 | The poetical works of John Townsend Trowbridge |  |
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BOOK V
270
[I ask my soul why, day and night]
I ask my soul why, day and night,
I pore and ponder and indite.
I pore and ponder and indite.
Vainly, my life long, I have sought
To find some utterance for my thought,
By lip or pen, by word or token,
To speak what in me lies unspoken;
My tongue gives freely all the rest,
But locks the sweetest and the best.
To find some utterance for my thought,
By lip or pen, by word or token,
To speak what in me lies unspoken;
My tongue gives freely all the rest,
But locks the sweetest and the best.
I lived remote, I labored long,
In tale and rhyme, romance and song,
To sow that seed of heavenly wheat
That tortures me with inward heat.
In vain projected, it returns,
And in my bosom beats and burns.
In tale and rhyme, romance and song,
To sow that seed of heavenly wheat
That tortures me with inward heat.
In vain projected, it returns,
And in my bosom beats and burns.
The uttered word falls cold and dead,
The living word is still unsaid.
And should it be my fate forever
To fail, in ceaseless fond endeavor,
To sow the soul's exhaustless seed,
And reach to deeps that still recede,
I yet, by eldest law, must choose
The blissful thraldom of the Muse,
Bend all to her imperious will,
And still her last commands fulfil.
The living word is still unsaid.
And should it be my fate forever
To fail, in ceaseless fond endeavor,
To sow the soul's exhaustless seed,
And reach to deeps that still recede,
I yet, by eldest law, must choose
The blissful thraldom of the Muse,
Bend all to her imperious will,
And still her last commands fulfil.
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THE LOST EARL AND OTHER POEMS WITH NEWLY GATHERED LEAVES
THE LOST EARL
With his lariat coiled on the horn of his saddle,
Face bearded and bronzed, in the broad-shadowed hat;
High boot-tops, and fringed leather leggings astraddle
His bronco's brown sides; pistol-belt, and all that;
His shout ringing out, a bluff, resonant basso,
Above the herd's bellowing; hand that can hurl
At a gallop the long-looped and wide-swinging lasso,—
There rides—can you fancy?—the son of an earl.
Face bearded and bronzed, in the broad-shadowed hat;
High boot-tops, and fringed leather leggings astraddle
His bronco's brown sides; pistol-belt, and all that;
His shout ringing out, a bluff, resonant basso,
Above the herd's bellowing; hand that can hurl
At a gallop the long-looped and wide-swinging lasso,—
There rides—can you fancy?—the son of an earl.
With the best and the worst a familiar companion;
Who often in winter, at twenty below,
While guarding his cattle within the deep cañon,
Camps down in his blankets, rolled up on the snow;
Bold rider and roper, to aid in a round-up,
Head off a stampede, run the ringleaders down:
In him—does he pause to remember?—are bound up
The hopes of a race of old knightly renown.
Who often in winter, at twenty below,
While guarding his cattle within the deep cañon,
Camps down in his blankets, rolled up on the snow;
Bold rider and roper, to aid in a round-up,
Head off a stampede, run the ringleaders down:
In him—does he pause to remember?—are bound up
The hopes of a race of old knightly renown.
The world's pampered minion, he yet, in requital
Of all its proud favors, could fling them aside
As a swimmer his raiment, shed riches and title,
And plunge into life, breast the turbulent tide!
Some caprice, you infer, or a sudden declension
Of fortune, the cause? Rather say, the revolt
Of a strong native soul against soulless convention,
And privilege shared by the roué and dolt.
Of all its proud favors, could fling them aside
As a swimmer his raiment, shed riches and title,
And plunge into life, breast the turbulent tide!
Some caprice, you infer, or a sudden declension
Of fortune, the cause? Rather say, the revolt
Of a strong native soul against soulless convention,
And privilege shared by the roué and dolt.
He chafed at the gilded constraints of his station,
The bright ball-and-chain of the name that he bore;
Grew sick of the smiles of discreet adulation,
That worshipped, not worth, but the honors men wore.
With falsities stifled, with flatteries sated,
He loathed, as some player, his wearisome part,
The homage of lips where he righteously hated,
The rank that forbade him the choice of his heart.
The bright ball-and-chain of the name that he bore;
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That worshipped, not worth, but the honors men wore.
With falsities stifled, with flatteries sated,
He loathed, as some player, his wearisome part,
The homage of lips where he righteously hated,
The rank that forbade him the choice of his heart.
(For that choice, it is told, fell to one far below him
In station, who yet was so loyal and true
In the love which he won, she could love and forego him,
And even his nobleness nobly outdo;
Who scorned to climb up to a class that would scorn to
Receive her its peer; and refusing to dim
The coronet's brightness her brow was not born to,
Lived maidenly faithful to love and to him.)
In station, who yet was so loyal and true
In the love which he won, she could love and forego him,
And even his nobleness nobly outdo;
Who scorned to climb up to a class that would scorn to
Receive her its peer; and refusing to dim
The coronet's brightness her brow was not born to,
Lived maidenly faithful to love and to him.)
Was it then, in despair at the pitiful wrangle
His preference raised, he resolved to be free,
To escape from his toils, break the tyrannous tangle
Of custom and caste, of descent and degree?
In this lot which he chose, has he sometimes repented
The impulse that urged him? In scenes such as these,
Hard lodgment, hard fare, has he never lamented
The days of relinquished enjoyment and ease?
His preference raised, he resolved to be free,
To escape from his toils, break the tyrannous tangle
Of custom and caste, of descent and degree?
In this lot which he chose, has he sometimes repented
The impulse that urged him? In scenes such as these,
Hard lodgment, hard fare, has he never lamented
The days of relinquished enjoyment and ease?
Was that impulse a fault? Would he speak, would he tell us
His sober conclusion! For good or for ill,
There are tides of the spirit which sometimes impel us,
Sub-currents, more potent than reason and will,
That out of our sordid conditions uplift us,
And make our poor common humanity great.
We toy with the helm, but they draw us, they drift us,
They shape the deep courses of life and of fate.
His sober conclusion! For good or for ill,
There are tides of the spirit which sometimes impel us,
Sub-currents, more potent than reason and will,
That out of our sordid conditions uplift us,
And make our poor common humanity great.
We toy with the helm, but they draw us, they drift us,
They shape the deep courses of life and of fate.
But then comes regret, when the ebb leaves us stranded
In doubt and disaster: was such his reward?
How much we might gain would the fellow be candid,
This volunteer ranchman who might be a lord!
Could we think with his thoughts as he rides in the shadow
That falls from the foothills when, suddenly chill,
Far over the mesas of lone Colorado
The fast-creeping twilight spreads solemn and still.
In doubt and disaster: was such his reward?
How much we might gain would the fellow be candid,
This volunteer ranchman who might be a lord!
Could we think with his thoughts as he rides in the shadow
That falls from the foothills when, suddenly chill,
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The fast-creeping twilight spreads solemn and still.
From the rose-tinted, snow-covered peaks, the bright sources
Of torrents and rivers, the glow pales away;
Through cañons and gulches the wild watercourses
Rush hurried and hoarse: just the time, you would say,
For our exile to fall into sombre reflection,—
The scion of earls, from the uppermost branch
Of the civilized tree, in its cultured perfection,
Set here in the desolate life of the ranch!
Of torrents and rivers, the glow pales away;
Through cañons and gulches the wild watercourses
Rush hurried and hoarse: just the time, you would say,
For our exile to fall into sombre reflection,—
The scion of earls, from the uppermost branch
Of the civilized tree, in its cultured perfection,
Set here in the desolate life of the ranch!
Amid wastes of gray sagebrush, of grama and bunch-grass;
The comrade of cowboys, with souls scarce above
The level of driven dumb creatures that munch grass;
Self-banished from paths of preferment and love,
An unreturned prodigal, mumbling his husk:
At least so your sapient soul has divined,
As he gallops far off and forlorn through the dusk.
But little men know of a man's hidden mind.
The comrade of cowboys, with souls scarce above
The level of driven dumb creatures that munch grass;
Self-banished from paths of preferment and love,
An unreturned prodigal, mumbling his husk:
At least so your sapient soul has divined,
As he gallops far off and forlorn through the dusk.
But little men know of a man's hidden mind.
In his jacket he carries a thumbed pocket Homer,
To con at odd spells as he watches his herd;
And at times, in his cottage (but that 's a misnomer;
A hut with one room!) you may hear, on my word,
These cool summer twilights (in moments not taken
For washing his dishes or darning his socks),
On strings deftly thrummed a strange music awaken,
Mazurka of Chopin's, sonata of Bach's.
To con at odd spells as he watches his herd;
And at times, in his cottage (but that 's a misnomer;
A hut with one room!) you may hear, on my word,
These cool summer twilights (in moments not taken
For washing his dishes or darning his socks),
On strings deftly thrummed a strange music awaken,
Mazurka of Chopin's, sonata of Bach's.
As over the wide-shouldered Rockies the gleam
Of day yet illumines the vastness and distance
Of snow-hooded summits, so shines the still beam
Of high thought, high resolve, on his lonely existence.
(And a maiden, they say, of her own sweet accord,
Who to-night may be sailing the moonlighted sea,
To the ranchman brings what she denied to the lord.
Idle rumor, no doubt. But, however it be)—
Of day yet illumines the vastness and distance
Of snow-hooded summits, so shines the still beam
Of high thought, high resolve, on his lonely existence.
(And a maiden, they say, of her own sweet accord,
Who to-night may be sailing the moonlighted sea,
To the ranchman brings what she denied to the lord.
Idle rumor, no doubt. But, however it be)—
Our knight of the lasso, long-lineaged Norman,
Now guiding his herd to good pasture and drink,
Now buying and selling, stock-owner and foreman,
Feels life fresh and strong; well content, as I think,
That the world of traditional leisure and sport
Without him should amble its indolent round.
Though lost to his title, to kindred and court,
Here first in rude labor his manhood is found.
Now guiding his herd to good pasture and drink,
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Feels life fresh and strong; well content, as I think,
That the world of traditional leisure and sport
Without him should amble its indolent round.
Though lost to his title, to kindred and court,
Here first in rude labor his manhood is found.
His conclusion is this, or I sadly mistake it:
“To each his own part; rugged action for me!
Be men, and not masks; fill your sphere or forsake it.
Use power and wealth; but 't is time to be free
When the trappings of life prove a burden and fetter.
The walls of my forefather's castle are stanch,
But a cabin, with liberty, shelters me better.
Be lord of your realm, be it earldom or ranch!”
“To each his own part; rugged action for me!
Be men, and not masks; fill your sphere or forsake it.
Use power and wealth; but 't is time to be free
When the trappings of life prove a burden and fetter.
The walls of my forefather's castle are stanch,
But a cabin, with liberty, shelters me better.
Be lord of your realm, be it earldom or ranch!”
HOW THE KING LOST HIS CROWN
The King's men, when they had slain the boar,
Strung him aloft on the fisher's oar,
And, two behind and two before,
In triumph bore him along the shore.
“An oar!” says the King: “'t is a trifle!—why
Did the fisher frown and the good wife sigh?”
“A trifle, sire!” was the Fool's reply;
“Then frown or laugh who will! for I,
Who laugh at all and am only a clown,
Will never more laugh at trifles!”
Strung him aloft on the fisher's oar,
And, two behind and two before,
In triumph bore him along the shore.
“An oar!” says the King: “'t is a trifle!—why
Did the fisher frown and the good wife sigh?”
“A trifle, sire!” was the Fool's reply;
“Then frown or laugh who will! for I,
Who laugh at all and am only a clown,
Will never more laugh at trifles!”
A runner next day leaped down the sand,
And launched a skiff from the fisher's strand;
For he cried,—“An army invades the land!
The passes are seized on either hand!
And I must carry my message straight
Across the lake to the castle gate!”
The castle he neared, but the waves were great,
The fanged rocks foamed like jaws of Fate;
And lacking an oar the boat went down.
The Furies laugh at trifles!
And launched a skiff from the fisher's strand;
For he cried,—“An army invades the land!
The passes are seized on either hand!
And I must carry my message straight
Across the lake to the castle gate!”
The castle he neared, but the waves were great,
The fanged rocks foamed like jaws of Fate;
And lacking an oar the boat went down.
The Furies laugh at trifles!
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The swimmer against the waves began
To strive, as a valiant swimmer can.
“Methinks,” said the Fool, “'t were no bad plan
If succor were sent to the drowning man!”
To succor a perilled pawn instead,
The monarch, moving his rook ahead,—
Bowed over the chessmen, white and red,—
Gave “Check!”—then looked on the lake and said,
“The boat is lost, the man will drown!”
O King! beware of trifles!
To strive, as a valiant swimmer can.
“Methinks,” said the Fool, “'t were no bad plan
If succor were sent to the drowning man!”
To succor a perilled pawn instead,
The monarch, moving his rook ahead,—
Bowed over the chessmen, white and red,—
Gave “Check!”—then looked on the lake and said,
“The boat is lost, the man will drown!”
O King! beware of trifles!
To the lords and mirthful dames the bard
Was trolling his latest song; the guard
Were casting dice in the castle yard;
And the captains all were drinking hard.
Then came the chief of the halberdiers,
And told to the King's astounded ears:
“An army on every side appears!
An army with banners and bows and spears!
They have gained the wall and surprised the town!”
Our fates are woven of trifles!
Was trolling his latest song; the guard
Were casting dice in the castle yard;
And the captains all were drinking hard.
Then came the chief of the halberdiers,
And told to the King's astounded ears:
“An army on every side appears!
An army with banners and bows and spears!
They have gained the wall and surprised the town!”
Our fates are woven of trifles!
The red usurper reached the throne;
The tidings over the realm were blown;
And, flying to alien lands alone
With a trusty few, the King made moan.
But long and loudly laughed the Clown:
“We broke the oar and the boat went down,
And so the messenger chanced to drown:
The messenger lost, we lost the town;
And the loss of the town has cost a crown;
And all these things are trifles!”
The tidings over the realm were blown;
And, flying to alien lands alone
With a trusty few, the King made moan.
But long and loudly laughed the Clown:
“We broke the oar and the boat went down,
And so the messenger chanced to drown:
The messenger lost, we lost the town;
And the loss of the town has cost a crown;
And all these things are trifles!”
MY CAREER
My mother, they said, was a soldier's child;
My father played in the band.
She was pretty and gay, he was handsome and wild,
And she gave him her foolish hand.
He owed so much that he could n't pay,
He borrowed some more and they ran away;
But my poor mother, whom he outran,
Put up at an almshouse, where began
(I think I never just knew the year)
My career—
My extraordinary career!
My father played in the band.
She was pretty and gay, he was handsome and wild,
And she gave him her foolish hand.
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He borrowed some more and they ran away;
But my poor mother, whom he outran,
Put up at an almshouse, where began
(I think I never just knew the year)
My career—
My extraordinary career!
He ran so well she lost his track
In the little delay I made;
He ran so far he never came back,
And there, of course, we stayed;
And, while the decrepit old pauper wives
Tossed me about, she brightened the knives,
And set the table, and swept the floor,
And scrubbed as she never had scrubbed before;
But still watched over, with many a tear,
My career—
The beginning of my career.
In the little delay I made;
He ran so far he never came back,
And there, of course, we stayed;
And, while the decrepit old pauper wives
Tossed me about, she brightened the knives,
And set the table, and swept the floor,
And scrubbed as she never had scrubbed before;
But still watched over, with many a tear,
My career—
The beginning of my career.
In lap, or cradle, or on all-fours,
I thrived, and made my way,
And tumbled about the poor-house doors,
Till a lady came, one day,
A wealthy widow, who begged for me.
“I want your beautiful boy,” says she,
“To fill the place of one I have lost.
I will love him and rear him, and spare no cost
To form his mind, and give him, my dear,
A career—
Maybe a distinguished career!”
I thrived, and made my way,
And tumbled about the poor-house doors,
Till a lady came, one day,
A wealthy widow, who begged for me.
“I want your beautiful boy,” says she,
“To fill the place of one I have lost.
I will love him and rear him, and spare no cost
To form his mind, and give him, my dear,
A career—
Maybe a distinguished career!”
My mother took on at a terrible rate,
And called it a sin and a shame;
She would keep her darling in spite of fate;
But consented, all the same.
To the widow's she went, and left me there,
Then fled in despair, I never knew where,
A childless mother, to mourn and roam;
While I had luxury, friends, and a home,
With everything that could aid and cheer
My career—
My fortunate career!
And called it a sin and a shame;
She would keep her darling in spite of fate;
But consented, all the same.
To the widow's she went, and left me there,
Then fled in despair, I never knew where,
A childless mother, to mourn and roam;
While I had luxury, friends, and a home,
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My career—
My fortunate career!
My friends were as kind as friends could be,
And gave me teachers and books;
But I never could see their use to me,
With fine clothes and good looks,
Money to spend, and a fortune still
Awaiting me in the widow's will.
So, very possibly, I looked down
On the poor, industrious youths in town,
And followed as proud as a prince or peer,
My career—
Quite early, a gay career!
And gave me teachers and books;
But I never could see their use to me,
With fine clothes and good looks,
Money to spend, and a fortune still
Awaiting me in the widow's will.
So, very possibly, I looked down
On the poor, industrious youths in town,
And followed as proud as a prince or peer,
My career—
Quite early, a gay career!
I could drive and dress and dance and dine,
With exquisite grace and dash;
My taste was fine in horses and wine,
And I sported a sweet moustache.
The widow, no doubt, sometimes complained
Of the rather high tone that I maintained,
My talents wasted and youth misspent,
And wept at the way her money went;
For, though it was pleasant, I own 't was dear:
My career
Was a pretty high-toned career!
With exquisite grace and dash;
My taste was fine in horses and wine,
And I sported a sweet moustache.
The widow, no doubt, sometimes complained
Of the rather high tone that I maintained,
My talents wasted and youth misspent,
And wept at the way her money went;
For, though it was pleasant, I own 't was dear:
My career
Was a pretty high-toned career!
“I have lost a bet! I must pay this debt!”
I coaxed; she could n't refuse.
A genteel fellow sometimes will get
Into scrapes, and where 's the use
Of having a fussy old woman about,
Who can't, or won't, help a fellow out?
I rushed from her presence a hundred times,
And threatened to plunge into horrid crimes,
To end as a robber or buccaneer
My career—
My desperate career!
I coaxed; she could n't refuse.
A genteel fellow sometimes will get
Into scrapes, and where 's the use
Of having a fussy old woman about,
Who can't, or won't, help a fellow out?
I rushed from her presence a hundred times,
And threatened to plunge into horrid crimes,
To end as a robber or buccaneer
My career—
My desperate career!
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It was long to wait for a grand estate,
But I was in luck at last.
I was tall and straight, I was twenty-eight,
And, though a trifle fast,
A party the girls were mad to catch!
Considered a most amazing match
By smiling mammas and bowing papas,
And a deucedly delicate thing it was,
With sirens on every side, to steer
My career—
Safely my free career!
But I was in luck at last.
I was tall and straight, I was twenty-eight,
And, though a trifle fast,
A party the girls were mad to catch!
Considered a most amazing match
By smiling mammas and bowing papas,
And a deucedly delicate thing it was,
With sirens on every side, to steer
My career—
Safely my free career!
For why should I marry, and have the care
Of children and a wife?
'T was burden enough, by George! to bear
My own light butterfly life—
A thing I never could understand!
With fashion and wealth, gay friends at hand,
No thought for another, there weighed on me
At times such weariness and ennui
As few would have fancied could come near
My career—
My enviable career!
Of children and a wife?
'T was burden enough, by George! to bear
My own light butterfly life—
A thing I never could understand!
With fashion and wealth, gay friends at hand,
No thought for another, there weighed on me
At times such weariness and ennui
As few would have fancied could come near
My career—
My enviable career!
Yet I should state that I chose a mate,
For a very good cause, indeed.
It was rather late; I was forty-eight;
My moustache had gone to seed;
And, worst of all, one day I found
My fortune was high and dry aground!
So I looked about, resolved to win
Some widow, as rich as my first had been,
From the rubbish of beggarly debts to clear
My career—
My really superb career!
For a very good cause, indeed.
It was rather late; I was forty-eight;
My moustache had gone to seed;
And, worst of all, one day I found
My fortune was high and dry aground!
So I looked about, resolved to win
Some widow, as rich as my first had been,
From the rubbish of beggarly debts to clear
My career—
My really superb career!
Too lucky by half, I may say it now,
Was I when I went to woo.
I never could get along, somehow,
With Widow Number Two.
A woman of taste, she could n't but be
In love with an elegant man like me;
But she was a shrew, and she soon took fright,
Drew her prim lips and her purse-strings tight,
And eyed with an eye quite too severe
My career—
Jealous of my career!
Was I when I went to woo.
I never could get along, somehow,
With Widow Number Two.
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In love with an elegant man like me;
But she was a shrew, and she soon took fright,
Drew her prim lips and her purse-strings tight,
And eyed with an eye quite too severe
My career—
Jealous of my career!
She scrimped me up and she screwed me down,
In a most ridiculous way.
For a man of renown, the beau of the town,
'T was extremely little pay.
There never was husband fond as I—
Particularly when she came to die;
But in her will she was cruel still,
And cut me off, by a codicil,
With hardly enough to maintain a mere
Mean career!
A pittance for my career!
In a most ridiculous way.
For a man of renown, the beau of the town,
'T was extremely little pay.
There never was husband fond as I—
Particularly when she came to die;
But in her will she was cruel still,
And cut me off, by a codicil,
With hardly enough to maintain a mere
Mean career!
A pittance for my career!
Of the schemes I tried when drifting about
There 's little enough to tell.
As a mixer of fancy drinks, no doubt,
I might have succeeded well.
I had no other art or trade;
And the fine, rich friends I asked for aid
Grew cold, scarce deigning at times to use
A word of pity or poor excuse;
But viewing with secret glee, I fear,
My career—
My steady down-hill career!
There 's little enough to tell.
As a mixer of fancy drinks, no doubt,
I might have succeeded well.
I had no other art or trade;
And the fine, rich friends I asked for aid
Grew cold, scarce deigning at times to use
A word of pity or poor excuse;
But viewing with secret glee, I fear,
My career—
My steady down-hill career!
