 | Poems by John B. Tabb |  |
151
SONNETS.
153
THE INDIAN OF SAN SALVADOR.
What time the countless arrow-heads of lightKeen twinkled on the bended heavens, back-drawn
With deadly aim, at signal of the Dawn,
To slay the slumbering, dusky warrior, Night;
I dreamed a dream: And, lo! three spirits, white
As mist that gathers when the rain is gone,
Came walking o'er the waters, whereupon
The very waves seemed quivering with affright
I woke and heard, while yet the vision stayed,
A prophecy: “Behold the coming race
Before whose feet the forest kings shall fall
Prostrate; and ye, like twilight shadows tall
That wither at the sun's uplifted face,
Shall pass in silence to a deeper shade.”
154
KEATS.
Upon thy tomb 'tis graven, “Here lies one
Whose name is writ in water.” Could there be
A flight of Fancy fitlier feigned for thee,
A fairer motto for her favorite son?
For, as the wave, thy varying numbers run—
Now crested proud in tidal majesty,
Now tranquil as the twilight reverie
Of some dim lake the white moon looks upon
Whose name is writ in water.” Could there be
A flight of Fancy fitlier feigned for thee,
A fairer motto for her favorite son?
For, as the wave, thy varying numbers run—
Now crested proud in tidal majesty,
Now tranquil as the twilight reverie
Of some dim lake the white moon looks upon
While teems the world with silence. Even there,
In each Protean rainbow-tint that stains
The breathing canvas of the atmosphere,
We read an exhalation of thy strains.
Thus, on the scroll of Nature, everywhere,
Thy name, a deathless syllable, remains.
In each Protean rainbow-tint that stains
The breathing canvas of the atmosphere,
We read an exhalation of thy strains.
Thus, on the scroll of Nature, everywhere,
Thy name, a deathless syllable, remains.
155
SILENCE.
Temple of God, from all eternity
Alone like Him without beginning found;
Of time and space and solitude the bound,
Yet in thyself of all communion free.
Is, then, the temple holier than He
That dwells therein? Must reverence surround
With barriers the portal, lest a sound
Profane it? Nay; behold a mystery!
Alone like Him without beginning found;
Of time and space and solitude the bound,
Yet in thyself of all communion free.
Is, then, the temple holier than He
That dwells therein? Must reverence surround
With barriers the portal, lest a sound
Profane it? Nay; behold a mystery!
What was, abides; what is, hath ever been:
The lowliest the loftiest sustains.
A silence, by no breath of utterance stirred—
Virginity in motherhood—remains,
Clear, midst a cloud of all-pervading sin,
The voice of Love's unutterable word.
The lowliest the loftiest sustains.
A silence, by no breath of utterance stirred—
Virginity in motherhood—remains,
Clear, midst a cloud of all-pervading sin,
The voice of Love's unutterable word.
156
UNUTTERED.
Waiting for words—as on the broad expanse
Of heaven the formless vapors of the night,
Expectant, wait the oracle of light
Interpreting their dumb significance;
Or like a star that in the morning glance
Shrinks, as a folding blossom, from the sight,
Nor wakens till upon the western height
The shadows to their evening towers advance—
Of heaven the formless vapors of the night,
Expectant, wait the oracle of light
Interpreting their dumb significance;
Or like a star that in the morning glance
Shrinks, as a folding blossom, from the sight,
Nor wakens till upon the western height
The shadows to their evening towers advance—
So, in my soul, a dream ineffable,
Expectant of the sunshine or the shade,
Hath oft, upon the brink of twilight chill,
Or at the dawn's pale glimmering portal stayed
In tears, that all the quivering eyelids fill,
In smiles, that on the lip of silence fade.
Expectant of the sunshine or the shade,
Hath oft, upon the brink of twilight chill,
Or at the dawn's pale glimmering portal stayed
In tears, that all the quivering eyelids fill,
In smiles, that on the lip of silence fade.
157
SOLITUDE.
