bounty while ye may,
Before we be accepted by the worms.
III
We rail at Time and Chance, and break our heartsTo make the glory of to-day endure.
Is the sun dead because the day departs?
And are the suns of Life and Love less sure?
IV
Fear not the menace of the bye-and-bye.To-day is ours; to-morrow Fate must give.
Stretch out your hands and eat, although ye die!
Better to die than never once to live.
THE ADVENTURERS
We are adventurers who come
Before the merchants and the priests;
Our only legacy from home,
A wisdom older than the East's.
Before the merchants and the priests;
Our only legacy from home,
A wisdom older than the East's.
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Soldiers of Fortune, we unfurl
The banners of a forlorn hope,
Leaving the city smoke to curl
O'er dingy roofs where puppets mope.
The banners of a forlorn hope,
Leaving the city smoke to curl
O'er dingy roofs where puppets mope.
We are the Ishmaelites of earth
Who at the crossroads beat the drum;
None guess our lineage nor our birth,
The flag we serve nor whence we come.
Who at the crossroads beat the drum;
None guess our lineage nor our birth,
The flag we serve nor whence we come.
We claim a Sire than no man knows,
The Emperor of Nights and Days,
Who saith to Caesar, “Go,”—he goes,
To Alexander, “Stay,”—he stays.
The Emperor of Nights and Days,
Who saith to Caesar, “Go,”—he goes,
To Alexander, “Stay,”—he stays.
Out of a greater town than Tyre,
We march to conquer and control
The golden hill-lands of Desire,
The Nicaraguas of the soul.
We march to conquer and control
The golden hill-lands of Desire,
The Nicaraguas of the soul.
We have cast in our lot with Truth;
We will not flinch nor stay the hand,
Till on the last skyline of youth
We look down on his fairy new land.
We will not flinch nor stay the hand,
Till on the last skyline of youth
We look down on his fairy new land.
We put from port without a fear,
For Freedom on this Spanish Main;
And the great wind that bore us here
Will drive our galleys home again.
For Freedom on this Spanish Main;
And the great wind that bore us here
Will drive our galleys home again.
If not, we can lie down and die,
Content to perish with our peers,
So one more rood we gained thereby
For Love's Dominion through the years.
Content to perish with our peers,
So one more rood we gained thereby
For Love's Dominion through the years.
| [Poems by Hovey in] Last songs from Vagabondia | |