My buttoned coat had a hungry look;
I sponged from bar to bar;
Whoever would trust or treat, I took
A glass or a bad cigar.
Homeless, alone, I walked the street;
The old faces now that I chanced to meet
Passed by, with a smile at my altered style,
My tight cravat, and my battered tile;
And jubilant youngsters turned to jeer
My career—
My often zigzag career!
I sponged from bar to bar;
Whoever would trust or treat, I took
A glass or a bad cigar.
Homeless, alone, I walked the street;
The old faces now that I chanced to meet
Passed by, with a smile at my altered style,
My tight cravat, and my battered tile;
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My career—
My often zigzag career!
No need to relate what buffets of fate
I afterward underwent.
I am feeble of gait; I am sixty-eight;
My back and my knees are bent.
To the passers-by I have held my hat;
But, Heaven be thanked, there 's an end of that!
To the poor-house I have come home, at last,
To the poor-house where my first years passed,
Old and infirm, to finish here
My career—
My rather played-out career!
I afterward underwent.
I am feeble of gait; I am sixty-eight;
My back and my knees are bent.
To the passers-by I have held my hat;
But, Heaven be thanked, there 's an end of that!
To the poor-house I have come home, at last,
To the poor-house where my first years passed,
Old and infirm, to finish here
My career—
My rather played-out career!
CAPTAIN SEABORN
I
Our ship went down, and not a boat
Outrode the storm's intensity;
But I alone was left afloat
Upon the blue immensity:
My raft and I together lashed,
The wild seas racing under us,
Till reefs uprose, and breakers dashed
About us, blind and thunderous.
Outrode the storm's intensity;
But I alone was left afloat
Upon the blue immensity:
My raft and I together lashed,
The wild seas racing under us,
Till reefs uprose, and breakers dashed
About us, blind and thunderous.
Still, like Mazeppa to his horse,
I clung, while, half submerging me,
On foaming shoals with fearful force
The winds and waves were urging me.
I swooned: I woke: my dim eyes glanced
Upon a hideous rabblement
Of islanders that round me pranced
With frantic yells and babblement.
I clung, while, half submerging me,
On foaming shoals with fearful force
The winds and waves were urging me.
I swooned: I woke: my dim eyes glanced
Upon a hideous rabblement
Of islanders that round me pranced
With frantic yells and babblement.
Half-drowned they dragged me from the sea
Up the white beach, and, seating me
Against a skull-encircled tree,
Made ghastly signs of eating me.
The frizzled women crouched to look
My body over curiously;
The tattooed braves above me shook
Their battle-axes furiously.
Up the white beach, and, seating me
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Made ghastly signs of eating me.
The frizzled women crouched to look
My body over curiously;
The tattooed braves above me shook
Their battle-axes furiously.
Forth from my sailor's pouch, to buy
My life of those fell savages,
I drew such slight effects as I
Had saved from the sea's ravages.
With thimble, coins, carved ivory ball,
I flattered and invited them;
A rusted jack-knife, most of all,
Astonished and delighted them.
My life of those fell savages,
I drew such slight effects as I
Had saved from the sea's ravages.
With thimble, coins, carved ivory ball,
I flattered and invited them;
A rusted jack-knife, most of all,
Astonished and delighted them.
Then fruits they brought and mats they spread
With singular celerity:
Not death I gained, but gifts instead,
And cannibal prosperity.
I lived with them and learned their speech;
I curbed their fierce brutality,
And strove with simple truths to reach
Their dim spirituality.
With singular celerity:
Not death I gained, but gifts instead,
And cannibal prosperity.
I lived with them and learned their speech;
I curbed their fierce brutality,
And strove with simple truths to reach
Their dim spirituality.
The arts of peace, the love of right,
I tried to teach; economy
Of health; what makes the day and night—
Some notion of astronomy;
Treatment of neighbors at a feast—
More genial ways of toasting them;
To love their fellow-men, at least
A little, without roasting them.
I tried to teach; economy
Of health; what makes the day and night—
Some notion of astronomy;
Treatment of neighbors at a feast—
More genial ways of toasting them;
To love their fellow-men, at least
A little, without roasting them.
No white sail found those coral bays,
Wide rings of reefs defending them;
And so I lived my savage days,
With little hope of ending them.
Three frightful years! Though loved by some,
A priest-led faction hated me,
Until it seemed that martyrdom,
For all my pains, awaited me.
Wide rings of reefs defending them;
And so I lived my savage days,
With little hope of ending them.
Three frightful years! Though loved by some,
A priest-led faction hated me,
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For all my pains, awaited me.
Fearful of change, and not content
With foiling and defeating me,
My enemies once more were bent
On finishing and eating me.
In no wise wishing to assist
At any such festivities,
(All the more reason to resist
Their cannibal proclivities!)
With foiling and defeating me,
My enemies once more were bent
On finishing and eating me.
In no wise wishing to assist
At any such festivities,
(All the more reason to resist
Their cannibal proclivities!)
With scant provisions snatched in haste
My small canoe encumbering,
Into the round sea's rolling waste,
While all the isle was slumbering,
One midnight, when the low late moon
Across the shoals was shimmering,
I paddled, from the still lagoon
And channel darkly glimmering.
My small canoe encumbering,
Into the round sea's rolling waste,
While all the isle was slumbering,
One midnight, when the low late moon
Across the shoals was shimmering,
I paddled, from the still lagoon
And channel darkly glimmering.
Five days adrift! the indolent
Warm waves about me weltering:
The suns were fierce, my food was spent,
And I was starved and sweltering:
When ho! a ship! How strange to meet
Fair manners and urbanity!
How strange my native speech, how sweet
The accents of humanity!
Warm waves about me weltering:
The suns were fierce, my food was spent,
And I was starved and sweltering:
When ho! a ship! How strange to meet
Fair manners and urbanity!
How strange my native speech, how sweet
The accents of humanity!
II
Thus all my efforts to redeem
That sinister society
Were left behind, a nightmare dream
Of horror and anxiety.
My changeful life was full and fleet;
But long the hope attended me,
To see that land again, and greet
The chiefs who once befriended me.
That sinister society
Were left behind, a nightmare dream
Of horror and anxiety.
My changeful life was full and fleet;
But long the hope attended me,
To see that land again, and greet
The chiefs who once befriended me.
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So, as I sailed those seas once more,
When many years had passed away,
My ship dropped anchor off the shore
Where I had been a castaway.
Amid the reefs we rowed to land,
And, eager as a lover is
To seek his mistress, to the strand
I strode, to make discoveries.
When many years had passed away,
My ship dropped anchor off the shore
Where I had been a castaway.
Amid the reefs we rowed to land,
And, eager as a lover is
To seek his mistress, to the strand
I strode, to make discoveries.
Less changed than my own life appeared
The wondrous island scenery;
Near by, the groves of cocoa reared
Their fans of waving greenery;
There the old, shaggy, cane-thatched town;
And, habited still sparingly,
The islanders came straggling down,
And heard my questions staringly.
The wondrous island scenery;
Near by, the groves of cocoa reared
Their fans of waving greenery;
There the old, shaggy, cane-thatched town;
And, habited still sparingly,
The islanders came straggling down,
And heard my questions staringly.
With signs of woe their arms they flung
When I, in broken sentences
Of their well-nigh forgotten tongue,
Inquired for old acquaintances.
“Dead! dead!” my friendly chiefs and they
Who from the isle had driven me.
But when I spoke my sobriquet,
The name the tribe had given me,
When I, in broken sentences
Of their well-nigh forgotten tongue,
Inquired for old acquaintances.
“Dead! dead!” my friendly chiefs and they
Who from the isle had driven me.
But when I spoke my sobriquet,
The name the tribe had given me,
'T was strange! the sudden eagerness
And zeal with which they greeted it.
“Son-of-the-Great-Sea-Mother? yes!”—
They joyfully repeated it.
“He 's there!”—They pointed. Bound to know
What this amazing blunder meant,
Forthwith I followed to a low,
Rude door, in utter wonderment.
And zeal with which they greeted it.
“Son-of-the-Great-Sea-Mother? yes!”—
They joyfully repeated it.
“He 's there!”—They pointed. Bound to know
What this amazing blunder meant,
Forthwith I followed to a low,
Rude door, in utter wonderment.
Their temple! lined with sacred stones
And heathen curiosities;
Dried birds and fishes, reptiles' bones,
And various monstrosities;
Relics and charms, strung round the place,
Trophies of fights and scrimmages;
And, propped behind the central space,
The rudest of carved images,—
And heathen curiosities;
Dried birds and fishes, reptiles' bones,
And various monstrosities;
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Trophies of fights and scrimmages;
And, propped behind the central space,
The rudest of carved images,—
Which I myself with shells and knife
Had shaped, in my captivity!
A task to keep my heart and life
From purposeless passivity.
The mouth too wide, too short the nose,
How well I recollected it!
Now here, a grinning idol, those
Sad wretches had erected it;
Had shaped, in my captivity!
A task to keep my heart and life
From purposeless passivity.
The mouth too wide, too short the nose,
How well I recollected it!
Now here, a grinning idol, those
Sad wretches had erected it;
Tricked and bedizened in a style
Preposterous and laughable!
I gazed; the guardian priest the while
Eyeing me, grimly affable.
Swarthy and sleek, with hideous smirk
Admitting me to see it, he
Called it grand magic, handiwork
And image of their deity!
Preposterous and laughable!
I gazed; the guardian priest the while
Eyeing me, grimly affable.
Swarthy and sleek, with hideous smirk
Admitting me to see it, he
Called it grand magic, handiwork
And image of their deity!
“Out of the ocean, in his sleep,”
('T was hard to listen seriously!)
“He came to us, and in the deep
Vanished again mysteriously.
He taught our people” (thus the priest's
Narration is translatable)
“To discontinue at their feasts
Some customs he found hatable;
('T was hard to listen seriously!)
“He came to us, and in the deep
Vanished again mysteriously.
He taught our people” (thus the priest's
Narration is translatable)
“To discontinue at their feasts
Some customs he found hatable;
“Not to hunt men, although we were,
As now, a strong and bold people;
Nor beat our women; nor inter
Alive our sick and old people;
To have more clothes and fewer wives,
With houses more commodious;
To speak true words, and make our lives
In other ways less odious.
As now, a strong and bold people;
Nor beat our women; nor inter
Alive our sick and old people;
To have more clothes and fewer wives,
With houses more commodious;
To speak true words, and make our lives
In other ways less odious.
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“These changes we found politic,
Though backward in assuming them.
So now we leave our old and sick
To starve, before inhuming them.
While yet some rich men on the coast
Practice the old polygamy,
The poor have one wife, or, at most,
Restrict themselves to bigamy.
Though backward in assuming them.
So now we leave our old and sick
To starve, before inhuming them.
While yet some rich men on the coast
Practice the old polygamy,
The poor have one wife, or, at most,
Restrict themselves to bigamy.
“And though some warriors of renown
Continue anthropophagous,
'T is rare that human flesh goes down
The low caste man's œsophagus.
Woman we seldom beat, while she
Is faithful and obedient;
We only hunt an enemy,
And lie when it 's expedient.
Continue anthropophagous,
'T is rare that human flesh goes down
The low caste man's œsophagus.
Woman we seldom beat, while she
Is faithful and obedient;
We only hunt an enemy,
And lie when it 's expedient.
“Old men remember, still a few,
How he appeared and talked with them;
Though not till he was gone they knew
A deity had walked with them.
This image in his hands became
The very form and face of him;
So now we call it by his name,
And worship it in place of him;
How he appeared and talked with them;
Though not till he was gone they knew
A deity had walked with them.
This image in his hands became
The very form and face of him;
So now we call it by his name,
And worship it in place of him;
“And in our sorceries draw from it
Responses and admonishment.”
All which I heard with infinite
Misgiving and astonishment,
That fable thus should swallow fact,
And truth to myth degenerate,
And I by wooden proxy act
The god, for tribes to venerate!
Responses and admonishment.”
All which I heard with infinite
Misgiving and astonishment,
That fable thus should swallow fact,
And truth to myth degenerate,
And I by wooden proxy act
The god, for tribes to venerate!
I said, “The being you adore,
Who came and went in mystery,
Was but a sailor washed ashore!”
And told the simple history.
“My words and work your prophets foiled,
They treated me despitefully,
And I escaped.” The priest recoiled,
And glared upon me frightfully.
Who came and went in mystery,
Was but a sailor washed ashore!”
And told the simple history.
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They treated me despitefully,
And I escaped.” The priest recoiled,
And glared upon me frightfully.
“And as for this dumb log”—I felt
Such absolute disgust with it,
I twirled my walking-stick and dealt
An inconsiderate thrust with it.
“Taboo! taboo!” Too late the call:
The clumsy idol fell at once
Against the mummies on the wall,
The rattling skins and skeletons.
Such absolute disgust with it,
I twirled my walking-stick and dealt
An inconsiderate thrust with it.
“Taboo! taboo!” Too late the call:
The clumsy idol fell at once
Against the mummies on the wall,
The rattling skins and skeletons.
The priest, in horror at my speech,
Had glared, aghast and stammering;
But now he raised his warning screech,
And half the tribe came clamoring.
My comrades hurried me away,
While, close behind us clattering,
The mob pursued us to the bay,
And clubs and stones fell pattering.
Had glared, aghast and stammering;
But now he raised his warning screech,
And half the tribe came clamoring.
My comrades hurried me away,
While, close behind us clattering,
The mob pursued us to the bay,
And clubs and stones fell pattering.
Embarking, we in haste let fall
The gifts which I had brought for them,
But more than this, alas for all
My hopes! I could do naught for them;
Nor could I venture more among
The clans of that vicinity,
Because I had with impious tongue
Denied my own divinity.
The gifts which I had brought for them,
But more than this, alas for all
My hopes! I could do naught for them;
Nor could I venture more among
The clans of that vicinity,
Because I had with impious tongue
Denied my own divinity.
THE KANSAS FARMER
We talked or read, or idly sat beholding,
Betwixt the wire-strung poles and April sky,
From dawn till dusk, the endlessly unfolding,
Swift panorama of the land sweep by.
Betwixt the wire-strung poles and April sky,
From dawn till dusk, the endlessly unfolding,
Swift panorama of the land sweep by.
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The twilight closed upon a lonesome prairie,—
A paling sunset pierced by one faint star,
Above a house low-browed and solitary,
Seen from the windows of our passing car.
A paling sunset pierced by one faint star,
Above a house low-browed and solitary,
Seen from the windows of our passing car.
For miles there was no other habitation.
Out from a neighboring marsh a heron took flight,
Rose, gray and silent as an exhalation,
And grew a speck far in the fading light.
Out from a neighboring marsh a heron took flight,
Rose, gray and silent as an exhalation,
And grew a speck far in the fading light.
Framed by the doorway in the frowning gable,
The figure of a man stood dark and still;
No roof beside, but just a turf-walled stable,
Half-thatched with grass, half-sunken in the hill.
The figure of a man stood dark and still;
No roof beside, but just a turf-walled stable,
Half-thatched with grass, half-sunken in the hill.
A solemn mule couched on his bony haunches;
A lank sow leaned and rubbed against her sty;
No tree, but one bare locust, in whose branches
Turkeys were roosting, black against the sky.
A lank sow leaned and rubbed against her sty;
No tree, but one bare locust, in whose branches
Turkeys were roosting, black against the sky.
The man stood gazing, gaunt of frame and gloomy;
So melancholy and so motionless,
A sharp compassionating thrill shot through me,
With thinking of his utter loneliness.
So melancholy and so motionless,
A sharp compassionating thrill shot through me,
With thinking of his utter loneliness.
Far from the cheerful light of human faces,
The glow of friendly converse, how could he
Endure a lot as bare of all the graces
As the surrounding hills of house or tree?
The glow of friendly converse, how could he
Endure a lot as bare of all the graces
As the surrounding hills of house or tree?
He gazed as if with sad surmise and longing,—
As thick as sparks above the rushing train,
His kindled thoughts and aspirations thronging
Toward some great good which he could never gain.
As thick as sparks above the rushing train,
His kindled thoughts and aspirations thronging
Toward some great good which he could never gain.
He saw each day that mighty, thundering shuttle
Across the continent hurled to and fro;
But of the life, the invisible and subtle
Wide web it wove, how little could he know!
Across the continent hurled to and fro;
But of the life, the invisible and subtle
Wide web it wove, how little could he know!
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The train flew on, and, snugly housed within it,
We saw the lonely exile left behind;
But not till that brief vision of a minute
Was photographed forever in the mind.
We saw the lonely exile left behind;
But not till that brief vision of a minute
Was photographed forever in the mind.
The train sped on with loud, relentless clanging;
But gentler fancies in my heart awoke,
As I recalled, in the wan twilight hanging
Above his roof, a wreath of cottage smoke.
But gentler fancies in my heart awoke,
As I recalled, in the wan twilight hanging
Above his roof, a wreath of cottage smoke.
Symbol of household cheer the whole world over!
Perfect contentment brims no mortal breast;
The dweller with the prairie-dog and gopher,
No doubt, has his due portion with the rest.
Perfect contentment brims no mortal breast;
The dweller with the prairie-dog and gopher,
No doubt, has his due portion with the rest.
His evening meal upon the coals was cooking;
A babe, I fain would think, made glad the house;
A wife, I'm sure; but he was anxious, looking
To see his boys come driving home the cows.
A babe, I fain would think, made glad the house;
A wife, I'm sure; but he was anxious, looking
To see his boys come driving home the cows.
No thought had he to join the world's great battle,
Or follow in the ranks of wealth and pride.
His home, his farm, his own small herd of cattle,
These are his world; he knows no world beside.
Or follow in the ranks of wealth and pride.
His home, his farm, his own small herd of cattle,
These are his world; he knows no world beside.
Though few of life's fair consolations enter
The door, to us so desolate and dim,
That cabin on the prairie is the centre
Of the round earth and rolling heavens to him.
The door, to us so desolate and dim,
That cabin on the prairie is the centre
Of the round earth and rolling heavens to him.
He, too,—so fancy runs,—has his ambition:
To build a barn, renew that two years' loan,
Improve each day a little his condition,
And leave his children's better than his own.
To build a barn, renew that two years' loan,
Improve each day a little his condition,
And leave his children's better than his own.
To petty cares, the lack of tools and fences,
To rains, droughts, weeds, the price of pork and corn,
He gives his years; yet finds its recompenses
Even in the life we picture so forlorn.
To rains, droughts, weeds, the price of pork and corn,
He gives his years; yet finds its recompenses
Even in the life we picture so forlorn.
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Man, to the last a child, who still amuses
Himself all day with trifles great and small,
Cherishes most the few poor toys he uses,
But, given too many, learns to scorn them all.
Himself all day with trifles great and small,
Cherishes most the few poor toys he uses,
But, given too many, learns to scorn them all.
Sweeter than ease, sometimes, is rude privation;
Less tedious than long leisure to live through
Are days full packed with healthful occupation;
Too many friends as irksome as too few.
Less tedious than long leisure to live through
Are days full packed with healthful occupation;
Too many friends as irksome as too few.
How little for our daily need suffices,
Could each but know, contented with his share!
The frugal dish, that luxury despises,
Is to the humble sweet and wholesome fare.
Could each but know, contented with his share!
The frugal dish, that luxury despises,
Is to the humble sweet and wholesome fare.
With hope, a constant, cloud-illuming crescent,
With love, and work for head or hands, these three,
Alike the mightiest king or lowliest peasant
Finds life worth living, each in his degree.
With love, and work for head or hands, these three,
Alike the mightiest king or lowliest peasant
Finds life worth living, each in his degree.
Culture and gold are good, but not by building
More stately porches may we look to win
Peace to our dwelling; nor by gayly gilding
The fountain can we raise the flood within.
More stately porches may we look to win
Peace to our dwelling; nor by gayly gilding
The fountain can we raise the flood within.
We ply the fount with toil and rest and revel,
One casts in empires, and one bagatelles;
Still happiness in men will seek its level,
As water from one source in many wells.
One casts in empires, and one bagatelles;
Still happiness in men will seek its level,
As water from one source in many wells.
A MOTHER'S TRAGEDY
He fell in a wayside brawl, not far from his mother's door.
We picked him up, two or three of us; one ran on before,
To give her a decent warning, while we turned into the place,
Lugging him, horribly limp, with his hat laid over his face.
We picked him up, two or three of us; one ran on before,
To give her a decent warning, while we turned into the place,
Lugging him, horribly limp, with his hat laid over his face.
We heard a sharp voice in the doorway: “Don't fear but I shall be strong!
What is one sorrow the more to a heart that is seared with wrong?
My son? something dreadful! They've killed him!” And tearless, terrible eyes
Looked down on us and our burden: no wringing of hands, nor cries:
What is one sorrow the more to a heart that is seared with wrong?
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Looked down on us and our burden: no wringing of hands, nor cries:
But, going before, she cleared the lounge that we laid him on;
Uncovered with her own hand the face upstaring and wan,
The small, dark wound in the temple, and slow, dull trickling red;
Then writhed in a spasm of horror and agony over the dead.
Uncovered with her own hand the face upstaring and wan,
The small, dark wound in the temple, and slow, dull trickling red;
Then writhed in a spasm of horror and agony over the dead.
The doctors came and looked grave; there was nothing more to be done;
And there the old mother sat by the side of her murdered son,
Rigid, erect, and under her neatly combed white hair
Her gleaming features fixed in a frozen and fierce despair.
And there the old mother sat by the side of her murdered son,
Rigid, erect, and under her neatly combed white hair
Her gleaming features fixed in a frozen and fierce despair.
The neighbors gathered round, where she sat tearless and grim;
Full of compassion for her, but hardly sorry for him;
Full of compassion for her, but wondering if, on the whole,
'T were better to wish her joy, or weakly attempt to console.
Full of compassion for her, but hardly sorry for him;
Full of compassion for her, but wondering if, on the whole,
'T were better to wish her joy, or weakly attempt to console.
She seemed to fathom their thoughts: “Yes, little cause,” she said,
“Did ever he give while living, that I should mourn for him dead!
And life is so full of misfortunes that death seems far from the worst.
Yet he is the babe of my bosom, the child I have borne and nursed.
“Did ever he give while living, that I should mourn for him dead!
And life is so full of misfortunes that death seems far from the worst.