Thou wast to me what to the changing year
Its seasons are,—a joy forever new;
What to the night its stars, its heavenly dew,
Its silence; what to dawn its lark-song clear;
To noon, its light—its fleckless atmosphere,
Where ocean and the overbending blue,
In passionate communion, hue for hue,
As one in Love's circumference appear.
Its seasons are,—a joy forever new;
What to the night its stars, its heavenly dew,
Its silence; what to dawn its lark-song clear;
To noon, its light—its fleckless atmosphere,
Where ocean and the overbending blue,
In passionate communion, hue for hue,
As one in Love's circumference appear.
O brimming heart, with tears for utterance
Alike of joy and sorrow! lift thine eyes
And sphere the desolation. Love is flown;
And in the desert's widening expanse
Grim Silence, like a sepulchre of stone,
Stands charnelling a soul's funereal sighs.
Alike of joy and sorrow! lift thine eyes
And sphere the desolation. Love is flown;
And in the desert's widening expanse
Grim Silence, like a sepulchre of stone,
Stands charnelling a soul's funereal sighs.
158
LOVE'S RETROSPECT.
I knew that he was dying; for the leaves
Late-fallen, shivered on the frosty ground,
Disconsolate, with the foreboding sound
That Autumn whispers to the heart that grieves.
The sunshine, slanting upward, smote the sheaves
O'ershadowing the hill-tops ranged around,
And where the swallow's empty nest was found,
Spattered, as if with blood, the sheltering eaves.
Late-fallen, shivered on the frosty ground,
Disconsolate, with the foreboding sound
That Autumn whispers to the heart that grieves.
The sunshine, slanting upward, smote the sheaves
O'ershadowing the hill-tops ranged around,
And where the swallow's empty nest was found,
Spattered, as if with blood, the sheltering eaves.
Twin fires together faded: and but one
Rewakened o'er a world henceforth to me
In everlasting twilight. To the Past
The Present pays its tribute, whereupon
Each moment coins the selfsame effigy,—
The more than all by wealth unwidowed cast.
Rewakened o'er a world henceforth to me
In everlasting twilight. To the Past
The Present pays its tribute, whereupon
Each moment coins the selfsame effigy,—
The more than all by wealth unwidowed cast.
159
A WINTER TWILIGHT.
Blood-shotten through the bleak gigantic trees
The sunset, o'er a wilderness of snow,
Startles the wolfish winds that wilder grow
As hunger mocks their howling miseries.
In every skulking shadow Fancy sees
The menace of an undiscovered foe—
A sullen footstep, treacherous and slow,
That comes, or into deeper darkness flees.
The sunset, o'er a wilderness of snow,
Startles the wolfish winds that wilder grow
As hunger mocks their howling miseries.
In every skulking shadow Fancy sees
The menace of an undiscovered foe—
A sullen footstep, treacherous and slow,
That comes, or into deeper darkness flees.
Nor Day nor Night, in Time's eternal round
Whereof the tides are telling, e'er hath passed
This Isthmus-hour—this dim, mysterious land
That sets their lives asunder—where up-cast
Their earliest and their latest waves resound,
As each, alternate, nears or leaves the strand.
Whereof the tides are telling, e'er hath passed
This Isthmus-hour—this dim, mysterious land
That sets their lives asunder—where up-cast
Their earliest and their latest waves resound,
As each, alternate, nears or leaves the strand.
160
GLIMPSES.
As one who in the hush of twilight hears
The pausing pulse of Nature, when the Light
Commingles in the dim mysterious rite
Of Darkness with the mutual pledge of tears,
Till soft, anon, one timorous star appears,
Pale-budding as the earliest blossom white
That comes in Winter's livery bedight,
To hide the gifts of genial Spring she bears,—
The pausing pulse of Nature, when the Light
Commingles in the dim mysterious rite
Of Darkness with the mutual pledge of tears,
Till soft, anon, one timorous star appears,
Pale-budding as the earliest blossom white
That comes in Winter's livery bedight,
To hide the gifts of genial Spring she bears,—
So, unto me—what time the mysteries
Of consciousness and slumber weave a dream
And pause above it with abated breath,
Like intervals in music—lights arise,
Beyond prophetic Nature's farthest gleam,
That teach me half the mystery of Death.