Yet he is the babe of my bosom, the child I have borne and nursed.
“The same? Oh, merciful powers! 't was well that I could n't see
On the innocent forehead I kissed the horror that was to be!
Not see these clotted locks in the silky hair I curled—
The happiest mother and prettiest baby in all the world.
On the innocent forehead I kissed the horror that was to be!
Not see these clotted locks in the silky hair I curled—
The happiest mother and prettiest baby in all the world.
“He sickened, too, that summer, just after his father died;
And well do I recollect how I clung to him then, and cried,
And called on the cruel fates, and promised to forgive
All their unkindness to me, if only my child might live.
And well do I recollect how I clung to him then, and cried,
And called on the cruel fates, and promised to forgive
All their unkindness to me, if only my child might live.
“‘Spare him!’ I said, ‘whatever my widowed life must bear;
Spare him!’ And the cruel fates, in mockery of my prayer—
Or was it Heaven, to punish my obduracy and pride?—
Seemed in mercy to grant what mercy would have denied.
Spare him!’ And the cruel fates, in mockery of my prayer—
Or was it Heaven, to punish my obduracy and pride?—
Seemed in mercy to grant what mercy would have denied.
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“There are sons who honor their mothers; and is there an earthly joy
Like hers who watches the growth in grace of her one dear boy?
But look at us now, and tell me if ever I was one
That dreamt she was such a mother and he would be such a son!
Like hers who watches the growth in grace of her one dear boy?
But look at us now, and tell me if ever I was one
That dreamt she was such a mother and he would be such a son!
“I bore with his childish passions, and petted his whims, until
They grew to be snarling faults of ingratitude and self-will.
I tried to curb and restrain them, but they were too fierce and strong,
And they turned and tore the hand that had fostered them too long.
They grew to be snarling faults of ingratitude and self-will.
I tried to curb and restrain them, but they were too fierce and strong,
And they turned and tore the hand that had fostered them too long.
“I hid in my heart, and pardoned, whatever wrong he had done;
And strangers said: ‘What a treasure you have in your only son!’
And oh! he was fair to behold! And I marveled how he could be
Always so kind to others, and never kind to me.
And strangers said: ‘What a treasure you have in your only son!’
And oh! he was fair to behold! And I marveled how he could be
Always so kind to others, and never kind to me.
“Upon those who gave him least, he could smile like an angel of light;
Upon me, who gave him most, he vented his anger and spite.
Was it his, or mine, the fault? And whose, at last, was the blame,
When the fire in his blood broke out in open riot and shame?
Upon me, who gave him most, he vented his anger and spite.
Was it his, or mine, the fault? And whose, at last, was the blame,
When the fire in his blood broke out in open riot and shame?
“He was as he was: perverse—a nature that understood
Nothing of self-denial, of duty or gratitude;
No aim but the hour's enjoyment, no higher ambition on earth
Than just to be ranked good fellow with fellows of shallow worth.
Nothing of self-denial, of duty or gratitude;
No aim but the hour's enjoyment, no higher ambition on earth
Than just to be ranked good fellow with fellows of shallow worth.
“With a greed that had no eyes to see beyond the day,
Me and my slender savings he looked upon as his prey;
In the sieve of self-indulgence pouring his powers and gains;
Never counting the cost in future losses and pains.
Me and my slender savings he looked upon as his prey;
In the sieve of self-indulgence pouring his powers and gains;
Never counting the cost in future losses and pains.
“He was as he was: if your boy is born with a crippled limb,
Or blind, or deaf, do you think of laying the blame on him?
And one is infirm of reason, and one is deformed of soul,
And one, a Goliath of passion, a pigmy in self-control.
Or blind, or deaf, do you think of laying the blame on him?
And one is infirm of reason, and one is deformed of soul,
And one, a Goliath of passion, a pigmy in self-control.
“He was as he was, from his birth—no will or wish of his own;
Or the will was flesh of his flesh, the wish was bone of his bone.
It is easy to say, we are free to follow evil or good;
Whatever we follow or leave, the choice is in our blood.
Or the will was flesh of his flesh, the wish was bone of his bone.
It is easy to say, we are free to follow evil or good;
Whatever we follow or leave, the choice is in our blood.
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“Oh, yes! he should have cared for good men's counsel and praise,
And heeded the pleading love that strove with him all his days.
But the force that obeys the magnet is not in stone, but in steel;
And the secret is in ourselves of the influences we feel.
And heeded the pleading love that strove with him all his days.
But the force that obeys the magnet is not in stone, but in steel;
And the secret is in ourselves of the influences we feel.
“He was as he was! He was born so! No need to question why
He was cursed with faults that neither his father had nor I.
Traits good in themselves sometimes appear in strange excess,
And generous heats flame out in folly and recklessness.
He was cursed with faults that neither his father had nor I.
Traits good in themselves sometimes appear in strange excess,
And generous heats flame out in folly and recklessness.
“You sooner might track the wind, or an underground stream to its source,
Than some inherited taint through its hidden and fitful course,
The vice that has lurked so long in generations past,
To burst its decent bounds and rage in our sons at last.
Than some inherited taint through its hidden and fitful course,
The vice that has lurked so long in generations past,
To burst its decent bounds and rage in our sons at last.
“He was as he was; accuse him, excuse him, what you will;
And I, who have loved him most, and pitied, accuse him still.
For, though we may bear and forbear, and pardon, and suffer long,
The right is forever right, and the wrong is eternally wrong.
And I, who have loved him most, and pitied, accuse him still.
For, though we may bear and forbear, and pardon, and suffer long,
The right is forever right, and the wrong is eternally wrong.
“And I am his mother; and all that is left of my boy lies there!
The frolic of youth, and the frenzy, alternate sport and despair;
Desire that would have dissolved—a mere lump in his cup—the earth!
Gone out like a flame that is quenched, like a fire that is dead on the hearth.
The frolic of youth, and the frenzy, alternate sport and despair;
Desire that would have dissolved—a mere lump in his cup—the earth!
Gone out like a flame that is quenched, like a fire that is dead on the hearth.
“I can neither rejoice nor grieve—my heart is like stone in my breast.
He was naught but a burden and thorn, and I know that what is, is best.
Yet I shall be lost without him. The very trouble and care
That pass with him out of my life will leave it empty and bare.
He was naught but a burden and thorn, and I know that what is, is best.
Yet I shall be lost without him. The very trouble and care
That pass with him out of my life will leave it empty and bare.
“I would hope; I would pray for him! Is there another and happier sphere,
Where the soul may arise from the cloud of evil that clung to it here?
Or has he rushed into that world all aflame with the passions of this?
I would hope; I would know! I cannot look into the dark abyss!
Where the soul may arise from the cloud of evil that clung to it here?
Or has he rushed into that world all aflame with the passions of this?
I would hope; I would know! I cannot look into the dark abyss!
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“Maybe not all are immortal; the souls of sinners may die,
Burn briefly in Heaven, and vanish, like meteors dropped in our sky.
I shall follow him soon, I shall follow; and oh! that our spirits may live,
If only to know each other, to know and embrace and forgive!”
Burn briefly in Heaven, and vanish, like meteors dropped in our sky.
I shall follow him soon, I shall follow; and oh! that our spirits may live,
If only to know each other, to know and embrace and forgive!”
The neighbors gathered near, and departed, one by one;
And there the old mother sat by the side of her murdered son,
With ever the icy despair, the look out of eyes that had shed
So many tears for the living, they had none to weep for the dead.
And there the old mother sat by the side of her murdered son,
With ever the icy despair, the look out of eyes that had shed
So many tears for the living, they had none to weep for the dead.
AFTER THE SALE
The wagon, with high fantastic load
Of household goods, is at the gate;
The shadows darken down the road;
Why does the old man wait?
Bureau, bedstead, rocking-chair,
Upturned table with heels in air,—
Whatever the grudging fates would spare,—
Lie huddled and heaped and tumbled there,
A melancholy freight!
Of household goods, is at the gate;
The shadows darken down the road;
Why does the old man wait?
Bureau, bedstead, rocking-chair,
Upturned table with heels in air,—
Whatever the grudging fates would spare,—
Lie huddled and heaped and tumbled there,
A melancholy freight!
“Of all his riches,” the teamster said,
“Now only this precious pile remains!
A blanket and bed for his old gray head,
For all his life-long pains.
Hard case, I own! but they say that Pride
Must have a fall.” His ropes he tied
In the chill March wind. “Hurry up!” he cried,
And gathered in the reins.
“Now only this precious pile remains!
A blanket and bed for his old gray head,
For all his life-long pains.
Hard case, I own! but they say that Pride
Must have a fall.” His ropes he tied
In the chill March wind. “Hurry up!” he cried,
And gathered in the reins.
The old wife bows her stricken face
On the doorstone, weary and worn and gray.
The old man lingers about the place,
Taking a last survey;
Looks in once more at the great barn door,
On the empty mow and the vacant floor:
All the gains of his life have gone before,
And why should he care to stay?
Only a stool with a broken leg
Is left, and a bucket without a bail.
The harness is gone from hook and peg,
Even the whip from its nail:
Dreary shadows hang from the wall.
No friendly whinny from shed or stall,
Nor unmilked heifer's welcoming call;
The poultry and pigs have vanished, all
Swept out by the sheriff's sale.
On the doorstone, weary and worn and gray.
The old man lingers about the place,
Taking a last survey;
Looks in once more at the great barn door,
On the empty mow and the vacant floor:
All the gains of his life have gone before,
And why should he care to stay?
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Is left, and a bucket without a bail.
The harness is gone from hook and peg,
Even the whip from its nail:
Dreary shadows hang from the wall.
No friendly whinny from shed or stall,
Nor unmilked heifer's welcoming call;
The poultry and pigs have vanished, all
Swept out by the sheriff's sale.
Back to the dooryard well he goes
For a parting look, a farewell drink.
How drippingly that bucket rose
And poised for him on the brink,
In the summers gone, and plashed his feet,
When the men came in from the harvest heat!
How blessedly cool the draught, how sweet,
'T is misery now to think.
For a parting look, a farewell drink.
How drippingly that bucket rose
And poised for him on the brink,
In the summers gone, and plashed his feet,
When the men came in from the harvest heat!
How blessedly cool the draught, how sweet,
'T is misery now to think.
What scenes of peaceful, prosperous life
Once filled the yard, so desolate now!
When he often would say to his pleased, proud wife,
That the farm appeared, somehow,
More thrifty and cheery than other men's,
With its cattle in pasture and swine in pens,
Bleating of lambs and cackle of hens,
And well-stored crib and mow.
Once filled the yard, so desolate now!
When he often would say to his pleased, proud wife,
That the farm appeared, somehow,
More thrifty and cheery than other men's,
With its cattle in pasture and swine in pens,
Bleating of lambs and cackle of hens,
And well-stored crib and mow.
The early years of their proud success,
The years of failure and mutual blame,
Are past, with the toil that was happiness,
And the strife that was sorrow and shame.
She came to him hopeful and strong and fair—
Now who is the sad wraith sitting there,
With her burden of grief, and her old thin hair,
Bowed over her feeble frame?
The years of failure and mutual blame,
Are past, with the toil that was happiness,
And the strife that was sorrow and shame.
She came to him hopeful and strong and fair—
Now who is the sad wraith sitting there,
With her burden of grief, and her old thin hair,
Bowed over her feeble frame?
“Do you remember? This well,” he said,
“Was sunk that summer when Jane was born.
She used to stand in the old house-shed
And blow the dinner-horn,
In after years,—or climb a rail
Of the dooryard fence for a cheery hail,—
Then run to the curb for a brimming pail,
When I came up from the corn.”
“Was sunk that summer when Jane was born.
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And blow the dinner-horn,
In after years,—or climb a rail
Of the dooryard fence for a cheery hail,—
Then run to the curb for a brimming pail,
When I came up from the corn.”
Why think of her now? against whose name
His lips and heart long since were sealed;
Whose memory in their lives became
A sorrow that never has healed.
Her step is on the creaking stair,
Her girlish image is everywhere!
He hears her laughter, he sees her hair
Blow back in the wind, as she comes to bear
His luncheon to the field.
His lips and heart long since were sealed;
Whose memory in their lives became
A sorrow that never has healed.
Her step is on the creaking stair,
Her girlish image is everywhere!
He hears her laughter, he sees her hair
Blow back in the wind, as she comes to bear
His luncheon to the field.
“'T was a terrible wrong!” The old wife spoke,
Swaying her gaunt frame to and fro.
“I'll say it now!” Her strained voice broke
Into a wail of woe.
“It haunts me awake, it haunts me asleep!
And silence has been so hard to keep—
So long!—but there is a grief too deep
For ever a man to know!”
Swaying her gaunt frame to and fro.
“I'll say it now!” Her strained voice broke
Into a wail of woe.
“It haunts me awake, it haunts me asleep!
And silence has been so hard to keep—
So long!—but there is a grief too deep
For ever a man to know!”
A quaver of anguish shook his tone,
His look was pierced with a keen remorse:
“The blame, I suppose, was all my own;
And I have no heart, of course!
Great Heaven! nor any grief to hide!”
Lifting his gloomy hat aside,
He looked up, haggard and hollow-eyed,
Like one whose burning soul had dried
His tears at their very source.
His look was pierced with a keen remorse:
“The blame, I suppose, was all my own;
And I have no heart, of course!
Great Heaven! nor any grief to hide!”
Lifting his gloomy hat aside,
He looked up, haggard and hollow-eyed,
Like one whose burning soul had dried
His tears at their very source.
“No, no! I don't mean that,” she wept.
“I 've felt you suffering many a day,
And often at night when you thought I slept,
And when I have heard you pray,
Until it seemed that my heart would burst.
And as for the blame, you know, at first,
I claimed you were right, and did my worst
To force her to obey.
“I 've felt you suffering many a day,
And often at night when you thought I slept,
And when I have heard you pray,
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And as for the blame, you know, at first,
I claimed you were right, and did my worst
To force her to obey.
“For the dream of our lives had been to make
Our Jane a lady fit for a lord;
Our schemes were all for our children's sake,
And it seemed a cruel reward
To see her with careless scorn refuse—
For all the arguments we could use—
The men you most approved, and choose
The one you most abhorred.
Our Jane a lady fit for a lord;
Our schemes were all for our children's sake,
And it seemed a cruel reward
To see her with careless scorn refuse—
For all the arguments we could use—
The men you most approved, and choose
The one you most abhorred.
“But when she had chosen and all was done,
You need n't have been so hard and stern,
We might have forgiven the poor dear one,
And welcomed her return.
You never could know what she was to me,
You never will know how I yearn to see
My child again—how homesickly
I yearn, and yearn, and yearn!
You need n't have been so hard and stern,
We might have forgiven the poor dear one,
And welcomed her return.
You never could know what she was to me,
You never will know how I yearn to see
My child again—how homesickly
I yearn, and yearn, and yearn!
“She chose for herself, and who can tell?
She braved your will, it 's true, and yet
She may, for all that, have chosen well.
And how can we forget?
We chose for Alice, and unawares
Rushed with her into a rich man's snares,
Who tangled us up in his loose affairs,
And dragged us down with debt.”
She braved your will, it 's true, and yet
She may, for all that, have chosen well.
And how can we forget?
We chose for Alice, and unawares
Rushed with her into a rich man's snares,
Who tangled us up in his loose affairs,
And dragged us down with debt.”
“Well, well!”—with a heavy sigh—“Let 's go!
I have n't been always wise. Ah, Jane!
Some things might not be done just so,
If they were to do again.
But Alice is dead and the farm is gone;
Our hopes, and all that we built them on,
Friends, wealth, are scattered hither and yon,
And only ourselves remain.
“These boughs will blossom and fruits will fall
The same! When I changed the orchard lot,
And fenced it all with good stone wall,
And planned the garden plot,
And built the arbor and planted trees,
And made a home for our pride and ease,
We little thought these were all to please
Strangers who knew us not!
I have n't been always wise. Ah, Jane!
Some things might not be done just so,
If they were to do again.
But Alice is dead and the farm is gone;
Our hopes, and all that we built them on,
Friends, wealth, are scattered hither and yon,
And only ourselves remain.
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The same! When I changed the orchard lot,
And fenced it all with good stone wall,
And planned the garden plot,
And built the arbor and planted trees,
And made a home for our pride and ease,
We little thought these were all to please
Strangers who knew us not!
“Others will reap where we have sown;
But others never can understand
What watchful care these fields have known,
Or how I loved the land.
Here maids will marry and babes be born,
The sun will shine on the wheat and corn,
Crops be gathered and sheep be shorn,
But by a stranger's hand.
But others never can understand
What watchful care these fields have known,
Or how I loved the land.
Here maids will marry and babes be born,
The sun will shine on the wheat and corn,
Crops be gathered and sheep be shorn,
But by a stranger's hand.
“Come, wife!” With bitterest vain regret,
Remembering all good things that were,
The old man yet can half forget
His woes, in pity of her.
She entered, a young man's happy bride,
She crowned his home with hope and pride,
And now goes forth by an old man's side,
A weary wanderer.
Remembering all good things that were,
The old man yet can half forget
His woes, in pity of her.
She entered, a young man's happy bride,
She crowned his home with hope and pride,
And now goes forth by an old man's side,
A weary wanderer.
With slow, disconsolate, broken talk,
They look their last and pass the gate;
The wagon is gone and they must walk;
A mile, and it 's growing late.
She bears a parcel, he lifts a pack.
But what do they see there, up the track,
Against the sunset, looming black?
'T is strange! the wagon is coming back
With its melancholy freight!
They look their last and pass the gate;
The wagon is gone and they must walk;
A mile, and it 's growing late.
She bears a parcel, he lifts a pack.
But what do they see there, up the track,
Against the sunset, looming black?
'T is strange! the wagon is coming back
With its melancholy freight!
And what is the driver shrieking out?
Now Heaven for a moment keep them sane!
“Turn about! turn about!” they hear him shout,
As he flourishes whip and rein—
“You 've a home and a good friend yet, you'll find!”
A coach is following close behind;
A face—a voice—Oh, Heaven be kind!
Oh, lips that tremble and tears that blind!
Oh, breaking hearts, it 's Jane!
Now Heaven for a moment keep them sane!
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As he flourishes whip and rein—
“You 've a home and a good friend yet, you'll find!”
A coach is following close behind;
A face—a voice—Oh, Heaven be kind!
Oh, lips that tremble and tears that blind!
Oh, breaking hearts, it 's Jane!
THREE WORLDS
I
In youth the world, a newly blown
Prismatic bubble,
Shows the enchanted soul her own
Enchanting double.
Prismatic bubble,
Shows the enchanted soul her own
Enchanting double.
The light and dew of heavenly dreams
Filled my young vision,
And life rose clothed in orient beams,
Bright apparition!
Filled my young vision,
And life rose clothed in orient beams,
Bright apparition!
Then love in each fair bosom beat,
A pure emotion;
And friendship was a long and sweet
Ideal devotion.
A pure emotion;
And friendship was a long and sweet
Ideal devotion.
Woman was truth; and age was then
Holy as hoary.
Strangely about the brows of men
There shone a glory,
Holy as hoary.
Strangely about the brows of men
There shone a glory,
A radiance shed by my rapt sight
And reverent spirit;
How changed the life, how paled the light,
As I drew near it!
And reverent spirit;
How changed the life, how paled the light,
As I drew near it!
'T was my own ardent youth (alas,
How unsuspected!)
Whose image in the bubble's glass
I saw reflected.
How unsuspected!)
Whose image in the bubble's glass
I saw reflected.
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O magic youth, that could suffuse
The bright creation
With its own dreams and rainbow hues
Of aspiration!
The bright creation
With its own dreams and rainbow hues
Of aspiration!
II
The wondrous years no more were mine,
When fervent Fancy
Remade the world by her divine,
Sweet necromancy.
When fervent Fancy
Remade the world by her divine,
Sweet necromancy.
But still, as paled that earlier flame,
My zeal grew warmer
To serve my kind; and I became
A world-reformer.
My zeal grew warmer
To serve my kind; and I became
A world-reformer.
For every problem then I saw
Some new solution,
Could I remodel human law
And institution!
Some new solution,
Could I remodel human law
And institution!
To wed in work the heart and mind,
Make life a mission
Of wise good-will to all mankind,
Was my ambition.
Make life a mission
Of wise good-will to all mankind,
Was my ambition.
Bondage and ignorance should cease;
Reason and culture
Should banish war, the dove of peace
Succeed the vulture.
Reason and culture
Should banish war, the dove of peace
Succeed the vulture.
But patiently as I reshaped
The old equation,
I found some factor still escaped
My calculation.
The old equation,
I found some factor still escaped
My calculation.
No philosophic scheme, nor act
Of legislature,
Can yoke the storm and cataract
Of human nature.
Of legislature,
Can yoke the storm and cataract
Of human nature.
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The moral crusade may proceed
By means immoral;
And too much zeal for peace may lead
To many a quarrel.
By means immoral;
And too much zeal for peace may lead
To many a quarrel.
A thankless task has he who tries
To chip and model
The world to just the form and size
Of his own noddle.
To chip and model
The world to just the form and size
Of his own noddle.
Is it because of hopes long tossed
Or heart grown harder?
Now I have also something lost
Of that last ardor.
Or heart grown harder?
Now I have also something lost
Of that last ardor.
No dungeon door will cease to creak,
Nor chain be broken,
For any word I hoped to speak,
But leave unspoken.
Nor chain be broken,
For any word I hoped to speak,
But leave unspoken.
My noon is past, as many things,
Alas, remind me!
Slowly about my shadow swings,
Lengthening behind me.
Alas, remind me!
Slowly about my shadow swings,
Lengthening behind me.
The unaccomplished task laid down
I leave to others;
The voice, the victory, and the crown,
To you, my brothers!
I leave to others;
The voice, the victory, and the crown,
To you, my brothers!
Not doubting, though my lips be dumb,
But trusting wholly
In that fair time which yet shall come,—
Shall come, though slowly.
But trusting wholly
In that fair time which yet shall come,—
Shall come, though slowly.
Not in our hurrying years, but late,
Through generations,
The race shall rise which I await
With perfect patience.
Through generations,
The race shall rise which I await
With perfect patience.
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Youth's brave illusion, manhood's hope,
Vision of sages,
Are augury and horoscope
Of future ages.
Vision of sages,
Are augury and horoscope
Of future ages.
A harp-like sound is in my ear,
A far-off humming:
I see the golden cloud, I hear
The chariots coming!
A far-off humming:
I see the golden cloud, I hear
The chariots coming!
III
Nearer and sweeter than I thought,
One world has waited,
Though not the world my fancy wrought,
Or hope created:
One world has waited,
Though not the world my fancy wrought,
Or hope created:
A world of common light and air,
Of earth and azure;
Of love girt round by fear, and care
Dearer than pleasure;
Of earth and azure;
Of love girt round by fear, and care
Dearer than pleasure;
Of simple wants and few, good-will
To friend and neighbor;
And each day's cup each day must fill
With thought and labor;
To friend and neighbor;
And each day's cup each day must fill
With thought and labor;
Furtherance and help, with ample scope
For tears and laughter;
Of child-like faith, and earnest hope,
In the hereafter;
For tears and laughter;
Of child-like faith, and earnest hope,
In the hereafter;
Patience in pain; in every ill,
Cross, and privation,
If not contentment, patience still,
And resignation.
Cross, and privation,
If not contentment, patience still,
And resignation.
My brother's wrong I may not right,
But I can share it;
My own I'll study less to fight,
And more to bear it.
But I can share it;
My own I'll study less to fight,
And more to bear it.
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The nettle-sting of others' deeds
I'll strive to pardon,
And look to find the lurking weeds
In my own garden.
I'll strive to pardon,
And look to find the lurking weeds
In my own garden.
I'll till my little plot of ground,
And pay my taxes,
And let the headlong globe go round
Upon its axis.
And pay my taxes,
And let the headlong globe go round
Upon its axis.
Aspire who may to seize the helm
And guide creation,
If I can rule my little realm
With moderation,—
And guide creation,
If I can rule my little realm
With moderation,—
My own small kingdom, act and thought
And chaste affection,
Trained powers, and passions duly brought
Into subjection,
And chaste affection,
Trained powers, and passions duly brought
Into subjection,
The world of home, of wife and child,—
Good-by, ambition!
I'll live serenely reconciled
To my condition.
Good-by, ambition!
I'll live serenely reconciled
To my condition.
With years a richer life begins,
The spirit mellows:
Ripe age gives tone to violins,
Wine, and good fellows.
The spirit mellows:
Ripe age gives tone to violins,
Wine, and good fellows.
I'll marry action to repose,
Busily idle,
As through great scenes a traveller goes
With slackened bridle.
Busily idle,
As through great scenes a traveller goes
With slackened bridle.
To loftier aims let me aspire,
To higher beauty;
Freedom to follow my desire
Be one with duty.
To higher beauty;
Freedom to follow my desire
Be one with duty.
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About our common mother earth
Flow seas of ether;
Heaven holds her in her starry girth,
The clouds enwreath her.
Flow seas of ether;
Heaven holds her in her starry girth,
The clouds enwreath her.
Forever mystery, love, the soul's
Boundless ideal,
Like a diviner ether rolls
About the real.
Boundless ideal,
Like a diviner ether rolls
About the real.
And second youth can still suffuse
The bright creation
With its own dreams and rainbow hues
Of aspiration.
The bright creation
With its own dreams and rainbow hues
Of aspiration.
THE SEEKING
I
By ways of dreaming and doing,
Man seeks the bourn of the blest;
Youth yearns for the Fortunate Islands,
Age pines for the haven of rest.
Man seeks the bourn of the blest;
Youth yearns for the Fortunate Islands,
Age pines for the haven of rest.
And we say to ourselves, “Oh! surely,
Beneath some bluer skies,
Just over our bleak horizon,
The land of our longing lies.”
Beneath some bluer skies,
Just over our bleak horizon,
The land of our longing lies.”
Each seeks some favored pathway,
Secure to him alone;
But every pathway thither
With broken hearts is strown.
Secure to him alone;
But every pathway thither
With broken hearts is strown.
II
The Giver of Sleep breathed also,
Into our clay, the breath
And fire of unrest, to save us
From indolent life in death.
Into our clay, the breath
And fire of unrest, to save us
From indolent life in death.
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Fair is the opening rosebud,
And fair the full-blown rose;
And sweet, after rest, is action,
And, after action, repose.
And fair the full-blown rose;
And sweet, after rest, is action,
And, after action, repose.
But indolence, like the cow-bird,
That 's hatched in an alien nest,
Crowds out the native virtues,
And soon usurps the breast.
That 's hatched in an alien nest,
Crowds out the native virtues,
And soon usurps the breast.
Better the endless endeavor,
The strong deed rushing on,
And Happiness that, ere we know her
And name her, smiles and is gone!
The strong deed rushing on,
And Happiness that, ere we know her
And name her, smiles and is gone!
III
We wait for the welling of waters
That never pass the brink;
We pour our lives in the fountain,
But cannot stay to drink.
That never pass the brink;
We pour our lives in the fountain,
But cannot stay to drink.
“To-morrow,” says Youthful Ardor,
Twining the vine and the rose,
“I will couch in these braided bowers,
As blithe as the breeze that blows.”
Twining the vine and the rose,
“I will couch in these braided bowers,
As blithe as the breeze that blows.”
“To-morrow,” says earnest Manhood,
Yet adding land to land,
“I will walk in the alleys of leisure,
And rest from the work of my hand.”
Yet adding land to land,
“I will walk in the alleys of leisure,
And rest from the work of my hand.”
“To-morrow,” says Age, still training
The vine to the trembling wall,
Till the Dark sweeps down upon us,
And the Shadow that swallows all.
The vine to the trembling wall,
Till the Dark sweeps down upon us,
And the Shadow that swallows all.
IV
Ebb-tide chased by the flood-tide,
Night by the dawn pursued,
And ever contentment hounded
By fresh inquietude!
Night by the dawn pursued,
And ever contentment hounded
By fresh inquietude!
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Not what we have done avails us,
But what we do and are;
We turn from the deed that is setting,
And steer for the rising star.
But what we do and are;
We turn from the deed that is setting,
And steer for the rising star.
We may wreck our hearts in the voyage;
But never shall sail or oar,
Nor wind of enchantment, waft us
Nearer the longed-for shore.
But never shall sail or oar,
Nor wind of enchantment, waft us
Nearer the longed-for shore.
In vain each past attainment;
No sooner the port appears
Than the spirit, ever aspiring,
Spreads sail for untried spheres.
No sooner the port appears
Than the spirit, ever aspiring,
Spreads sail for untried spheres.
Whatever region entices,
Whatever siren sings,
Still onward beckons the phantom
Of unaccomplished things.
Whatever siren sings,
Still onward beckons the phantom
Of unaccomplished things.
HYMN OF THE AIR
Nourisher and encloser of all life
Am I. Before man was, or beast, or tree,
I in my wingèd chariot moved upon
The desolate, weltering waste that was the world,
And bade it fructify. And life appeared;
Innumerable transitory forms
Limned and erased in each successive age,
Their early outlines lost, or later known
Traced in the rocky tablets of the globe.
Strange, wingless birds that tracked the baking sands;
Ophidian and amphibian, and the huge
Iguanodon, and mighty beasts that tore
Tall forests, pasturing on their succulent boughs;
These and their kind, emerging from the dim,
Slow-wakening, solitary, uncouth orb,
Stalked forth,—rude types of creatures yet to be;—
Rock-gnawing lichens that forerun the feet
Of violets; fungi watery and gross;
Mosses that build and belt the corpulent bog;
And tree-like ferns enormous from the moist
And steaming earth towered densely; them I fed
On carbon from my over-brimming cup,
Storing it in their veins for future man.
Am I. Before man was, or beast, or tree,
I in my wingèd chariot moved upon
The desolate, weltering waste that was the world,
And bade it fructify. And life appeared;
Innumerable transitory forms
Limned and erased in each successive age,
Their early outlines lost, or later known
Traced in the rocky tablets of the globe.
Strange, wingless birds that tracked the baking sands;
Ophidian and amphibian, and the huge
Iguanodon, and mighty beasts that tore
Tall forests, pasturing on their succulent boughs;
These and their kind, emerging from the dim,
Slow-wakening, solitary, uncouth orb,
Stalked forth,—rude types of creatures yet to be;—
Rock-gnawing lichens that forerun the feet
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Mosses that build and belt the corpulent bog;
And tree-like ferns enormous from the moist
And steaming earth towered densely; them I fed
On carbon from my over-brimming cup,
Storing it in their veins for future man.
Nourisher and encloser of all life:
All things that creep or fly, and they that dwell
Within the dim inhabitable deep,
And herb and shrub, and all fair waving forms
Of verdure, but for my sustaining might,
My presence and sustaining might withdrawn,
Would fail in universal void: breath, flame,
And sense, and strength of foot, and power of flight.
The condor, circling high above his crags,
Circling securely in my azure realm,
Earthward with all his plumes would drop like lead.
And sound would cease, with voice of bird and beast;
The cataract in its plunge would make no noise;
The tumbling billow on the foamless beach
Would lapse in silence; even the waves would sink,
And all the bright seas to a ghastly film
Subside and shrivel, heaved by ghosts of tides.
Nor cloud would be, nor ever morning red,
Nor rains, nor rivers, nor the blessed dew.
All things that creep or fly, and they that dwell
Within the dim inhabitable deep,
And herb and shrub, and all fair waving forms
Of verdure, but for my sustaining might,
My presence and sustaining might withdrawn,
Would fail in universal void: breath, flame,
And sense, and strength of foot, and power of flight.
The condor, circling high above his crags,
Circling securely in my azure realm,
Earthward with all his plumes would drop like lead.
And sound would cease, with voice of bird and beast;
The cataract in its plunge would make no noise;
The tumbling billow on the foamless beach
Would lapse in silence; even the waves would sink,
And all the bright seas to a ghastly film
Subside and shrivel, heaved by ghosts of tides.
Nor cloud would be, nor ever morning red,
Nor rains, nor rivers, nor the blessed dew.
About the seas I flow, an ampler sea,
Diaphanous and shoreless; earth my floor,
The mountain-chains my reefs; my surface waves,
Ethereal, tumbling high beneath the stars,
More silvery soft than aught but light itself,
And beautiful, could finite eyes behold,
But only spirits behold, whose radiant forms
Bathe in my almost spiritual flood.
Stupendous tides, to whose huge volume those
That ridge the broad-backed sea with sweeping swells
Are but as ripples, roll beneath the moon
Eternally, unchafed by any strand,
In unimaginable loneliness,
And silence broken by no sound save where
With fiery plash the raining meteors fall.
Diaphanous and shoreless; earth my floor,
The mountain-chains my reefs; my surface waves,
Ethereal, tumbling high beneath the stars,
More silvery soft than aught but light itself,
And beautiful, could finite eyes behold,
But only spirits behold, whose radiant forms
Bathe in my almost spiritual flood.
Stupendous tides, to whose huge volume those
That ridge the broad-backed sea with sweeping swells
Are but as ripples, roll beneath the moon
Eternally, unchafed by any strand,
In unimaginable loneliness,
307
With fiery plash the raining meteors fall.
Far down, curved duly with the curving sphere,
The white clouds curdle, pierced by quiet crags;
With rifts that show the large plan of the world,
Oceans and continents and ice-capped poles,
Rivers and towns and crawling beasts and men.
Forever, high above those realms of change,
I take the sunshine on my crest, and bare
My pure, cold bosom to the moon and stars;
While at my feet the pictured seasons pass
In beauty, or amidst battling elements,
When clouds charge clouds and lightnings cross their swords,
And my wild skirts are fringed with flying storms.
The white clouds curdle, pierced by quiet crags;
With rifts that show the large plan of the world,
Oceans and continents and ice-capped poles,
Rivers and towns and crawling beasts and men.
Forever, high above those realms of change,
I take the sunshine on my crest, and bare
My pure, cold bosom to the moon and stars;
While at my feet the pictured seasons pass
In beauty, or amidst battling elements,
When clouds charge clouds and lightnings cross their swords,
And my wild skirts are fringed with flying storms.
I am the fountain of all winds that blow;
Parent of zephyrs and flower-scented gales,
Sweet as the breath of lovers when they kiss
Under vine-shadows on soft summer eves.
Parent of zephyrs and flower-scented gales,
Sweet as the breath of lovers when they kiss
Under vine-shadows on soft summer eves.
Ministers of a vast beneficence,
Forever on fleet errands to and fro
My breezes fly; beneath their glancing wings
Making the glad waves leap and clap their hands;
Wafting through sun and shadow round the curve
Innumerable fleets; fanning parched climes,
And purifying over-peopled towns;
Bearing in airy urns to thirsty lands
The copious exhalations of the sea,
To frozen realms the heat of torrid suns.
Forever on fleet errands to and fro
My breezes fly; beneath their glancing wings
Making the glad waves leap and clap their hands;
Wafting through sun and shadow round the curve
Innumerable fleets; fanning parched climes,
And purifying over-peopled towns;
Bearing in airy urns to thirsty lands
The copious exhalations of the sea,
To frozen realms the heat of torrid suns.
Yet trust me not, for I am changeable:
Oh! trust me not, for in my glassiest calms
Terror and fury couch, and tempest breeds.
My blue-roofed cavern is the nursing-place
Of rains and snows and hurricanes, the lair
Of young tornadoes and the whirlwind's whelps.
Oh! trust me not, for in my glassiest calms
Terror and fury couch, and tempest breeds.
My blue-roofed cavern is the nursing-place
Of rains and snows and hurricanes, the lair
Of young tornadoes and the whirlwind's whelps.
I am invisible, yet terrible.
All moods are mine. The fleets I waft, I smite.
In their mad whirling dance my dread cyclones,
Turbaned with thunder-clouds, in roaring robes
Gathering the uptorn seas and desert sands,
Darken and devastate the affrighted globe.
All moods are mine. The fleets I waft, I smite.
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Turbaned with thunder-clouds, in roaring robes
Gathering the uptorn seas and desert sands,
Darken and devastate the affrighted globe.
Eternal battlefield of cold and heat;
Forever-swaying balance, reservoir
Of indestructible tumultuous force;
Wafter of ships; mother of fierce monsoons;
Dispenser of the heavenly rain and dew;
Purger of lands, physician of sick climes;
Floating in peace the rosy evening cloud,
Or curled white cirrus of midsummer noons;
Gentle or stern, in calm or tempest, I
Fulfil my manifold appointed use.
Forever-swaying balance, reservoir
Of indestructible tumultuous force;
Wafter of ships; mother of fierce monsoons;
Dispenser of the heavenly rain and dew;
Purger of lands, physician of sick climes;
Floating in peace the rosy evening cloud,
Or curled white cirrus of midsummer noons;
Gentle or stern, in calm or tempest, I
Fulfil my manifold appointed use.
In my divine alembic I transmute
Death and the poisonous vapors of the world
Into fresh life and beauty. Tribes of men,
Interminable processions, insect, brute,
The multitudinous tranquil race of plants,
All things that perish, in my chemic glass
Distil and change, exhale and disappear;
The beauteous flower, and she more beautiful
Who lifts it from the stalk with loving hand;
Tyrants and slaves, the eagle and the gnat,
Leviathan and python, lion and lamb:
I waste and mingle, I diffuse and blow
About the world their wandering elements,
To pour them forth anew in living forms.
Death and the poisonous vapors of the world
Into fresh life and beauty. Tribes of men,
Interminable processions, insect, brute,
The multitudinous tranquil race of plants,
All things that perish, in my chemic glass
Distil and change, exhale and disappear;
The beauteous flower, and she more beautiful
Who lifts it from the stalk with loving hand;
Tyrants and slaves, the eagle and the gnat,
Leviathan and python, lion and lamb:
I waste and mingle, I diffuse and blow
About the world their wandering elements,
To pour them forth anew in living forms.
Enfolder and disposer of all life
Am I: and yet not I. Oh! faithless man,
How canst thou feel my power and mystery,
And know the invisible force that clasps thee round,
And have in me thy being, and yet doubt
The Spirit whose similitude I am,
The Power that framed the world, and me, and thee?
Am I: and yet not I. Oh! faithless man,
How canst thou feel my power and mystery,
And know the invisible force that clasps thee round,
And have in me thy being, and yet doubt
The Spirit whose similitude I am,
The Power that framed the world, and me, and thee?
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THE POET
A youth there was, and his dwelling amid great wonders stood;
There laughed the verdurous valley, there gloomed the serious wood;
And round about were the voices of winds and of rushing streams;
And his days were drugged with illusions, his nights were drunken with dreams.
There laughed the verdurous valley, there gloomed the serious wood;
And round about were the voices of winds and of rushing streams;
And his days were drugged with illusions, his nights were drunken with dreams.
The years flew by, like the wild fowl, one by one, over the glen,
Till a man he was grown, gazed after by men and the daughters of men;
A bard in the midst of a people that trafficked and schemed and wrought,
They red with the sunlight of action, he pale with the moonlight of thought.
Till a man he was grown, gazed after by men and the daughters of men;
A bard in the midst of a people that trafficked and schemed and wrought,
They red with the sunlight of action, he pale with the moonlight of thought.
And many looked after and loved him, but wayward and rapt went he;
And blessed were his days, but ever he longed for better to be;
And fair and sweet were the maidens, but only the face of the gray,
Thin wraith, the bodiless moonshine, beside his pillow lay.
And blessed were his days, but ever he longed for better to be;
And fair and sweet were the maidens, but only the face of the gray,
Thin wraith, the bodiless moonshine, beside his pillow lay.
The strings of his lute never trembled to human joys and woes,
But told of the clouds and the flowers, and the love that no man knows:
He turned his song, as a Claude-glass, to image the shapes and gleams
That float in the Limbus of fancy, that drift in the Hades of dreams.
But told of the clouds and the flowers, and the love that no man knows:
He turned his song, as a Claude-glass, to image the shapes and gleams
That float in the Limbus of fancy, that drift in the Hades of dreams.
But once and again to his bedside a Vision of visions had come,
When the world was mantled in darkness, and all its voices were dumb,
Save only, afar in the forest, a moan and a glimmer of locks,
Where the lost brook wailed as it wandered, and beat its white breast on the rocks.
When the world was mantled in darkness, and all its voices were dumb,
Save only, afar in the forest, a moan and a glimmer of locks,
Where the lost brook wailed as it wandered, and beat its white breast on the rocks.
Then the chill dim space of his chamber unfolded and bloomed as a flower,
Filling with glory and fragrance the lonely and desolate hour;
Over his closed cold eyelids a breath moved, vital and warm,
And a soul came out of the fragrance, and out of the glory a form.
Filling with glory and fragrance the lonely and desolate hour;
Over his closed cold eyelids a breath moved, vital and warm,
And a soul came out of the fragrance, and out of the glory a form.
And in the still air of the heaven they made all around and above
Were eyes of ravishing brightness, a face of ineffable love;
From a forehead of snow flamed backward the hair's soft golden fire;
And a voice, or the soul of a voice, said, “I am your heart's desire.
Were eyes of ravishing brightness, a face of ineffable love;
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And a voice, or the soul of a voice, said, “I am your heart's desire.
“Into life by the love of the sculptor a marble maiden was warmed;
And out of your wish I was fashioned, and out of your faith I was formed.
The word I utter is only a pearl of your innermost thought;
My wisdom, the deep-hidden treasure that up from your breast I have brought.
And out of your wish I was fashioned, and out of your faith I was formed.
The word I utter is only a pearl of your innermost thought;
My wisdom, the deep-hidden treasure that up from your breast I have brought.
I am twin-born of your being: to every mortal is given
His angel, unseen, bending near him, as Earth is leaned over by Heaven;
Both one, as the stem and the flower of the water-lily are one,
Below in the ooze and the shimmer, above in the azure and sun.
His angel, unseen, bending near him, as Earth is leaned over by Heaven;
Both one, as the stem and the flower of the water-lily are one,
Below in the ooze and the shimmer, above in the azure and sun.
“I dwell in the life of the spirit, yet ever am close at your side;
And I say to you, out of the stillness of light wherein I abide,—
O man! in the midst of illusions, be ever alert to hear
The lisp of your Psyche, the whisper that breathes in the ear of your ear.
And I say to you, out of the stillness of light wherein I abide,—
O man! in the midst of illusions, be ever alert to hear
The lisp of your Psyche, the whisper that breathes in the ear of your ear.
“O poet! with doubt and denial vex not your mind overmuch:
They dull the delicate forces, the chords that respond to my touch.
The bounds of your metaphysics enclose but a sterile clod:
Waste not your thought upon thinking, nor dogmatize about God.
They dull the delicate forces, the chords that respond to my touch.
The bounds of your metaphysics enclose but a sterile clod:
Waste not your thought upon thinking, nor dogmatize about God.
“And dwell no longer in dreamland, the realm of fable and fay;
Await not the feast of To-morrow, but break the bread of To-day.
Pine not for the nymph Perfection, nor follow the glance of Pride;
But beckon the helpful maiden, call Comfort to your side.
Await not the feast of To-morrow, but break the bread of To-day.
Pine not for the nymph Perfection, nor follow the glance of Pride;
But beckon the helpful maiden, call Comfort to your side.
“Embody your pale ideals, and give to the dreams of youth,
With the form of art, which is beauty, the soul of art, which is truth.
And still, in the midst of illusions, be ever alert to hear
The word of your Psyche, the whisper that breathes in the ear of your ear.
With the form of art, which is beauty, the soul of art, which is truth.
And still, in the midst of illusions, be ever alert to hear
The word of your Psyche, the whisper that breathes in the ear of your ear.
“The angels are still descending that to the patriarch came;
Just over each upturned forehead plays the celestial flame.
Above your doubts and repinings, the heavens are opened wide
To flood your life with the fulness of light wherein I abide.
Just over each upturned forehead plays the celestial flame.
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To flood your life with the fulness of light wherein I abide.
“Within the trembling dewdrop, that toward the morning turns,
The world in little is mirrored, a whole creation burns;
And every heart that is lifted, and every soul that aspires,
Is a spark of the Infinite Spirit, a focus of heavenly fires.”
The world in little is mirrored, a whole creation burns;
And every heart that is lifted, and every soul that aspires,
Is a spark of the Infinite Spirit, a focus of heavenly fires.”