Of consciousness and slumber weave a dream
And pause above it with abated breath,
Like intervals in music—lights arise,
Beyond prophetic Nature's farthest gleam,
That teach me half the mystery of Death.
161
THE AGONY.
I wrestled, as did Jacob, till the dawn,
With the reluctant Spirit of the Night
That keeps the keys of Slumber. Worn and white,
We paused a panting moment, while anon
The darkness paled around us. Thereupon—
His mighty limbs relaxing in affright—
The Angel pleaded: “Lo, the morning light!
O Israel, release me, and begone!”
With the reluctant Spirit of the Night
That keeps the keys of Slumber. Worn and white,
We paused a panting moment, while anon
The darkness paled around us. Thereupon—
His mighty limbs relaxing in affright—
The Angel pleaded: “Lo, the morning light!
O Israel, release me, and begone!”
Then said I, “Nay, a captive to my will
I hold thee till the blessing thou dost keep
Be mine.” Whereat he breathed upon my brow;
And, as the dew upon the twilight hill,
So on my spirit, over-wearied now,
Came tenderly the benediction, Sleep.
I hold thee till the blessing thou dost keep
Be mine.” Whereat he breathed upon my brow;
And, as the dew upon the twilight hill,
So on my spirit, over-wearied now,
Came tenderly the benediction, Sleep.
162
THE DEAD TREE.
Erect in death thou standest gaunt and bare,
Thy limbs uplifted to the wintry sky,
To supplicate its pity, or defy
The threat of wrath with towering despair.
Around thee, like a wizard's widening snare,
Lithe shadows in a web fantastic lie,
Spun of the moon, in midnight sorcery,
Down gazing with a madman's vacant stare.
Thy limbs uplifted to the wintry sky,
To supplicate its pity, or defy
The threat of wrath with towering despair.
Around thee, like a wizard's widening snare,
Lithe shadows in a web fantastic lie,
Spun of the moon, in midnight sorcery,
Down gazing with a madman's vacant stare.
What reads she in thy ruin? Lives the past
Recorded in the present? Lingers here
The legend of a glory overcast,
The song of birds long silent, and the stir
Of leaves forever scattered to the blast,
Yet echoed in eternal dreams to her?
Recorded in the present? Lingers here
The legend of a glory overcast,
The song of birds long silent, and the stir
Of leaves forever scattered to the blast,
Yet echoed in eternal dreams to her?
163
HOMELESS.
Methinks that if my spirit could behold
Its earthly habitation void and chill,
Whence all its time-encircled good and ill
Expanded to eternity, 't would fold
Its trembling pinions o'er the bosom cold,
Recalling there the pulse's wonted thrill,
And lean, perchance, to catch the echo still
That erst in life the dream of passion told.
Its earthly habitation void and chill,
Whence all its time-encircled good and ill
Expanded to eternity, 't would fold
Its trembling pinions o'er the bosom cold,
Recalling there the pulse's wonted thrill,
And lean, perchance, to catch the echo still
That erst in life the dream of passion told.
How calm the dissolution! Could she spurn
Her spouse, so late, and brother? Could she trace
The strange familiar lineaments, and mark
The doom of her own writing in the face,
To find, alas! no more the vital spark,
Nor breathe one sigh of pity to return?
Her spouse, so late, and brother? Could she trace
The strange familiar lineaments, and mark
The doom of her own writing in the face,
To find, alas! no more the vital spark,
Nor breathe one sigh of pity to return?
164
THE PETREL.
A wanderer o'er the sea-graves ever green,
Whereon the foam-flowers blossom day by day,
Thou flittest as a doomful shadow gray
That from the wave no sundering light can wean.
What wouldst thou from the deep unfathomed glean,
Frail voyager? and whither leads thy way?
Or art thou, as the sailor legends say,
An exile from the spirit-world unseen?
Whereon the foam-flowers blossom day by day,
Thou flittest as a doomful shadow gray
That from the wave no sundering light can wean.
What wouldst thou from the deep unfathomed glean,
Frail voyager? and whither leads thy way?