The vision departed, and over the world's dim boundary rolled
The shining billow of daybreak, the surges of crimson and gold.
The wheels of traffic resounded, the blows of the builders rang,
Sweet maidens smiled in the doorways, and children shouted and sang.
The shining billow of daybreak, the surges of crimson and gold.
The wheels of traffic resounded, the blows of the builders rang,
Sweet maidens smiled in the doorways, and children shouted and sang.
The cry of the sibilant saw-mill rose vehement and loud,
The white mill-waters curdled, and fell like a falling cloud;
While afar on the misty lowland went flying the iron steed,
White-plumed, a phantom of beauty, swift-wheeled, a marvel of speed!
The white mill-waters curdled, and fell like a falling cloud;
While afar on the misty lowland went flying the iron steed,
White-plumed, a phantom of beauty, swift-wheeled, a marvel of speed!
The Poet went forth, beholding the earth created new;
He bathed his brow in its freshness, he washed his heart in its dew;
He heard the chorus of farm-yards, the jubilee of the birds,
The far-away tinkle, the lowing of pasture-going herds.
He bathed his brow in its freshness, he washed his heart in its dew;
He heard the chorus of farm-yards, the jubilee of the birds,
The far-away tinkle, the lowing of pasture-going herds.
He saw the lake all a-shiver with pictures of shores and trees,
Soft etchings of cloud and shadow, the mezzotint of the breeze;
And thinly ascending and curling, in clefts of the dark-green hills,
The smokes of embowered dwellings, like upward-winding rills.
Soft etchings of cloud and shadow, the mezzotint of the breeze;
And thinly ascending and curling, in clefts of the dark-green hills,
The smokes of embowered dwellings, like upward-winding rills.
He heard blithe sounds of labor blend with the brooks that ran,
The mighty rhythm of nature rhyme in the works of man;
And whether he roamed the woodland, or traversed the busy street,
He moved in a world of wonders, with miracles at his feet.
The mighty rhythm of nature rhyme in the works of man;
And whether he roamed the woodland, or traversed the busy street,
He moved in a world of wonders, with miracles at his feet.
And he vowed, “I will rend as a garment the dream I have dreamed so long,
Put living men in my measures, this light and this land in my song;
For never was fabled country so fair as this I behold:
I dwell in a realm of enchantment, I live in an age of gold!”
Put living men in my measures, this light and this land in my song;
For never was fabled country so fair as this I behold:
I dwell in a realm of enchantment, I live in an age of gold!”
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AT MOUNT DESERT
BAR HARBOR
I
Panoplied with crags and trees,
And begirt
By blue islands in soft seas,
Which invert
Idle yachts on glassy days,—
Who shall paint your purple bays,
Who can frame you in a phrase,
Mount Desert?
And begirt
By blue islands in soft seas,
Which invert
Idle yachts on glassy days,—
Who shall paint your purple bays,
Who can frame you in a phrase,
Mount Desert?
Beetling ledges and sublime
Ocean swells;
Caverns green with weeds and slime,
Blue with shells;
Isle of rest for weary lives,
Woodland walks and dusty drives,
Seaside villas and big hives
Of hotels.
Ocean swells;
Caverns green with weeds and slime,
Blue with shells;
Isle of rest for weary lives,
Woodland walks and dusty drives,
Seaside villas and big hives
Of hotels.
Rocks where dreamers half the day
Sit inert;
Where girls gossip and crochet,
Play lawn-tennis, and they say,
Sometimes flirt;
Place to read, or sketch, or row;
Town of hops and shops and show:
By these tokens tourists know
Mount Desert.
Sit inert;
Where girls gossip and crochet,
Play lawn-tennis, and they say,
Sometimes flirt;
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Town of hops and shops and show:
By these tokens tourists know
Mount Desert.
Every morning sees a mile,
Less or more,
Of strange vehicles defile
By your door:
Choose one, mount, and bowl along
On a buckboard light and strong,
Lilting, tilting on its long
Limber floor.
Less or more,
Of strange vehicles defile
By your door:
Choose one, mount, and bowl along
On a buckboard light and strong,
Lilting, tilting on its long
Limber floor.
Or the dismal fog shuts down,
Chill and gray;
Over harbor, coast and town,
Dismal, drizzling, it sweeps down,
Day by day,
In interminable drifts,
Till some morning, lo, it lifts!
And again through ragged rifts
Gleams the bay.
Chill and gray;
Over harbor, coast and town,
Dismal, drizzling, it sweeps down,
Day by day,
In interminable drifts,
Till some morning, lo, it lifts!
And again through ragged rifts
Gleams the bay.
Sheeny vapors ride the air
And the sea,
Touching, trailing, here and there,
Till each mountain seems to wear
A toupee;
Or a scimiter of lace
Shears a headland from its base,
And leaves hanging there in space
Rock and tree.
And the sea,
Touching, trailing, here and there,
Till each mountain seems to wear
A toupee;
Or a scimiter of lace
Shears a headland from its base,
And leaves hanging there in space
Rock and tree.
II
Quit the world of news and dress,
Cards and calls!
To the vaulted wilderness,
Which inwalls
Mossy chasms and tangled nooks!
Where the fleeing wood-nymph looks
From the veils of flashing brooks
And swift falls.
Cards and calls!
To the vaulted wilderness,
Which inwalls
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Where the fleeing wood-nymph looks
From the veils of flashing brooks
And swift falls.
Loose your snowy-pinioned skiff,
Launch in space!
Or explore with me this cliff,
From its face,
Which the wind and surges fret,
Past the plumèd parapet,
Where no touch of man has yet
Left a trace.
Launch in space!
Or explore with me this cliff,
From its face,
Which the wind and surges fret,
Past the plumèd parapet,
Where no touch of man has yet
Left a trace.
As you scale the splintered jag
Toward the sky,—
As you pass the jutting jag,
The sea-pigeons on the crag
Downward fly;
From the swells not far remote,
Where the pied flock sits afloat,
Comes their softly whistled note,
Like a sigh.
Toward the sky,—
As you pass the jutting jag,
The sea-pigeons on the crag
Downward fly;
From the swells not far remote,
Where the pied flock sits afloat,
Comes their softly whistled note,
Like a sigh.
Slim against the fringy line
Of the firs,
The outleaning birches shine;
There the tresses of the pine;
The wind stirs
The green-tufted tamarack;
And the cedars, bristling black,
In the mountain's craggy back
Strike their spurs.
Of the firs,
The outleaning birches shine;
There the tresses of the pine;
The wind stirs
The green-tufted tamarack;
And the cedars, bristling black,
In the mountain's craggy back
Strike their spurs.
You may search the woods in vain,
Everywhere,
For the lonely thrush, whose strain
Fills the air.
Here the shy bunchberries house,
Where blue-tinted balsam boughs
Weave a covert for the grouse
And the hare.
Everywhere,
For the lonely thrush, whose strain
Fills the air.
Here the shy bunchberries house,
Where blue-tinted balsam boughs
Weave a covert for the grouse
And the hare.
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III
The white-throated sparrow sings
In the trees.
Tint of mosses, glint of wings,
Oh, the thousand lovely things
That one sees!
Loveliest, frailest, of them all
Are these wild flowers, blue and small,
Wavering on the bleak sea-wall
In the breeze.
In the trees.
Tint of mosses, glint of wings,
Oh, the thousand lovely things
That one sees!
Loveliest, frailest, of them all
Are these wild flowers, blue and small,
Wavering on the bleak sea-wall
In the breeze.
Find a foothold in the ledge,
There they spring;
On its utmost dizzy edge,
There they cling;
Where there 's room for tuft to grow
In the crevices below,
While waves dash and tempests blow,
There they swing!
There they spring;
On its utmost dizzy edge,
There they cling;
Where there 's room for tuft to grow
In the crevices below,
While waves dash and tempests blow,
There they swing!
Little Ariels that perform
Their pure part
In rude scenes of strife and storm,
They upstart
From gray cleft and scanty mould.
So late flowers of love unfold,
Sweet relentings, in some old,
Rugged heart.
Their pure part
In rude scenes of strife and storm,
They upstart
From gray cleft and scanty mould.
So late flowers of love unfold,
Sweet relentings, in some old,
Rugged heart.
Region where the harebell blows,
Wave-begirt!
Let the season's round of shows,
Which divert
Careless eyes in yonder town,
Justify your fair renown;
But these flowers shall be your crown,
Mount Desert!
Wave-begirt!
Let the season's round of shows,
Which divert
Careless eyes in yonder town,
Justify your fair renown;
But these flowers shall be your crown,
Mount Desert!
By what magic, out of air,
Do they spin,—
Out of sunlight, dew, and air,
The slight bonnets that they wear,
Blue and thin?
Children of the rock and sky!
Little people, you and I
Surely by some mystic tie
Are akin.
Do they spin,—
Out of sunlight, dew, and air,
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Blue and thin?
Children of the rock and sky!
Little people, you and I
Surely by some mystic tie
Are akin.
Huddled here in pleasant flocks
On the verge,
Nodding hoods and fluttering locks,
Half-way down the rifted rocks
That emerge
From the billows tumbling white,
Do you feel a fine delight
In the breezes and the bright
Bursting surge?
On the verge,
Nodding hoods and fluttering locks,
Half-way down the rifted rocks
That emerge
From the billows tumbling white,
Do you feel a fine delight
In the breezes and the bright
Bursting surge?
Larger cousins of these meek,
Tiny elves!
Belles of Mount Desert, who seek
Your sweet namesakes on the bleak
Crannied shelves;
Following far the lovely lures,—
Dainty relatives of yours,
Little charming miniatures
Of yourselves!—
Tiny elves!
Belles of Mount Desert, who seek
Your sweet namesakes on the bleak
Crannied shelves;
Following far the lovely lures,—
Dainty relatives of yours,
Little charming miniatures
Of yourselves!—
Cull them here betwixt the brink
And the foam!
Choose a cluster by the brink,
Lift them gently from their chink,
Bear them home,—
Every flower a fairy vase
Brimmed with light of breezy bays
In each bell the summer day's
Azure dome!
And the foam!
Choose a cluster by the brink,
Lift them gently from their chink,
Bear them home,—
Every flower a fairy vase
Brimmed with light of breezy bays
In each bell the summer day's
Azure dome!
To the city's footworn flags
They will bring
Winds and voices of these crags,
Where they cling,
Leaping surf and leaning trees,
Cool, bright hours of joyous ease,
And green islands in the sea's
Shining ring.
They will bring
Winds and voices of these crags,
Where they cling,
317
Cool, bright hours of joyous ease,
And green islands in the sea's
Shining ring.
In this rhyme of Mount Desert the more common pronunciation of the name is adopted, with the anomalous accent on the final syllable, which appears to be a survival from the French, not very desirable; while it is to be regretted that the full significance of the name given by the Voyageur Champlain to these “Islands of the Desolate Mountains”—Isles des Monts Deserts—could not have been preserved.
The bird which flits through the ninth stanza is the black guillemot, a Northern waterfowl, bearing sufficient resemblance to a pigeon to suggest its local name; its nearly black plumage has a greenish tinge, with a conspicuous white spot on the wing. Its soft, plaintive whistle faintly suggests the note of the wood pewee. It frequents in great numbers some of the islands and crags of the far coast of Maine, where it breeds.
The harebell is scattered profusely almost everywhere along the cliffs; its clusters are especially abundant and beautiful about Sol's Cliff, a ruggedly picturesque crag not far from Bar Harbor.
THE BELL-BUOY AT MOUNT DESERT
SOUTHWEST HARBOR
I
At the gateway of the bay,
On the currents that come and go,
The bell-buoy heaves and swings.
Forever seeming to say:
“Woe! woe!” to the mariner, “woe!
Beware of the reefs below!”
To and fro, to and fro,
The bell-buoy rocks and rings.
On the currents that come and go,
The bell-buoy heaves and swings.
Forever seeming to say:
“Woe! woe!” to the mariner, “woe!
Beware of the reefs below!”
To and fro, to and fro,
The bell-buoy rocks and rings.
In calm or storm, through all
The changes of night and day,
Blithe sun or blinding spray,
With the wail of the winds that blow,
With the moan of the ebb and flow,
While the billows swell and fall,
Goes forth that warning call—
Night and day, night and day,
Peals forth the mournful knell
Of the iron sentinel,
Of the wave-swung, warning bell,
At the gateway of the bay.
The changes of night and day,
Blithe sun or blinding spray,
With the wail of the winds that blow,
With the moan of the ebb and flow,
While the billows swell and fall,
Goes forth that warning call—
Night and day, night and day,
Peals forth the mournful knell
Of the iron sentinel,
Of the wave-swung, warning bell,
At the gateway of the bay.
Where the granite-snouted ledges
Lurk in their pimpled hides,
Scraggy with whelks and bosses,
And shaggy with black sea-mosses,
Just showing the tawny edges
Of their backs in the burying tides,
Shouldering off the foam;
Where they lie in wait to gore
With their terrible tusks the sides
Of the fair ship flying home;
There the bowing bell-buoy rides,
With a dull reverberant roar
Evermore, evermore
Crying: “Woe!” to the mariner, “woe!
Beware of the rocks below!
Beware of the treacherous shore!”
Lurk in their pimpled hides,
Scraggy with whelks and bosses,
And shaggy with black sea-mosses,
Just showing the tawny edges
Of their backs in the burying tides,
Shouldering off the foam;
318
With their terrible tusks the sides
Of the fair ship flying home;
There the bowing bell-buoy rides,
With a dull reverberant roar
Evermore, evermore
Crying: “Woe!” to the mariner, “woe!
Beware of the rocks below!
Beware of the treacherous shore!”
II
At evening, from your boat,
You may see the sombre bell
In its black and massy frame,
Peered through by the sunset flame;
A solemn silhouette,
In a skeleton turret, set
On the balanced and anchored float,
A-swing with the crimson swell.
You may see the sombre bell
In its black and massy frame,
Peered through by the sunset flame;
A solemn silhouette,
In a skeleton turret, set
On the balanced and anchored float,
A-swing with the crimson swell.
When the soft, slumberous haze
Of drowsy midsummer days
Pours around inlets and bays
A glassy ethereal gleam;
And over far isles and sails
Drop violet veils beyond veils,
Till headland and cliff but seem
The unreal shapes of a dream;
When hardly the loon and gull,
In the lap of the languid lull,
Appear to waver and dip:
Then the buoy sways, heavy and slow,
And the bell tolls, sad and low,
Like the bell of a sunken ship,
That heaves with the heaving hull,
Wave-rocked on the reefs below.
Of drowsy midsummer days
Pours around inlets and bays
A glassy ethereal gleam;
And over far isles and sails
Drop violet veils beyond veils,
Till headland and cliff but seem
The unreal shapes of a dream;
When hardly the loon and gull,
In the lap of the languid lull,
Appear to waver and dip:
Then the buoy sways, heavy and slow,
And the bell tolls, sad and low,
Like the bell of a sunken ship,
That heaves with the heaving hull,
Wave-rocked on the reefs below.
At times to the dreamy eye,
In the glamour of glistening weather
That girdles the sea and sky,
While ocean and island lie
Like a lion and lamb together:
When the billow that bursts its sheaf
Of silver over the reef
Falls light and white as a feather,
Curled all the length of the reef;
Then the bell, like a darker plume,
Nods over the downy spume
In the veiled voluptuous weather.
In the glamour of glistening weather
That girdles the sea and sky,
319
Like a lion and lamb together:
When the billow that bursts its sheaf
Of silver over the reef
Falls light and white as a feather,
Curled all the length of the reef;
Then the bell, like a darker plume,
Nods over the downy spume
In the veiled voluptuous weather.
At times so gently stirred,
It seems like a waving bough
To invite the wandering bird.
At intervals still is heard
That sullen note—as now!—
Clanging its mournful and lone
Perpetual monotone.
It seems like a waving bough
To invite the wandering bird.
At intervals still is heard
That sullen note—as now!—
Clanging its mournful and lone
Perpetual monotone.
III
A dismal, dolorous sound,You would say, heard anywhere,
Be the weather foul or fair!
Not so to the homeward-bound
Late crew from the fishing-ground,
Some muffled and murky night;
Or the steamer heaving her lead
And groping in doubt and dread,
Through drizzle and fog, by the light
Of her lantern eyes, which shed
A misty glare at her head;
Reaching out quivering rays,
Antennæ-like, in the haze,
To find her dubious way.
To the pilot's practised ear
In such dark and anxious times,
That peal, as I have heard say,
Signaling, sudden and clear,
The course which he shall steer,
Is a cheerier sound to hear
Than sweetest belfry chimes.
320
Of created things, once more
The powers of chaos outpour
Their legions, and overwhelm
With darkness and dire uproar,
In their mad foray, this fair
Frontier of created things;
When they scatter the fishing-fleet
And stun the shore with the beat
And buffet of billowy wings,
And trample of thunderous feet—
What life, out there in the surges,
Flings frantic arms in air
As it tosses and sinks and emerges—
Beckons with wild despair,
And tongues that doleful peal?
Now loud in the leaping surges,
Now stifled with wind and wave.
No simple device of good
Stout metal and bolted wood,
But surely a thing that can feel,
And strong in its struggle to save
The shoreward driving keel!
Boom! boom! boom!
Out of the horror of gloom
A sound of dolor and doom
To the helmsman at the wheel.
IV
The seasons come and go,And still in storm or calm,
On the ocean's palpitant palm,
The bell-buoy rocks and rolls.
The summers come and go,
And, mantled in whirling snow,
Ice-capped, amid foam and floe,
The bell-buoy tumbles and tolls.
To and fro, loud or low,
Ever that sound of fear!
You listen and seem to hear
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A cry and a warning to souls
Over life's treacherous shoals.
THE CABIN
READ AT THE CLAFLIN GARDEN PARTY GIVEN TO MRS. H. B. STOWE, IN CELEBRATION OF HER SEVENTIETH BIRTHDAY, JUNE 14, 1882
Genius, 'tis said, knows not itself,
But works unconscious wholly.
Even so she wrought, who built in thought
The Cabin of the Lowly.
But works unconscious wholly.
Even so she wrought, who built in thought
The Cabin of the Lowly.
A wife with common wifely cares,
What mighty dreams enwrapt her!
What fancies burned, until she turned
To write some flaming chapter!
What mighty dreams enwrapt her!
What fancies burned, until she turned
To write some flaming chapter!
Her life was like some quiet bridge,
Impetuous tides sweep under.
So week by week the story grew,
From wonder on to wonder.
Impetuous tides sweep under.
So week by week the story grew,
From wonder on to wonder.
Wisdom could not conceive the plot,
Nor wit and fancy spin it;
The woman's part, the wife's deep heart,
All mother's love, were in it.
Nor wit and fancy spin it;
The woman's part, the wife's deep heart,
All mother's love, were in it.
Hatred of tyranny and wrong,
Compassion sweet and holy,
Sorrow and Guilt and Terror built
That Cabin of the Lowly.
Compassion sweet and holy,
Sorrow and Guilt and Terror built
That Cabin of the Lowly.
And in the morning light, behold,
By some divine mutation,
Its roof became a sky of flame,
A portent to the nation!
By some divine mutation,
Its roof became a sky of flame,
A portent to the nation!
The Slave went forth through all the earth,
He preached to priest and rabbin;
He spoke all tongues; in every land
Opened that lowly Cabin.
He preached to priest and rabbin;
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Opened that lowly Cabin.
Anon a school for kinder rule,
For freer thoughts and manners;
Then from its door what armies pour
With bayonets and banners!
For freer thoughts and manners;
Then from its door what armies pour
With bayonets and banners!
More potent still than fires that kill,
Or logic that convinces,
The tale she told to high and low,
To peasants and to princes.
Or logic that convinces,
The tale she told to high and low,
To peasants and to princes.
That tale belongs with Freedom's songs,
The hero's high endeavor,
And all brave deeds that serve the needs
Of Liberty forever!
The hero's high endeavor,
And all brave deeds that serve the needs
Of Liberty forever!
I greet her now, when South and North
Have ceased their deadly quarrels;
And say, or sing, while here I fling
This leaf upon her laurels:—
Have ceased their deadly quarrels;
And say, or sing, while here I fling
This leaf upon her laurels:—
She loosed the rivets of the slave;
She likewise lifted woman,
And proved her right to share with man
All labors pure and human.
She likewise lifted woman,
And proved her right to share with man
All labors pure and human.
Women, they say, must yield, obey,
Rear children, dance cotillions:
While this one wrote, she cast the vote
Of unenfranchised millions!
Rear children, dance cotillions:
While this one wrote, she cast the vote
Of unenfranchised millions!
ODE
READ AT THE DEDICATION OF THE SOLDIERS' MONUMENT AT ARLINGTON, MASS., JUNE 17, 1887
Like Peace itself, as calm and fair,—
White flower from battle-furrows grown,
Its beauty blossomed into stone,—
Stands this still shaft in this June air!
White flower from battle-furrows grown,
Its beauty blossomed into stone,—
Stands this still shaft in this June air!
323
Long may the heavens upon it shed
The dews of eve, the beams of morn,
And light, for ages yet unborn,
The deeds of our heroic dead!
The dews of eve, the beams of morn,
And light, for ages yet unborn,
The deeds of our heroic dead!
They kept their country's faith, and fought
The New World's promise to fulfil,—
To hold, and leave unbroken still,
The ring of States the fathers wrought.
The New World's promise to fulfil,—
To hold, and leave unbroken still,
The ring of States the fathers wrought.
As cheerfully each artisan,
In some great work, performs his part,
Though knowing not the Master's art
And purpose, in the perfect plan;—
In some great work, performs his part,
Though knowing not the Master's art
And purpose, in the perfect plan;—
So they, alike the sires and sons,
Toiled at one pattern, one divine,
Inscrutable, and vast design,
Which through a nation's fabric runs.
Toiled at one pattern, one divine,
Inscrutable, and vast design,
Which through a nation's fabric runs.
They strove, at duty's high behest,
For liberty and equal laws;
And in so striving served a cause
Whose grander scope they dimly guessed.
For liberty and equal laws;
And in so striving served a cause
Whose grander scope they dimly guessed.
We ask not of their birth, nor need
The story of their years be sung;
Who die for truth are always young,
And dear in their immortal deed.
The story of their years be sung;
Who die for truth are always young,
And dear in their immortal deed.
Life at the best is brief, and wrong
Is evermore to face and quell;
They who have done their duty well,
They only, have lived well and long.
Is evermore to face and quell;
They who have done their duty well,
They only, have lived well and long.
Oh! blessed are they whose troubled days
Are nobly rounded, to our eyes,
By some large act of sacrifice,
Beyond all earthly blame or praise.
Are nobly rounded, to our eyes,
By some large act of sacrifice,
Beyond all earthly blame or praise.
324
No more shall cold detraction come
To search their lives, nor fortune fret;
The book is closed, and on it set
The sacred seal of martyrdom.
To search their lives, nor fortune fret;
The book is closed, and on it set
The sacred seal of martyrdom.
Friends, living comrades, gather round!
And wave, ye winds, oh! gently wave
The flag they loved and died to save,
Above our consecrated ground.
And wave, ye winds, oh! gently wave
The flag they loved and died to save,
Above our consecrated ground.
To them this fair memorial stone
We raise, to be henceforth a sign
Of patriot's zeal, and Freedom's shrine;
And Fame adopts them for her own.
We raise, to be henceforth a sign
Of patriot's zeal, and Freedom's shrine;
And Fame adopts them for her own.
AFTER THE CONCERT
JOSEF HOFMANN, PIANIST AND COMPOSER, AGED 10
The tempest of applause he met
As meekly as a bending bud!
A boy of humble birth, and yet
A prince of more than royal blood.
As meekly as a bending bud!
A boy of humble birth, and yet
A prince of more than royal blood.
For him no bauble handed down,
No sceptre despot ever bore,
But Music's heavenly realm, the crown
Which youthful Handel won and wore!
No sceptre despot ever bore,
But Music's heavenly realm, the crown
Which youthful Handel won and wore!
How laughed the Allegro's gay disdain,—
What rippling pearly melodies
Showered on us their enchanted rain,—
When his small fingers swept the keys!
What rippling pearly melodies
Showered on us their enchanted rain,—
When his small fingers swept the keys!
They leaped, they flew, they flashed through all
The jubilant chords; or dropped, in play,
As carelessly as petals fall
From cherry-boughs in breezy May.
The jubilant chords; or dropped, in play,
As carelessly as petals fall
From cherry-boughs in breezy May.
325
He tossed us Schumann's sparkling airs;
Struck Rubinstein's sweet storms of tone:
We followed, up the starry stairs,
The shining feet of Mendelssohn.
Struck Rubinstein's sweet storms of tone:
We followed, up the starry stairs,
The shining feet of Mendelssohn.
He wove, around an untried theme,
So varied and so blithe a strain,
It wrapt us in a radiant dream
Of little Wolfgang come again.
So varied and so blithe a strain,
It wrapt us in a radiant dream
Of little Wolfgang come again.
The very roof with plaudits shook;
And still, above their bursting flood,
The thunder and the gusts he took
As simply as a swaying bud.
And still, above their bursting flood,
The thunder and the gusts he took
As simply as a swaying bud.
Ah, could he know, the wondrous boy!
When he had vanished from our gaze,
What tearful yearnings veiled our joy,
What prayers were mingled with our praise!
When he had vanished from our gaze,
What tearful yearnings veiled our joy,
What prayers were mingled with our praise!
We longed to shield him from the gales
Of coming time; to lay his head
In lulling arms, and tell him tales,
And fold him in his quiet bed.
Of coming time; to lay his head
In lulling arms, and tell him tales,
And fold him in his quiet bed.
Waste not too soon, O burning star!
Your bright young life; but nurse its beam,
That it may rise and light afar
The world's unresting, troubled stream.
Your bright young life; but nurse its beam,
That it may rise and light afar
The world's unresting, troubled stream.
Heaven fend, from that too ardent heart,
The griefs of great and gifted men,
The sordid miseries of Mozart,
The woes of mighty Beethoven.
The griefs of great and gifted men,
The sordid miseries of Mozart,
The woes of mighty Beethoven.
Heir to a throne unstained by wrong,
Possess your sphere, unvexed by strife;
Conquer new realms, rule well and long,
Nor lose the deeper things of life.
Possess your sphere, unvexed by strife;
Conquer new realms, rule well and long,
Nor lose the deeper things of life.
326
The unsullied ray that guides the soul
Is more than glory's blinding flame;
And helpful manhood, sound and whole,
Than all the works of art and fame.
Is more than glory's blinding flame;
And helpful manhood, sound and whole,
Than all the works of art and fame.
January, 1888.
QUATRAINS AND EPIGRAMS
ABRAHAM LINCOLN
Heroic soul, in homely garb half hid,Sincere, sagacious, melancholy, quaint,
What he endured, no less than what he did,
Has reared his monument and crowned him saint.
TEMPTATION
How sweet, till past, then hideous evermore!Like that false fay the legend tells us of,
That seemed a lovely woman, viewed before,
But, from behind, all hollow, like a trough.
PHAETON
Hot youth, in haste your high career to run,Heed the wise counsel Phœbus gave his son,
And spare the whip! brace the firm reins with nerve,
Nor ever from the middle pathway swerve.
MATERIALIST
He took a tawny handful from the strand:“What we can grasp,” he said, “we understand,
And nothing more:” when, lo! the laughing sand
Slid swiftly from his vainly clutching hand.
IDEALIST
The World is but a frozen kind of gas,A transient ice we sport on, where, alas!
Diverted by the pictures in the glass,
We heed not the Realities that pass.
327
SENSUALIST
“Live while we live!” he cried; but did not guess,Fooled by the phantom, Pleasure, how much less
Enjoyment runs in rivers of excess
Than overbrims divine abstemiousness.
YEARS AND ART
Youth strikes a skill-less blow, but the metal is all aglow;Age has the experienced hand, but the fire in the forge is low.
HOW CAN I WELCOME AGE?
How can I welcome age, or behold without dismayThe beautiful days go by and the great years glide away?
Lightly I hold the world, but I look upon children and wife,
And though I dread not death, they make me in love with life.
AN ODIOUS COMPARISON
When to my haughty spirit I rehearseMy verse,
Faulty enough it seems; yet sometimes when
I measure it by that of other men,
Why, then—
I see how easily it might be worse.
DIDACTIC POET
Poet! you do your genius wrong
By always reaching
For some deep lesson, spoil your song
By too much teaching.
By always reaching
For some deep lesson, spoil your song
By too much teaching.
Let brighter beauty, rising love,
Just hint your moral,
As whitening surges break above
The reef of coral.
Just hint your moral,
As whitening surges break above
The reef of coral.
IMPROVISATORE
Fused in the fires of passion, in the fervor of fancy wrought,In reason's ice-brook temper the flaming sword of your thought.
328
XAVIER DE MAISTRE'S EPITAPH ON HIMSELF
FROM THE FRENCH
Here lies, beneath this cold gray stone,
Xavier, whom all things filled with wonder;
Who sought to know whence the winds blow,
And how and why Jove rolls the thunder.
Xavier, whom all things filled with wonder;
Who sought to know whence the winds blow,
And how and why Jove rolls the thunder.
He many a book of magic prized,
And read from morn till evening's fall,
And drank death's wave at last, surprised
That he knew nothing after all!
And read from morn till evening's fall,
And drank death's wave at last, surprised
That he knew nothing after all!
BON VOYAGE!
FOR THE FAREWELL BANQUET TO F. H. U., BEFORE HIS DEPARTURE FOR GLASGOW
When to the land of Scott and Burns,
Bannocks and haggis, classic dishes!
Our friend departs, he takes our hearts
Along with him, in all good wishes.
Bannocks and haggis, classic dishes!
Our friend departs, he takes our hearts
Along with him, in all good wishes.
May these attend, a viewless throng,
To guard the ship that bears him over!
No fog delay, nor storm, but may
Kind fortune be his constant lover.
To guard the ship that bears him over!
No fog delay, nor storm, but may
Kind fortune be his constant lover.
If tempests smite the wild seas white,
And Titan billows reel and totter,
Let never plank go down with Frank,
Nor Underwood be under water!
And Titan billows reel and totter,
Let never plank go down with Frank,
Nor Underwood be under water!
WIDOW BROWN'S CHRISTMAS
His window is over the factory flume;
And Elkanah there, in his counting-room,
Sits hugging a littered table.
His beard is white as the foam, and his cheek
Is weather-beaten and withered and bleak
As the old brown factory gable.
And Elkanah there, in his counting-room,
Sits hugging a littered table.
His beard is white as the foam, and his cheek
Is weather-beaten and withered and bleak
As the old brown factory gable.
329
Christmas is near; and he, it is clear,
Is squaring accounts with the parting year;
Setting forth, in column and row,
Whatever a penny of gain can show—
Mortgages, dividends, and rents,
City bonds and gover'ments;
A factory here and a tannery there,
Good bank stock and railroad share;—
As fast as his busy brain can count,
Or his busy pen indite 'em,
Figuring profit and gross amount,
And adding item to item.
Thinks he: “It 's a good round sum I make;
Don't seem much like I was goin' to break!”
And he looked again as he poised his pen
To fillip the drop of ink off.
But just as he gave the pen a shake,
He said “Ho! ho!” at a strange mistake
He found himself on the brink of:
He said “Ha! ha!” and his lips drew in
With a hard, dry, leathery kind of grin,
As much like the smile of a crocodile
As anything you can think of.
Is squaring accounts with the parting year;
Setting forth, in column and row,
Whatever a penny of gain can show—
Mortgages, dividends, and rents,
City bonds and gover'ments;
A factory here and a tannery there,
Good bank stock and railroad share;—
As fast as his busy brain can count,
Or his busy pen indite 'em,
Figuring profit and gross amount,
And adding item to item.
Thinks he: “It 's a good round sum I make;
Don't seem much like I was goin' to break!”
And he looked again as he poised his pen
To fillip the drop of ink off.
But just as he gave the pen a shake,
He said “Ho! ho!” at a strange mistake
He found himself on the brink of:
He said “Ha! ha!” and his lips drew in
With a hard, dry, leathery kind of grin,
As much like the smile of a crocodile
As anything you can think of.
“I declare! there 's Widder Brown
In the cottage over in Tannery Town!
The family had the house rent free
As long as her husband worked for me.
A good, smart, faithful chap was Jim—
Wish I had forty as good as him!
But he died one day, and left her there;
And I put the place in the parson's care—
For the only man in the town I dare
To trust is Parson Emery,
To see that the house don't run away,
And collect the rent she agreed to pay.
I'll write a letter this very day,
To jog the good man's memory.”
In the cottage over in Tannery Town!
The family had the house rent free
As long as her husband worked for me.
A good, smart, faithful chap was Jim—
Wish I had forty as good as him!
But he died one day, and left her there;
And I put the place in the parson's care—
For the only man in the town I dare
To trust is Parson Emery,
To see that the house don't run away,
And collect the rent she agreed to pay.
I'll write a letter this very day,
To jog the good man's memory.”
The letter was straightway penned and sent;
And it preached hard times to a dreary extent:
“For money is tight at ten per cent.;
Often no sooner got than spent;
The poor man finds it a heavy stent
To earn his mess of pottage;
And so,” concluded the argument,
“You may, if you please, remit the rent
Jim's widder owes for the cottage.”
And it preached hard times to a dreary extent:
330
Often no sooner got than spent;
The poor man finds it a heavy stent
To earn his mess of pottage;
And so,” concluded the argument,
“You may, if you please, remit the rent
Jim's widder owes for the cottage.”
In two days' time the answer came.
“The parson is prompt. But—what in the name!”
He cried as he opened and read the same:
How extremely odd it sounded!
“Dear, noble, generous, honored friend”—
Were terms he could n't well comprehend;
And when he had struggled on to the end,
He was utterly astounded.
“The parson is prompt. But—what in the name!”
He cried as he opened and read the same:
How extremely odd it sounded!
“Dear, noble, generous, honored friend”—
Were terms he could n't well comprehend;
And when he had struggled on to the end,
He was utterly astounded.
He gasped and gurgled, and then burst out:
“What 'n thunder 's the ol' fool ravin' about?
He 's crazy, without a shadder o' doubt!
A-writin' to me as if I was a saint!
Wa'al, mabby I be, and then mabby I ain't.
An' what 's his argyment? why, to be sure,
That I am a marciful man to the poor,
An' feel for the sufferin' brother,
An' stay the widder whose staff is gone;
An' so he continners a-layin' it on,
An' he ain't sarcastical, nuther!
“What 'n thunder 's the ol' fool ravin' about?
He 's crazy, without a shadder o' doubt!
A-writin' to me as if I was a saint!
Wa'al, mabby I be, and then mabby I ain't.
An' what 's his argyment? why, to be sure,
That I am a marciful man to the poor,
An' feel for the sufferin' brother,
An' stay the widder whose staff is gone;
An' so he continners a-layin' it on,
An' he ain't sarcastical, nuther!
“Blamed ol' blunderhead! could n't he see
'T the poor I was marciful tu meant me?
But here he goes on, in a gushin' mood,
To tell o' the woman's gratitude,
Because I 've been so exceedingly good
As to pity her sad condition,
An' give him the blessed authority tu
Remit—remit—the rent that is due.
Why don't he remit, then? wish I knew!
'Stid o' that, here 's more of his hullabalew,
To thank me for the remission!
'T the poor I was marciful tu meant me?
But here he goes on, in a gushin' mood,
To tell o' the woman's gratitude,
Because I 've been so exceedingly good
As to pity her sad condition,
An' give him the blessed authority tu
Remit—remit—the rent that is due.
Why don't he remit, then? wish I knew!
'Stid o' that, here 's more of his hullabalew,
To thank me for the remission!
331
“Remission—remit—oh, drat the dunce!”
And he rushed for a dictionary;
It having occurred to him all at once
That the meanings sometimes vary
Of even the simplest words we write;
And that a prosy old parson might
Use one, and a man of business quite
Another, vocabulary.
Finger and eye ran down the page:
“R, a—R, e”—he was flushed with rage:
“Remember—Remind—Remit!”—at last
The terrible talon had it fast,
With the definition against it set:
“Send back,” he read; but, lower yet,
“To release, to forgive, as a sin or a debt!”
Ah, through that mesh in the treacherous net
Had slipped the widow's pittance!
'T was so! 't was strange! 't was very absurd,
That thus from a phrase, or a single word,
With equal reason could be inferred
Collection of debt or quittance!
Words have their forks, like highways, whence
To left and right run the roads of sense;
And, taking the wrong derivative,
The heedless old parson had come to give
Remission instead of remittance.
And he rushed for a dictionary;
It having occurred to him all at once
That the meanings sometimes vary
Of even the simplest words we write;
And that a prosy old parson might
Use one, and a man of business quite
Another, vocabulary.
Finger and eye ran down the page:
“R, a—R, e”—he was flushed with rage:
“Remember—Remind—Remit!”—at last
The terrible talon had it fast,
With the definition against it set:
“Send back,” he read; but, lower yet,
“To release, to forgive, as a sin or a debt!”
Ah, through that mesh in the treacherous net
Had slipped the widow's pittance!
'T was so! 't was strange! 't was very absurd,
That thus from a phrase, or a single word,
With equal reason could be inferred
Collection of debt or quittance!
Words have their forks, like highways, whence
To left and right run the roads of sense;
And, taking the wrong derivative,
The heedless old parson had come to give
Remission instead of remittance.
Elkanah glared for a moment, and then,
With a snort at the book, and a scoff at the men
Who invented the language, seized his pen,
Tore one letter, and wrote again,
Protruding his chin, while the hard dry grin
Grew terribly savage and sinister;
Till, too impatient to brook delay,
He quite forgot it was Christmas-day,
Swung on his ulster, and swooped away
Toward Tannery Town and the Widow Brown
And the good old blundering minister.
With a snort at the book, and a scoff at the men
Who invented the language, seized his pen,
Tore one letter, and wrote again,
Protruding his chin, while the hard dry grin
Grew terribly savage and sinister;
Till, too impatient to brook delay,
He quite forgot it was Christmas-day,
Swung on his ulster, and swooped away
Toward Tannery Town and the Widow Brown
And the good old blundering minister.
As out by the forenoon train he went,
He had ample time to consider:
“To be soft-soaped to sich an extent—
Cracked up like a spavined hoss that 's meant
To be sold to the highest bidder—
It 's pooty dumbed rough on a plain old gent
That never was known to give a cent,
Say nothin' o' seventy dollars' rent,
To anybody's widder!
An' I ain't one o' the kind that cares
To be boosted up in a woman's prayers
Fer a favor I never did her.
He had ample time to consider:
332
Cracked up like a spavined hoss that 's meant
To be sold to the highest bidder—
It 's pooty dumbed rough on a plain old gent
That never was known to give a cent,
Say nothin' o' seventy dollars' rent,
To anybody's widder!
An' I ain't one o' the kind that cares
To be boosted up in a woman's prayers
Fer a favor I never did her.
“Yet she might pray fer me all her days,
An' I would n't object to the parson's praise,
That he spreads so thick in his letter;
But though he believes it himself, and though
Other folks may think it 's all jes' so,
The plague is, I know better!
He'll wonder what sort of a beast I be,
When I tell him square out how it seemed to me,
What a blamed, ridickelous, fool's idee,
That I should forgive a debtor!”
An' I would n't object to the parson's praise,
That he spreads so thick in his letter;
But though he believes it himself, and though
Other folks may think it 's all jes' so,
The plague is, I know better!
He'll wonder what sort of a beast I be,
When I tell him square out how it seemed to me,
What a blamed, ridickelous, fool's idee,
That I should forgive a debtor!”
Quick moist flushes, strange hot streaks,
Shot down to his shins and up to his cheeks.
He loosened his collar, and wondered what
In time made 'em keep the cars so hot.
Still, as he thought of the interview
He was going to seek, the warmer he grew.
And he said to himself, with a leer, “Must be
I'm fond of parsons' s'ciety!
Fer what else under the canopy
I'm makin' the trip fer, I can't see;
Sence a letter or tu would as soon undu
The snarl he 's got me inter,
Save railroad fare, an' the wear an' tear
Of a journey in midwinter.
Shot down to his shins and up to his cheeks.
He loosened his collar, and wondered what
In time made 'em keep the cars so hot.
Still, as he thought of the interview
He was going to seek, the warmer he grew.
And he said to himself, with a leer, “Must be
I'm fond of parsons' s'ciety!
Fer what else under the canopy
I'm makin' the trip fer, I can't see;
Sence a letter or tu would as soon undu
The snarl he 's got me inter,
Save railroad fare, an' the wear an' tear
Of a journey in midwinter.
“It 's an awk'ard mess, I du declare!
The widder she'll cry, an' the parson he'll stare,
An' like enough somebody else will swear—
Wish I was back in my office chair!
Fer why should I go twelve mile or so
An' lose my time an' my dinner,
To prove to their face, beyond a doubt,
'T I ain't no saint, as they make out,
But a hardened sort of a sinner?”
The widder she'll cry, an' the parson he'll stare,
An' like enough somebody else will swear—
333
Fer why should I go twelve mile or so
An' lose my time an' my dinner,
To prove to their face, beyond a doubt,
'T I ain't no saint, as they make out,
But a hardened sort of a sinner?”
Some such thoughts perplexed his brain,
As up to the station rolled the train,
With slackening speed and brakes screwed down,
And the brakeman bawled out, “Tannery Town!”
“Wa'al, here I be!” With a gathering frown
And firm-set teeth, old Elkanah straight
Took his way to the parson's gate;
No longer inclined to turn about,
In a flurry of confusion,
But grimly resolved to carry out
His original resolution.
Though, after all, he approached the spot,
Outwardly cold and inwardly hot,
As a brave man goes to be hanged or shot,
Or whatever else he thinks is not
The thing for his constitution.
And when this answer he received,
“Parson ain't to hum”—will it be believed?
He felt like the very same man reprieved
At the moment of execution.
As up to the station rolled the train,
With slackening speed and brakes screwed down,
And the brakeman bawled out, “Tannery Town!”
“Wa'al, here I be!” With a gathering frown
And firm-set teeth, old Elkanah straight
Took his way to the parson's gate;
No longer inclined to turn about,
In a flurry of confusion,
But grimly resolved to carry out
His original resolution.
Though, after all, he approached the spot,
Outwardly cold and inwardly hot,
As a brave man goes to be hanged or shot,
Or whatever else he thinks is not
The thing for his constitution.
And when this answer he received,
“Parson ain't to hum”—will it be believed?
He felt like the very same man reprieved
At the moment of execution.
Wa'al, no, he would n't go in and wait;
He stood in the snow at the parsonage gate:
No train back till half-past one,
And the village bells had just begun
To ring for noon: for a minute or two
He stood, uncertain what to do,
Looking doubtfully up and down
The dreary streets of Tannery Town,
And thought of his money and Mrs. Brown:
Then this is what he did do—
He turned his feet up the snowy street,
And went to call on the widow.
He stood in the snow at the parsonage gate:
No train back till half-past one,
And the village bells had just begun
To ring for noon: for a minute or two
He stood, uncertain what to do,
Looking doubtfully up and down
The dreary streets of Tannery Town,
And thought of his money and Mrs. Brown:
Then this is what he did do—
He turned his feet up the snowy street,
And went to call on the widow.
334
'T was Christmas time, as I said before;
And when, arrived at the cottage door,
He reached for the old bell handle,
He paused a moment, amazed and grim,
For he heard such a racket as seemed to him,
In the home of the late lamented Jim,
Sufficient cause for scandal.
And when, arrived at the cottage door,
He reached for the old bell handle,
He paused a moment, amazed and grim,
For he heard such a racket as seemed to him,
In the home of the late lamented Jim,
Sufficient cause for scandal.
A short, sharp ring: then a hurried noise
Of whispering, scampering girls and boys;
And the door was opened a little space,
Through which peered out, with a bashful grace,
A surprisingly pretty-looking,
Timidly smiling, bright young blonde;
And Elkanah caught, from the room beyond,
A savory sniff, a wonderful whiff,
Of most delicious cooking.
Of whispering, scampering girls and boys;
And the door was opened a little space,
Through which peered out, with a bashful grace,
A surprisingly pretty-looking,
Timidly smiling, bright young blonde;
And Elkanah caught, from the room beyond,
A savory sniff, a wonderful whiff,
Of most delicious cooking.