Or art thou, as the sailor legends say,
An exile from the spirit-world unseen?
Lo! desolate, above a colder tide,
Pale Memory, a sea-bird like to thee,
Flits outward where the whitening billows hide
What seemed of Life the one reality,—
A mist whereon the morning bloom hath died,
Returning, ghost-like, to the restless sea.
Pale Memory, a sea-bird like to thee,
Flits outward where the whitening billows hide
What seemed of Life the one reality,—
A mist whereon the morning bloom hath died,
Returning, ghost-like, to the restless sea.
165
AT ANCHOR.
How calm upon the twilight water sleeps,
With folded wings, yon solitary sail,
Safe-harbored, haply dreaming of the gale
That wolf-like o'er the waste deserted leaps:
One star—a signal light above her—keeps
Watch; and, behold, its pictured image pale
Gleams far below, a seeming anchor frail,
Where onward still the noiseless current sweeps.
With folded wings, yon solitary sail,
Safe-harbored, haply dreaming of the gale
That wolf-like o'er the waste deserted leaps:
One star—a signal light above her—keeps
Watch; and, behold, its pictured image pale
Gleams far below, a seeming anchor frail,
Where onward still the noiseless current sweeps.
Star of my life, pale planet, far removed,
Oh, be thou, when the twilight deepens, near!
Set in my soul thine image undisproved
By death and darkness, till the morning clear
Behold me in the presence I have loved,
My beacon here, my bliss eternal there!
Oh, be thou, when the twilight deepens, near!
Set in my soul thine image undisproved
By death and darkness, till the morning clear
Behold me in the presence I have loved,
My beacon here, my bliss eternal there!
166
SHADOWS.
Ye shrink not wholly from us when the morn
Arises red with slaughter, and the slain
Sweet visages of tender dreams remain
To haunt us through the wakened hours forlorn,
Nor when the noontide cometh, and the thorn
Of light is centred in the quivering brain,
And Memory her pilgrimage of pain
Renews, with fainting footsteps, overworn.
Arises red with slaughter, and the slain
Sweet visages of tender dreams remain
To haunt us through the wakened hours forlorn,
Nor when the noontide cometh, and the thorn
Of light is centred in the quivering brain,
And Memory her pilgrimage of pain
Renews, with fainting footsteps, overworn.
Nay, then, what time the satellite of day
Pursues his path victorious, and the West,
Her clouds beleaguered vanishing away,
A desert seems of solitude oppressed,
Around us still your hovering pinions stay,
The pledges of returning night and rest.
Pursues his path victorious, and the West,
Her clouds beleaguered vanishing away,
A desert seems of solitude oppressed,
Around us still your hovering pinions stay,
The pledges of returning night and rest.
167
THE MOUNTAIN.
Altar whereon the lordly sacrifice
Of incense from the reverent vales below
Is offered at the dawn's first kindling glow
And when the day's last smouldering ember dies,
Around thee, too, the kindred sympathies
Of life—itself a vapor—breathe and flow,
And yearn beyond thy pinnacle of snow
To wing the trackless region of the skies.
Of incense from the reverent vales below
Is offered at the dawn's first kindling glow
And when the day's last smouldering ember dies,
Around thee, too, the kindred sympathies
Of life—itself a vapor—breathe and flow,
And yearn beyond thy pinnacle of snow
To wing the trackless region of the skies.
Thy shadow broods above me, and mine own
Sleeps as a child beneath it. O'er my dreams
Thou dost, as an abiding presence, pour
Thy spirit in the melancholy moan
Of cavern winds and far-resounding streams,
As sings the ocean to the listening shore.
Sleeps as a child beneath it. O'er my dreams
Thou dost, as an abiding presence, pour
Thy spirit in the melancholy moan
Of cavern winds and far-resounding streams,
As sings the ocean to the listening shore.
168
UNMOORED.
To die in sleep—to drift from dream to dream
Along the banks of slumber, beckoned on
Perchance by forms familiar, till anon,
Unconsciously, the ever-widening stream
Beyond the breakers bore thee, and the beam
Of everlasting morning woke upon
Thy dazzled gaze, revealing one by one
Thy visions grown immortal in its gleam.