He sees a table, with neat cloth spread,
Steaming dishes, and cream-white bread;
Cranberry sauce, and thick squash pies;
And the curly brown pates and wondering eyes
Of the imps that had made the clatter;
Then the mother just bringing in, to crown
Her banquet, a beautiful, golden-brown,
Great roasted goose on a platter.
Steaming dishes, and cream-white bread;
Cranberry sauce, and thick squash pies;
And the curly brown pates and wondering eyes
Of the imps that had made the clatter;
Then the mother just bringing in, to crown
Her banquet, a beautiful, golden-brown,
Great roasted goose on a platter.
A crabbed old man, to whom the sight
Of happy children gave small delight;
A hungry man, who had come so far
To a feast his presence could only mar;
An iron-fisted miser,
Who would seldom afford himself a fat,
Delectable Christmas goose like that,
Or indulge in anything half so good—
Confronting the widow, there he stood,
Just showing one grim incisor;
And it certainly seemed that his presence would—
To say the least—surprise her.
Of happy children gave small delight;
A hungry man, who had come so far
To a feast his presence could only mar;
An iron-fisted miser,
Who would seldom afford himself a fat,
Delectable Christmas goose like that,
Or indulge in anything half so good—
Confronting the widow, there he stood,
Just showing one grim incisor;
And it certainly seemed that his presence would—
To say the least—surprise her.
335
For he said to himself, “Her means are spent,
An' she has n't a penny to pay her rent!
While this is the way she gorges
Her ravenous tribe on the fat of the land.
I'll let her know that I understand
Whose money pays fer the orgies!”
An' she has n't a penny to pay her rent!
While this is the way she gorges
Her ravenous tribe on the fat of the land.
I'll let her know that I understand
Whose money pays fer the orgies!”
But, seeing the old man standing there,
The widow, seemingly unaware
Of his brow's severe contraction;
Perceiving only his thin white hair,
And his almost venerable air,
Wiped her fingers, and placed a chair,
With a charmingly natural action;
Welcoming him with never a trace
Of guile in her smiling and grateful face;
Accounting this visit the crowning grace
Of his noble benefaction.
The widow, seemingly unaware
Of his brow's severe contraction;
Perceiving only his thin white hair,
And his almost venerable air,
Wiped her fingers, and placed a chair,
With a charmingly natural action;
Welcoming him with never a trace
Of guile in her smiling and grateful face;
Accounting this visit the crowning grace
Of his noble benefaction.
“Oh, sir!” she began, “I am glad you are here”—
With a quivering lip and a starting tear—
“To see what happiness” (this was gall
To the stingy old wretch) “you have given us all!
Since you were so good”—“Not I,” he cried;
“I never was good!” But she replied,
With gentle, sweet insistence:
“It seems but a trifle to you, no doubt;
Such kindness as yours”—Here he burst out,
“I tell ye, woman, ye 're talkin' about
A thing that has no existence.”
With a quivering lip and a starting tear—
“To see what happiness” (this was gall
To the stingy old wretch) “you have given us all!
Since you were so good”—“Not I,” he cried;
“I never was good!” But she replied,
With gentle, sweet insistence:
“It seems but a trifle to you, no doubt;
Such kindness as yours”—Here he burst out,
“I tell ye, woman, ye 're talkin' about
A thing that has no existence.”
“Ah, you may say that, since you have shown
A goodness you are too good to own!
But I could never, with what I know,
Permit another to wrong you so.”
Then up spoke one of the younger crew:
“Ye may bet yer dollars on that! it 's true;
For only yesterday, I tell you,
Was n't she in high dudgeon,
Just hearing you called by Deacon Shaw
The keenest old skinflint ever he saw!
He said he would sooner have hoped to draw
Sap from a hatchet or blood from a straw,
Than money that was n't allowed by law,
From such an old curmudgeon.
A goodness you are too good to own!
But I could never, with what I know,
Permit another to wrong you so.”
Then up spoke one of the younger crew:
“Ye may bet yer dollars on that! it 's true;
For only yesterday, I tell you,
Was n't she in high dudgeon,
Just hearing you called by Deacon Shaw
336
He said he would sooner have hoped to draw
Sap from a hatchet or blood from a straw,
Than money that was n't allowed by law,
From such an old curmudgeon.
“Well, what have I said?” “Hush, Jamie, hush!”
Cries the mother, in consternation;
While Elkanah starts, with an angry flush
And a vigorous exclamation.
“Did he say that?—say that of me?
He 's tighter himself than the bark of a tree.”
“He has more heart than he lets folks see:
A little like you in that,” says she.
“Ho! ho! wa'al, wa'al! that 's a queer idee!
That 's a curi's ca'calation!”
Cries the mother, in consternation;
While Elkanah starts, with an angry flush
And a vigorous exclamation.
“Did he say that?—say that of me?
He 's tighter himself than the bark of a tree.”
“He has more heart than he lets folks see:
A little like you in that,” says she.
“Ho! ho! wa'al, wa'al! that 's a queer idee!
That 's a curi's ca'calation!”
“But he, when at last he understood
What a friend you had been, how exceedingly good,
To my poor orphans,” she went on,
“And me—for the sake of him that is gone—
He was humbled; he took it quite to heart;
Declared you had acted a noble part,
And expressed sincere repentance
For having misjudged you so till now.
But your example”—“Example! I vow,
Mis' Brown,” snarls Elkanah; but somehow
He could n't complete the sentence.
What a friend you had been, how exceedingly good,
To my poor orphans,” she went on,
“And me—for the sake of him that is gone—
He was humbled; he took it quite to heart;
Declared you had acted a noble part,
And expressed sincere repentance
For having misjudged you so till now.
But your example”—“Example! I vow,
Mis' Brown,” snarls Elkanah; but somehow
He could n't complete the sentence.
“Your Christian example!” the widow cries,
“Who wants proof of it? there it lies”—
With a glance of pride at the great squash pies,
And the goose superbly basted.
“The deacon was here at half-past one;
And at half-past two the proof had begun:
The goose was brought by the deacon's son,
And then it seemed as if every one
Must do as the deacon and you had done.”
“Yes, sir,” says Jamie; “and was n't it fun!
It was ring, ring, ring! it was run, run, run!
Squashes that weighed pretty nigh a ton!
Such apples you never tasted!”
“It came to us in our sorest need,”
The widow resumed; “and all are agreed
'T was a harvest of which you sowed the seed.
You see your charity was, indeed,
An example that was n't wasted.”
“Who wants proof of it? there it lies”—
With a glance of pride at the great squash pies,
And the goose superbly basted.
“The deacon was here at half-past one;
And at half-past two the proof had begun:
The goose was brought by the deacon's son,
And then it seemed as if every one
Must do as the deacon and you had done.”
“Yes, sir,” says Jamie; “and was n't it fun!
It was ring, ring, ring! it was run, run, run!
337
Such apples you never tasted!”
“It came to us in our sorest need,”
The widow resumed; “and all are agreed
'T was a harvest of which you sowed the seed.
You see your charity was, indeed,
An example that was n't wasted.”
“My charity!” Elkanah groaned. “Well, well!”
“'T was more of a blessing than I can tell;”—
She choked a little and wiped a tear—
“For we have been dreadfully poor this year.
'T is a hard, hard struggle to provide
For my five little ones since he died.
Faithfully, every day, I meant
To save a little to pay my rent;
I stinted and planned, but still I found,
As often as Saturday night came round,
I had spared, when they were patched and fed,
Hardly enough for Sunday's bread.
Such constant weariness, want, and care
Seemed often more than a life could bear.
Then came, oh! sir, your gracious gift,
Which all of a sudden seemed to lift
The burden that weighed me to the ground;
And all these other good friends came round;
And so, in our joy and thankfulness,
It seemed to me I could do no less
Than make a feast,” she said with a smile.
“Be patient! be quiet!” For all the while
The hungry children clamored,
And climbed the chairs, and peeped at the pies,
And ogled the goose with wistful eyes.
“'T is a favor,” said she, “I should greatly prize,
If you would sit by, and not despise
The bounty which Heaven through you supplies.”
“Hem! wa'al! ye take me by surprise.
Don't know,” the old man stammered.
“'T was more of a blessing than I can tell;”—
She choked a little and wiped a tear—
“For we have been dreadfully poor this year.
'T is a hard, hard struggle to provide
For my five little ones since he died.
Faithfully, every day, I meant
To save a little to pay my rent;
I stinted and planned, but still I found,
As often as Saturday night came round,
I had spared, when they were patched and fed,
Hardly enough for Sunday's bread.
Such constant weariness, want, and care
Seemed often more than a life could bear.
Then came, oh! sir, your gracious gift,
Which all of a sudden seemed to lift
The burden that weighed me to the ground;
And all these other good friends came round;
And so, in our joy and thankfulness,
It seemed to me I could do no less
Than make a feast,” she said with a smile.
“Be patient! be quiet!” For all the while
The hungry children clamored,
And climbed the chairs, and peeped at the pies,
And ogled the goose with wistful eyes.
“'T is a favor,” said she, “I should greatly prize,
If you would sit by, and not despise
The bounty which Heaven through you supplies.”
“Hem! wa'al! ye take me by surprise.
Don't know,” the old man stammered.
She smilingly reached for his coat and hat,
And the goose was fragrant, the goose was fat!
“I think you will stay.” “Wa'al, as to that,
I don't dine out very often;
I called to explain—but never mind.
Fact is, Mis' Brown, I have n't dined;
And if you insist—sence you air so kind”—
He was rather surprised himself to find
His heart beginning to soften.
And the goose was fragrant, the goose was fat!
338
I don't dine out very often;
I called to explain—but never mind.
Fact is, Mis' Brown, I have n't dined;
And if you insist—sence you air so kind”—
He was rather surprised himself to find
His heart beginning to soften.
“Don't care 'f I du.” And down he sat.
The goose was fragrant, the goose was fat!
The old man did the carving;
The sauce was dished, the gravy poured,
And the plates all round that little board
Were filled in a manner that did n't afford
The slightest hint of starving.
The goose was fragrant, the goose was fat!
The old man did the carving;
The sauce was dished, the gravy poured,
And the plates all round that little board
Were filled in a manner that did n't afford
The slightest hint of starving.
Not in all that dreary year
Had her cottage known such cheer.
With hope, and her happy children near,
The widow smiled contented.
Even old Elkanah ceased to be
Greatly scandalized to see
Cheerful faces and childish glee
In the home of the late lamented.
Had her cottage known such cheer.
With hope, and her happy children near,
The widow smiled contented.
Even old Elkanah ceased to be
Greatly scandalized to see
Cheerful faces and childish glee
In the home of the late lamented.
Nature's ways are wise and kind:
Clouds pass, dawn breaks, and ever behind
Each dark sea hollow swells a wave;
And fresh grass grows on the new-made grave;
And softly over the broken heart,
And its sorrowful recollections,
The leaves of another hope will start,
And tender new affections.
Clouds pass, dawn breaks, and ever behind
Each dark sea hollow swells a wave;
And fresh grass grows on the new-made grave;
And softly over the broken heart,
And its sorrowful recollections,
The leaves of another hope will start,
And tender new affections.
The widow talked and told her plans:
What a dutiful child was Nance!
The parson had got her boys a chance
To blow the organ the coming year:
“So there will be twenty dollars clear!
The girls will help me more and more;
I'll sew; and often, as heretofore,
Earn bread for the morrow while they sleep;
And so I have hopes that I yet may keep
My little flock together—
With Heaven so kind and friends so good—
Send them to school, and provide them food
And shelter from the weather.
What a dutiful child was Nance!
The parson had got her boys a chance
To blow the organ the coming year:
“So there will be twenty dollars clear!
339
I'll sew; and often, as heretofore,
Earn bread for the morrow while they sleep;
And so I have hopes that I yet may keep
My little flock together—
With Heaven so kind and friends so good—
Send them to school, and provide them food
And shelter from the weather.
“But oh! what a change for them and me;
How different now it all would be,
If my dear husband”—Mrs. Brown
Here, for some reason, quite broke down;
And even old Elkanah's sight grew weak.
You might have observed in his withered cheek
Some unaccustomed twitches,
And in his voice, when he tried to speak,
Some very unusual hitches;
For, seeing how long she yet must strain
Her utmost energies, just to gain
Bread for her babes—perhaps in vain—
He had some twinges of shame and pain,
And a curious feeling I can't explain,
At the thought of his hoarded riches.
How different now it all would be,
If my dear husband”—Mrs. Brown
Here, for some reason, quite broke down;
And even old Elkanah's sight grew weak.
You might have observed in his withered cheek
Some unaccustomed twitches,
And in his voice, when he tried to speak,
Some very unusual hitches;
For, seeing how long she yet must strain
Her utmost energies, just to gain
Bread for her babes—perhaps in vain—
He had some twinges of shame and pain,
And a curious feeling I can't explain,
At the thought of his hoarded riches.
“Hem! wa'al, Mis' Brown! it 's a pooty tough case!”
He made a motion as if to place
His hand in his pocket, but drew it back.
“Though I must say, you 've got a knack!
You 're gettin' along, an' I'm dreffle glad!
No more, no, thank'ee, ma'am! I hain't had
Sich a dinner as this, I don't know when!”
Down went the uncertain hand again.
“Your children are well, an' growin';
Few years, your boys 'll be rich men—
Mabby they will, no knowin'.”
He merely pushed back his empty plate,
Then tugged at his watch. “Ha! is it so late?
I 'd no idee on't! train won't wait;
Guess I'll haf to be goin'!”
He made a motion as if to place
His hand in his pocket, but drew it back.
“Though I must say, you 've got a knack!
You 're gettin' along, an' I'm dreffle glad!
No more, no, thank'ee, ma'am! I hain't had
Sich a dinner as this, I don't know when!”
Down went the uncertain hand again.
“Your children are well, an' growin';
Few years, your boys 'll be rich men—
Mabby they will, no knowin'.”
He merely pushed back his empty plate,
Then tugged at his watch. “Ha! is it so late?
I 'd no idee on't! train won't wait;
Guess I'll haf to be goin'!”
340
“Must you, indeed! How the time has flown!”
The lonely old man had never known
So grateful a soul, a look and tone
So gentle and so caressing;
And while she handed his hat and coat,
Arranged the collar about his throat,
Smoothed the creases, and brushed his arm,
He felt a strange, bewildering charm,
The very touch of her hand shed such
Unconscious love and blessing!
The lonely old man had never known
So grateful a soul, a look and tone
So gentle and so caressing;
And while she handed his hat and coat,
Arranged the collar about his throat,
Smoothed the creases, and brushed his arm,
He felt a strange, bewildering charm,
The very touch of her hand shed such
Unconscious love and blessing!
“I thought there was something he came to say,
To explain!” cries Jamie. “Ah, yes! by the way!”
Says Elkanah, slightly flurried;
“A leetle mistake—but that 's all right!
The parson, he did n't take in, not quite,
My full intent regardin' the rent:
Don't be the least mite worried
'Bout that fer sartin another year.—
Bless me! I b'lieve it 's the train I hear!
Good-day!” And off he hurried.
To explain!” cries Jamie. “Ah, yes! by the way!”
Says Elkanah, slightly flurried;
“A leetle mistake—but that 's all right!
The parson, he did n't take in, not quite,
My full intent regardin' the rent:
Don't be the least mite worried
'Bout that fer sartin another year.—
Bless me! I b'lieve it 's the train I hear!
Good-day!” And off he hurried.
He seemed surrounded and pursued
By spirits of joy and gratitude!
And he said to himself, “I must conclude,
Although the ol' parson wa'n't very shrewd,
'T was a lucky mistake o' his'n!”
And he felt some most surprising things,
Strange perturbations and flutterings,
As of something within him spreading wings—
The angel within, new-risen!
By spirits of joy and gratitude!
And he said to himself, “I must conclude,
Although the ol' parson wa'n't very shrewd,
'T was a lucky mistake o' his'n!”
And he felt some most surprising things,
Strange perturbations and flutterings,
As of something within him spreading wings—
The angel within, new-risen!
“I'm beat if there ain't the parson now!”
With eager stride and radiant brow
The minister crossed a steep by-street,
Through ridges of snow leg-deep, to greet
The friend of the widow and fatherless,
Who growled to himself, “Good thing, I guess,
Fer some of the fatherless folks we know,
Me and him did n't meet an hour ago—
Good thing all round, should n't wonder!”
The parson came panting up the hill,
Hands out, with a greeting of warm good-will;
All smiles; serenely unconscious still
Of his most amazing blunder.
With eager stride and radiant brow
The minister crossed a steep by-street,
Through ridges of snow leg-deep, to greet
The friend of the widow and fatherless,
Who growled to himself, “Good thing, I guess,
Fer some of the fatherless folks we know,
Me and him did n't meet an hour ago—
Good thing all round, should n't wonder!”
341
Hands out, with a greeting of warm good-will;
All smiles; serenely unconscious still
Of his most amazing blunder.
A soul as simple as rills that run
Joyous and clear in the summer sun!
Not one who had chosen his work, but one
The Lord Himself had chosen;
A child of faith, and a shepherd indeed;
Not one of those whose formal creed
Has the tinkling sound and the hollow look
Of ice left over a shrunken brook—
Shrunken away from the living day,
Leaving its surface frozen.
Joyous and clear in the summer sun!
Not one who had chosen his work, but one
The Lord Himself had chosen;
A child of faith, and a shepherd indeed;
Not one of those whose formal creed
Has the tinkling sound and the hollow look
Of ice left over a shrunken brook—
Shrunken away from the living day,
Leaving its surface frozen.
Under the leafless village elms
The parson waylays and overwhelms
With more felicitation
Of the late epistolary sort
The impatient old man, who cuts him short
With a quaint gesticulation.
The parson waylays and overwhelms
With more felicitation
Of the late epistolary sort
The impatient old man, who cuts him short
With a quaint gesticulation.
“No more o' that, please understand!
I 've seen Jim's widder.” This time the hand
Dives into the pocket, and brings out
A bright bank-note: “Guess the' ain't no doubt
But what we 'd oughter give her a lift;
An' here 's a trifle, a Christmas gift,
I was pooty nigh fergittin'.
Remit her rent the comin' year;
And I 'd like to remit to her now this 'ere.
By the way!” drawls he, with a sidelong leer,
“Did j' ever notice—it 's kind o' queer—
There 's tew ways o' remittin'?”
I 've seen Jim's widder.” This time the hand
Dives into the pocket, and brings out
A bright bank-note: “Guess the' ain't no doubt
But what we 'd oughter give her a lift;
An' here 's a trifle, a Christmas gift,
I was pooty nigh fergittin'.
Remit her rent the comin' year;
And I 'd like to remit to her now this 'ere.
By the way!” drawls he, with a sidelong leer,
“Did j' ever notice—it 's kind o' queer—
There 's tew ways o' remittin'?”
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NEWLY GATHERED LEAVES
EVENING AT NAPLES
I
The day went down, beneath an amber sky,
On all the wonders of that magic land:
There, an old crater's burnt-out Cyclops eye:
Here, Virgil paced in thought the curving strand.
On all the wonders of that magic land:
There, an old crater's burnt-out Cyclops eye:
Here, Virgil paced in thought the curving strand.
On shores and cities glowed the late, low sun;
On plumed Vesuvius mirrored in the wave;
And faintly flushed the wan-ribbed skeleton,
Pompeii standing in her open grave.
On plumed Vesuvius mirrored in the wave;
And faintly flushed the wan-ribbed skeleton,
Pompeii standing in her open grave.
On plume and peak the parting sunset flame
Lingered, diffused, an upward-fading gleam.
Capri, remote on the rimmed sea, became
A roseate mist and melted into dream.
Lingered, diffused, an upward-fading gleam.
Capri, remote on the rimmed sea, became
A roseate mist and melted into dream.
The soft sirocco, from hot Afric sands
Blowing all day across the Midland Deep,
Sank with the sun upon the empurpled lands,
With all its Libyan languors lulled asleep.
Blowing all day across the Midland Deep,
Sank with the sun upon the empurpled lands,
With all its Libyan languors lulled asleep.
II
I stood at evening on a terraced height
And viewed the wondrous world, city and sea,
Sails softly wafted on pale bands of light,
Or to still moorings drifting dreamily.
And viewed the wondrous world, city and sea,
Sails softly wafted on pale bands of light,
Or to still moorings drifting dreamily.
The goat-bells' tinkling ceased upon the air;
The human tide's interminable roar
Rose, a dull murmur, to my terrace stair,
The sullen thunder of a lone, low shore.
The human tide's interminable roar
Rose, a dull murmur, to my terrace stair,
The sullen thunder of a lone, low shore.
Garden and villa and curved parapet
Darkened around me; myriad-roofed, far down
The mountain-slopes, where coast and mountain met,
Gloomy and vast and slumberous, spread the town.
Darkened around me; myriad-roofed, far down
The mountain-slopes, where coast and mountain met,
Gloomy and vast and slumberous, spread the town.
343
III
As night drew on, unnumbered gleams appeared;
Where lanterned ships on lanterned shadows lay;
By distant coasts; and where Vesuvius reared
His tawny torch above the clouded Bay;
Where lanterned ships on lanterned shadows lay;
By distant coasts; and where Vesuvius reared
His tawny torch above the clouded Bay;
The lighthouse bursting into sudden blaze,
Flashing its spear of beams across the sea;
The broad Riviera's constellated rays;
And all the city's starred immensity.
Flashing its spear of beams across the sea;
The broad Riviera's constellated rays;
And all the city's starred immensity.
By day unseen, the crater's spectral light
Increased and reddened, far aloof and lone;
The vulture cloud abroad on the still night
Spread balanced wings, perched on the flickering cone.
Increased and reddened, far aloof and lone;
The vulture cloud abroad on the still night
Spread balanced wings, perched on the flickering cone.
Unseen by day, that dull portentous glow,
A pulsing core of fire that climbed and fell,
Illumed the murk,—mysterious, veiled, and slow,—
Dim flashes from the throbbing throat of hell.
A pulsing core of fire that climbed and fell,
Illumed the murk,—mysterious, veiled, and slow,—
Dim flashes from the throbbing throat of hell.
The upheaved cloud, with windless folds wide flung,
Huge as the mountain's double, piled in space,
Poised peak on peak miraculously hung,
Burying the stars in its inverted base.
Huge as the mountain's double, piled in space,
Poised peak on peak miraculously hung,
Burying the stars in its inverted base.
IV
Anon from the snow-muffled Apennines,
Fitful at first, a rushing wind came forth
And whirled about me, clashing boughs and vines,
Keen as a gust from my own native North.
Fitful at first, a rushing wind came forth
And whirled about me, clashing boughs and vines,
Keen as a gust from my own native North.
Over the city roofs and courts it played;
With wafts of most delicious coolness blessed
The stifled streets; and, swelling seaward, swayed
The pillared cloud on the volcano's crest.
With wafts of most delicious coolness blessed
The stifled streets; and, swelling seaward, swayed
The pillared cloud on the volcano's crest.
As if a bodiless power with wings of air
Closed with the phantom, scattered and dislimned
The towering shape, and swept the Orient bare,
With all its ancient lustrous orbs undimmed:
Closed with the phantom, scattered and dislimned
The towering shape, and swept the Orient bare,
With all its ancient lustrous orbs undimmed:
344
Ranging the heavens forever, the Hyades,
Like starry waterfowl in arrowy flight;
The Bull's bright horns, the Pleiads' golden bees;
And there, most glorious of the hosts of night,—
Like starry waterfowl in arrowy flight;
The Bull's bright horns, the Pleiads' golden bees;
And there, most glorious of the hosts of night,—
Emerging from the crater's flying reek
Back from that gorge of Chaos wildly blown,
One conquering knee above the red-lipped peak,—
Orion with his sword and blazing zone!
Back from that gorge of Chaos wildly blown,
One conquering knee above the red-lipped peak,—
Orion with his sword and blazing zone!
CUBA
'T is the island of the orange, of the yucca and the palm,
Where the white-armed, laughing beaches lave in coves of foam-edged calm,
And the shy flamingo rises like a wingèd oriflamme.
Where the white-armed, laughing beaches lave in coves of foam-edged calm,
And the shy flamingo rises like a wingèd oriflamme.
'T is the home of endless summer, by cool trade-winds overblown;
'T is the Eden of the Ocean lying lovely and alone,
But trailed over by the serpent, and with sin and ruin sown.
'T is the Eden of the Ocean lying lovely and alone,
But trailed over by the serpent, and with sin and ruin sown.
'T is the island of the mango, the banana and the cane;
'T is the land of beauty blighted by the spoiler's cruel reign;
'T is the haunt of vultures flocking to the devastated plain.
'T is the land of beauty blighted by the spoiler's cruel reign;
'T is the haunt of vultures flocking to the devastated plain.
'T is the isle of birds and blossoms, sea-girt realm of bloom and song;
Land of yet unconquered freemen who have striven and suffered long;
Land awaiting its redemption from four centuries of wrong!
Land of yet unconquered freemen who have striven and suffered long;
Land awaiting its redemption from four centuries of wrong!
May, 1898.
A LITTLE CHILD
Unconscious childhood's tiny grasp
Draws us from business, books, and art;
Mightier than all the world, the clasp
Of one small hand upon the heart!
Draws us from business, books, and art;
Mightier than all the world, the clasp
Of one small hand upon the heart!
Of late, with lids that mimicked death,
In fever flames our darling lay;
While we who watched her fluttering breath
Could only wait, and hope, and pray.
In fever flames our darling lay;
While we who watched her fluttering breath
Could only wait, and hope, and pray.
345
Pale gliding shapes and whispered words
Haunted the hushed and shadowy room,
Till the first twitter of the birds
Awoke, and daybreak edged the gloom.
Haunted the hushed and shadowy room,
Till the first twitter of the birds
Awoke, and daybreak edged the gloom.
On vacant chairs and silent walls,
Where lonely watchers of the night
Grow old, how strange, how spectral, falls
The mockery of the morning light!
Where lonely watchers of the night
Grow old, how strange, how spectral, falls
The mockery of the morning light!
As in a trance of fear we moved:
Peril to one we cannot save,
Peril and pain to one beloved,
Make trembling cowards of the brave.
Peril to one we cannot save,
Peril and pain to one beloved,
Make trembling cowards of the brave.
The dawn rose, pitilessly bright;
The sunshine wore an alien hue;
There was not any more delight
In song of bird or spark of dew.
The sunshine wore an alien hue;
There was not any more delight
In song of bird or spark of dew.
How idle seemed the task that claimed
A cold, accustomed service still!
Each worldly wish was quelled and shamed;
Alike were tidings good and ill.
A cold, accustomed service still!
Each worldly wish was quelled and shamed;
Alike were tidings good and ill.
The golden fields and azure skies
Were veiled in sorrowful eclipse,
Till beamed again those darkened eyes,
Till smiled once more those childish lips.
Were veiled in sorrowful eclipse,
Till beamed again those darkened eyes,
Till smiled once more those childish lips.
Another night: all night she slept.
She woke: O joy! was ever dawn
So heavenly sweet as that which swept
With drizzling showers the trees and lawn!
She woke: O joy! was ever dawn
So heavenly sweet as that which swept
With drizzling showers the trees and lawn!
The hillside frowned, by lowering brows
Of gloomy thickets overhung;
But in the dripping chestnut boughs
A cheerful robin perched and sung.
Of gloomy thickets overhung;
But in the dripping chestnut boughs
A cheerful robin perched and sung.
346
Dear omen of her blest release
From pain and the Great Dread past by!
Peace filled our souls, the light of peace
Was over all the earth and sky.
From pain and the Great Dread past by!
Peace filled our souls, the light of peace
Was over all the earth and sky.
Oh, happiest day of all the year!
Each moment had its joyous thrill:
Whatever came brought hope and cheer;
Alike were tidings good and ill.
Each moment had its joyous thrill:
Whatever came brought hope and cheer;
Alike were tidings good and ill.
Now never more, O heart, be sad,
When cloud and tempest drench the pane,
But keep the day with thoughts as glad
As robins singing in the rain!
When cloud and tempest drench the pane,
But keep the day with thoughts as glad
As robins singing in the rain!
OWNERSHIP
Along the endlessly blockaded street
Our car moved, with a hundred starts and stops.
Two children, kneeling on the cushioned seat,
Looked out upon the gay, wide-windowed shops.
Our car moved, with a hundred starts and stops.
Two children, kneeling on the cushioned seat,
Looked out upon the gay, wide-windowed shops.
A boy and girl, both delicately fair:
He, with bright ringlets rippling down his back;
She, with a wondrous fleece of flaxen hair;
A sleek old nurse beside them, shining black.
He, with bright ringlets rippling down his back;
She, with a wondrous fleece of flaxen hair;
A sleek old nurse beside them, shining black.
They watched the shops, and played a pretty game
Of owning things, with eager rivalry:
Whatever each was first to choose and name
Was his or hers, as it might chance to be.
Of owning things, with eager rivalry:
Whatever each was first to choose and name
Was his or hers, as it might chance to be.
“That is my rocking-horse!” declared the boy.
And she: “The whip is mine! the yellow reins!”
So they contended, claiming every toy,
And boasting their imaginary gains.
And she: “The whip is mine! the yellow reins!”
So they contended, claiming every toy,
And boasting their imaginary gains.
“That is my lamp!” “I'll have the lamp-shade!” “No!
The shade goes with the lamp!” “You selfish thing!
You took my horse's reins! You cheat!” And so
They fell at last to downright quarrelling.
The shade goes with the lamp!” “You selfish thing!
347
They fell at last to downright quarrelling.
“Don't call me selfish!” “But you are!” “You dare”—
She tweaked his curls, he doubled his small fists,
And in a moment they were pulling hair,
And pounding like a pair of pugilists.
She tweaked his curls, he doubled his small fists,
And in a moment they were pulling hair,
And pounding like a pair of pugilists.
The unconcerned old negress all the while
Showed her white teeth and laughed with cynic lip,
As I suppose dark angels sometimes smile
At men's mad strife for transient ownership.
Showed her white teeth and laughed with cynic lip,
As I suppose dark angels sometimes smile
At men's mad strife for transient ownership.
A BIRTHDAY WISH
TO A YOUNG VIOLINIST
When you take up your violin, how soon
The lax, discordant strings are touched in tune
To the sweet sequence of enchanting sounds;
Heaven's golden ladder of melodious rounds!
The lax, discordant strings are touched in tune
To the sweet sequence of enchanting sounds;
Heaven's golden ladder of melodious rounds!
So, on this birthday, take up life anew,
Dear girl! and with resolves so firm and true,
Master its chords, that all the year shall be
Attuned to soul-uplifting harmony!
Dear girl! and with resolves so firm and true,
Master its chords, that all the year shall be
Attuned to soul-uplifting harmony!
OUT IN THE WORLD
The inevitable day
Of their parting sweetly rose:
Day of dread to them that stay,
Day of hope to him who goes.
Of their parting sweetly rose:
Day of dread to them that stay,
Day of hope to him who goes.
When the rumbling coach-and-four
Round the shady porch appears,
They dismiss him from the door
With their blessings and their tears.
Round the shady porch appears,
They dismiss him from the door
With their blessings and their tears.
348
Something bright his eyelash hides:
On the coach's topmost seat
Bravely smiling forth he rides,
In the Maytime fresh and sweet.
On the coach's topmost seat
Bravely smiling forth he rides,
In the Maytime fresh and sweet.
Joy with him has fled away;
And a strange funereal gloom
Falls upon the vacant day,
Fills his empty, silent room.
And a strange funereal gloom
Falls upon the vacant day,
Fills his empty, silent room.
Youth is thoughtless, not unkind:
Ah, dear boy, if he but knew
What deep solace they will find
In his letters, all too few!
Ah, dear boy, if he but knew
What deep solace they will find
In his letters, all too few!
They await each hour that brings
Tidings of his fair career,
With what anxious questionings,
With what faith, and with what fear!
Tidings of his fair career,
With what anxious questionings,
With what faith, and with what fear!
Faith, that ever in the sight
Of protecting seraphim
He will follow truth and right,
Letting fortune follow him.
Of protecting seraphim
He will follow truth and right,
Letting fortune follow him.
Will he, in a world where wrong
Sways the many, right the few,
Tread with instincts pure and strong,
Shun the false and choose the true?
Sways the many, right the few,
Tread with instincts pure and strong,
Shun the false and choose the true?
He the while, with hope elate,
As if life were always May,
Journeys onward, to what fate
He divines no more than they.
As if life were always May,
Journeys onward, to what fate
He divines no more than they.
Is it health and happiness?
Is it soul-consuming care?
Is it honor and success?
Is it failure and despair?
Is it soul-consuming care?
Is it honor and success?
Is it failure and despair?
349
Enterprise and wit and skill,
Haughty, tender, brave and just,
Shall his future not fulfil
His bright promise, their great trust?
Haughty, tender, brave and just,
Shall his future not fulfil
His bright promise, their great trust?
Vain the question: well, may be,
That beyond the azure brim
Of each day no man can see
What the wide world holds for him.
That beyond the azure brim
Of each day no man can see
What the wide world holds for him.
Learn this truth and leave the rest:
Each, whatever his estate,
In his own unconscious breast
Bears the talisman of fate.
Each, whatever his estate,
In his own unconscious breast
Bears the talisman of fate.
Who has strength, with self-control,
Love and faith and rectitude,
Fortune fails not, for his soul
Is the lodestar of all good.
Love and faith and rectitude,
Fortune fails not, for his soul
Is the lodestar of all good.
IN A CORRIDOR
Scene.—The National Capitol
We two alone in the corridor,
As I live! and meeting face to face!
Will he turn back? or must I give place?
Or, here on the marble floor,
Shall we settle our little score?
As I live! and meeting face to face!
Will he turn back? or must I give place?
Or, here on the marble floor,
Shall we settle our little score?
Head high, with its long lank Indian hair,
Nose straight before and eyes askew,
He stalks right on, and sweeps me through
With a cold, unconscious stare,
As if I were made of air!
Nose straight before and eyes askew,
He stalks right on, and sweeps me through
With a cold, unconscious stare,
As if I were made of air!
He had always just that insolent way,
With his Southern blood and his cavalier scorn.
Joe Belter, old boy, look here! You 've sworn
To shoot me at sight, they say,
Here I am! Now shoot away!
With his Southern blood and his cavalier scorn.
Joe Belter, old boy, look here! You 've sworn
To shoot me at sight, they say,
Here I am! Now shoot away!
350
In self-defence you will fight? That 's cool,
After all the terrible threats I 've heard.
I thought Joe Belter a man of his word;
You were never a coward or fool
When we were together at school.
After all the terrible threats I 've heard.
I thought Joe Belter a man of his word;
You were never a coward or fool
When we were together at school.
You sneer—Have I anything else to say?
Well, yes! 'T was curious, but, somehow,
I could n't but think, as you passed just now,
Of the look you gave old Pray—
Do you remember the day?
Well, yes! 'T was curious, but, somehow,
I could n't but think, as you passed just now,
Of the look you gave old Pray—
Do you remember the day?
For the silly lampoon we had posted, I
Had been just expelled. Up towered a head:
“If he goes, I go too!” you said;
And swept him, as you marched by,
With just that look of the eye.
Had been just expelled. Up towered a head:
“If he goes, I go too!” you said;
And swept him, as you marched by,
With just that look of the eye.
We went, as free as the winds that blew,
To the woods, and lived in our hut by the lake,
Till you were recalled, and I for your sake.
Then, only to be with you,
Was the sweetest pleasure I knew!
To the woods, and lived in our hut by the lake,
Till you were recalled, and I for your sake.
Then, only to be with you,
Was the sweetest pleasure I knew!
You may scoff at it now; but I tell you, Joe,
I could never forget some things that have been.
How first did our wretched feud begin?
For, I vow, I hardly know,
It happened so long ago!
I could never forget some things that have been.
How first did our wretched feud begin?
For, I vow, I hardly know,
It happened so long ago!
The worst that ever made fools contend:
The long revenge of a love reversed!
No foe so bitter as he who, first
Having loved too much, in the end
Has turned against his friend.
The long revenge of a love reversed!
No foe so bitter as he who, first
Having loved too much, in the end
Has turned against his friend.
I ruined your railroad scheme? And so
You threatened my life! Of course I knew
I might have been Governor but for you;
And I merely returned the blow
Of a couple of years ago.
You threatened my life! Of course I knew
I might have been Governor but for you;
And I merely returned the blow
Of a couple of years ago.
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So the game goes on. But in spite of all,
There are things, as I said, that I can't forget;
And when, after all these years, we met
The other night at the ball,
And throughout that glittering hall,—
There are things, as I said, that I can't forget;
And when, after all these years, we met
The other night at the ball,
And throughout that glittering hall,—
In the great gay world assembled there,—
No strangers passed each other by
So strange to each other as you and I,
And I saw the gray in your hair,
And your look of age and care;
No strangers passed each other by
So strange to each other as you and I,
And I saw the gray in your hair,
And your look of age and care;
Then all of a sudden it all took flight,—
The buzzing crowd, the wavering dance,
The flowers, the jewels, the butterfly fans,
The beauty and blaze of light,—
And we were alone in the night!
The buzzing crowd, the wavering dance,
The flowers, the jewels, the butterfly fans,
The beauty and blaze of light,—
And we were alone in the night!
Alone by the moonlit lake once more,
Stretched side by side on the soft warm sand;
The ripples ran glistening up the strand,
A wind from the woodland bore
Fresh odors along the shore.
Stretched side by side on the soft warm sand;
The ripples ran glistening up the strand,
A wind from the woodland bore
Fresh odors along the shore.
A whippoorwill sang near by in the wood,
And his voice, so lonely, so wild and shrill,
With answering voices seemed to fill
The forest,—far-off, subdued,
In the heart of the solitude.
And his voice, so lonely, so wild and shrill,
With answering voices seemed to fill
The forest,—far-off, subdued,
In the heart of the solitude.
We talked of the years to come, and then
Of our love over all, like the moon on the lake,
Whose pathway of light no storm should break,
As we vowed again and again,
When we should be men among men.
Of our love over all, like the moon on the lake,
Whose pathway of light no storm should break,
As we vowed again and again,
When we should be men among men.
We talked till our hearts were filled with tears.
Then a cloud blew up, and the lake grew black—
And a peal of the orchestra brass brought back
The intervening years,
And the blaze of the chandeliers:
Then a cloud blew up, and the lake grew black—
And a peal of the orchestra brass brought back
The intervening years,
And the blaze of the chandeliers:
352
The unclean hand in the dainty glove,
Hate in the heart and a smile on the face,
And heat, and glitter, and glare, in place
Of the perfect faith and love,
And the stars through the boughs above!
Hate in the heart and a smile on the face,
And heat, and glitter, and glare, in place
Of the perfect faith and love,
And the stars through the boughs above!
Then I said, “Whatever revenge he may take,
I will let it pass, and remember still
That moon and the voice of the whippoorwill,
And forgive him all for the sake
Of those lonely hours by the lake.”
I will let it pass, and remember still
That moon and the voice of the whippoorwill,
And forgive him all for the sake
Of those lonely hours by the lake.”
Resentment is swift, and pride is strong,
But the same old love lies under all.
Our leaves are fading, and soon must fall,
And I grieve to think how long
We have treasured wrath and wrong.
But the same old love lies under all.
Our leaves are fading, and soon must fall,
And I grieve to think how long
We have treasured wrath and wrong.
What, tears? you too!—I did not know
That your boy was dead! And you are alone?
Ah, life has sorrows enough of its own
Without the aid of a foe!
Give me your fist, old Joe!
That your boy was dead! And you are alone?
Ah, life has sorrows enough of its own
Without the aid of a foe!
Give me your fist, old Joe!
THE WINNOWER
Somewhere, nowhere,—in some vague realm or clime,—
I saw a mighty-statured Phantom stand;
His feet were on this threshing-floor of Time,
A fan was in his hand.
I saw a mighty-statured Phantom stand;
His feet were on this threshing-floor of Time,
A fan was in his hand.
He smote with it, and all things streamed and whirled
Before the blast of its tempestuous beat;
The ancient institutions of the world
Became as chaff and wheat.
Before the blast of its tempestuous beat;
The ancient institutions of the world
Became as chaff and wheat.
Fear pierced my soul, but soon a thrilling joy
Flowered from that root, and my numbed lips grew brave.
O dread Conserver that must yet destroy!
Destroyer that will save!
Flowered from that root, and my numbed lips grew brave.
O dread Conserver that must yet destroy!
Destroyer that will save!
353
Strong Winnower of the things of death and life,
I know you now, I cried. Smite with your fan!
Winnow the earth of enmity and strife!
Winnow the heart of man!
I know you now, I cried. Smite with your fan!
Winnow the earth of enmity and strife!
Winnow the heart of man!
A thousand sophistries perplex the ray
Of the world's dawning freedom: Seraph, smite!
Winnow the clouds that dim the newborn day!
Winnow the morning light!
Of the world's dawning freedom: Seraph, smite!
Winnow the clouds that dim the newborn day!
Winnow the morning light!
There 's naught so true in science and in creeds,
And naught so good in governments and states,
But something truer evermore succeeds,
And better still awaits.
And naught so good in governments and states,
But something truer evermore succeeds,
And better still awaits.
With bristling hosts and battlemented walls
Kings menace kings, and nations groan therefor:
Winnow the armaments and arsenals,
The iron husks of war!
Kings menace kings, and nations groan therefor:
Winnow the armaments and arsenals,
The iron husks of war!
Toil without end, to fill a few white hands
Of idle lords, gaunt millions still endure:
Winnow the unsunned hoards and unshared lands,
Estranging rich and poor!
Of idle lords, gaunt millions still endure:
Winnow the unsunned hoards and unshared lands,
Estranging rich and poor!
Riches bear rule till Labor turns in hate,
And tyrant Wealth confronts the despot, Work:
Winnow the world's oppressors, small and great!
Winnow the Tsar and Turk!
And tyrant Wealth confronts the despot, Work:
Winnow the world's oppressors, small and great!
Winnow the Tsar and Turk!
Pale anarchists conspire, mad to possess,
Or to pull down, what sober thrift has built:
Winnow alike the haunts of Lawlessness,
The gilded halls of Guilt!
Or to pull down, what sober thrift has built:
Winnow alike the haunts of Lawlessness,
The gilded halls of Guilt!
Our politics are false and infidel,
Our trusted chiefs bend to the baser cause:
Smite with your fan! O Winnower, winnow well
The makers of our laws!
Our trusted chiefs bend to the baser cause:
Smite with your fan! O Winnower, winnow well
The makers of our laws!
354
All barriers built by avarice, pride, and wrong,
Dividing men,—unbuild them with the breath
And buffet of your mighty fan, O strong
Angel of change and death!
Dividing men,—unbuild them with the breath
And buffet of your mighty fan, O strong
Angel of change and death!
Winnow this anxious life of pain and care!
But gently, winnow gently! Hear our cries!
To love at least be merciful! Oh, spare
Our tender human ties!—
But gently, winnow gently! Hear our cries!
To love at least be merciful! Oh, spare
Our tender human ties!—
But cries are vain; nor cries nor prayers avail
To hasten or delay the Winnower's hand;
Nothing so huge and firm, so fine or frail,
But it at last is fanned,—
To hasten or delay the Winnower's hand;
Nothing so huge and firm, so fine or frail,
But it at last is fanned,—
Empires, beliefs, the things of art and fame,
The broad-based pyramids, the poet's page;
To his eternal patience 't is the same,
A moment or an age.
The broad-based pyramids, the poet's page;
To his eternal patience 't is the same,
A moment or an age.
Before his fan the mountains form and flee,
Continents pass; and in its rhythmic beat
The flying stars and whirling nebulæ
Are but as chaff and wheat.
Continents pass; and in its rhythmic beat
The flying stars and whirling nebulæ
Are but as chaff and wheat.
Does naught, of all that Time and Nature yield,
Does naught, at last, but thought and spirit remain?
Nature and Time the changeful harvest field,
Souls the immortal grain!
Does naught, at last, but thought and spirit remain?
Nature and Time the changeful harvest field,
Souls the immortal grain!
| The poetical works of John Townsend Trowbridge | |