Along the banks of slumber, beckoned on
Perchance by forms familiar, till anon,
Unconsciously, the ever-widening stream
Beyond the breakers bore thee, and the beam
Of everlasting morning woke upon
Thy dazzled gaze, revealing one by one
Thy visions grown immortal in its gleam.
O blessed consummation! thus to feel
In Death no touch of terror. Tenderly
As shadows to the evening hills, he came
In garb of God's dear messenger to thee,
Nor on thy weary eyelids broke the seal,
In reverence for a brother's holier name.
In Death no touch of terror. Tenderly
As shadows to the evening hills, he came
In garb of God's dear messenger to thee,
Nor on thy weary eyelids broke the seal,
In reverence for a brother's holier name.
169
EUGENIE.
In exile, widowed, childless, desolate,
Thou sittest in the majesty of woe;
And nations gaze, with shuddering murmurs ow,
Upon the direful trilogy of Fate.
Hushed are the warring interests of state
Beneath the pall of Sorrow. Foes forego
Their wonted discord, and with footsteps slow
And meekened foreheads, move compassionate.
Thou sittest in the majesty of woe;
And nations gaze, with shuddering murmurs ow,
Upon the direful trilogy of Fate.
Hushed are the warring interests of state
Beneath the pall of Sorrow. Foes forego
Their wonted discord, and with footsteps slow
And meekened foreheads, move compassionate.
All exiles weave their miseries with thine;
All widows turn with sympathy to thee;
All mothers desolate and childless made,
Mingle their moan with this thine agony:
And yet, to thee the royal lot is laid—
Threefold the cross that measures love divine.
All widows turn with sympathy to thee;
All mothers desolate and childless made,
Mingle their moan with this thine agony:
And yet, to thee the royal lot is laid—
Threefold the cross that measures love divine.
171
GOLGOTHA.
Alone I stand upon the sacred height,
Where erst, at noon, the night its mantle flung
O'er the Divine Humanity that hung
To brutal gaze exposed. The conscious light
To sudden blindness withered at the sight
Of mortal pangs from wounds immortal wrung;
The earth her gates sepulchral open swung,
Impatient for the soul's descending flight
Where erst, at noon, the night its mantle flung
O'er the Divine Humanity that hung
To brutal gaze exposed. The conscious light
To sudden blindness withered at the sight
Of mortal pangs from wounds immortal wrung;
The earth her gates sepulchral open swung,
Impatient for the soul's descending flight
To her expectant shades. O Calvary!
Again the dripping darkness crowns thy brow,
And I (as then, to His all-seeing mind)
Weep 'mid the general gloom. Oh! let me be,
As in those hours of anguish, hidden now
In shades of death, the light of life to find.
Again the dripping darkness crowns thy brow,
And I (as then, to His all-seeing mind)
Weep 'mid the general gloom. Oh! let me be,
As in those hours of anguish, hidden now
In shades of death, the light of life to find.
172
THE PORTRAIT.
Each has his Angel-Guardian. Mine, I know,
Looks on me from that pictured face. Behold,
How clear, between those rifted clouds of gold,
The radiant brow! It is the morning glow
Of Innocence, ere yet the heart let go
The leading-strings of Heaven. Upon the eyes
No shadow: like the restful noonday skies
They sanctify the teeming world below.
Looks on me from that pictured face. Behold,
How clear, between those rifted clouds of gold,
The radiant brow! It is the morning glow
Of Innocence, ere yet the heart let go
The leading-strings of Heaven. Upon the eyes
No shadow: like the restful noonday skies
They sanctify the teeming world below.
Why bows my soul before it? None but thou,
O tender child, has known the life estranged
From thee and all that made thy days of joy
The measure of my own. Behold me now—
The man that begs a blessing of the boy—
His very self; but from himself how changed!
O tender child, has known the life estranged
From thee and all that made thy days of joy
The measure of my own. Behold me now—
The man that begs a blessing of the boy—
His very self; but from himself how changed!
| Poems by John B. Tabb | |