 | East and west : the discovery of America and other poems |  |
135
THE DISCOVERY OF AMERICA. A SYMPHONIC POEM.
137
FIRST MOVEMENT. The Sea and the Sky.
Blast of disruption triumphant! Wail of the travail of Time!
Shudder of terrified worlds in the glare of the sun of the new!
Thrills of the joy of creation! Potence of prophets sublime!
Faces in dust to be lifted, and crowned with the stars of the true!
Shudder of terrified worlds in the glare of the sun of the new!
Thrills of the joy of creation! Potence of prophets sublime!
Faces in dust to be lifted, and crowned with the stars of the true!
Crowns of the stars like wreaths
On the lap of the midnight sky.
And the sympathetic ocean breathes
With the swell of a smothered sigh.
Stars like the fallen leaves
That in autumn die,
On the lap of the sea as it heaves
With a death-foreboding cry.
But angels glorious, deathless,
Gaze from the windows of heaven breathless
On bird-like ships that are floating by.
On the lap of the midnight sky.
And the sympathetic ocean breathes
With the swell of a smothered sigh.
Stars like the fallen leaves
That in autumn die,
138
With a death-foreboding cry.
But angels glorious, deathless,
Gaze from the windows of heaven breathless
On bird-like ships that are floating by.
“O mocking, sighing, treacherous sea,
Whisper thy fathomless secret to me.”
Whisper thy fathomless secret to me.”
Then the coo
Of a soft wind blew,
And a shiver ran up to the flag at the masthead high;
And the blast of disruption blew, and the night wailed loud in her pain,
And the stars hid under a cloud that was heavy and blue with rain.
And the small waves writhed as they came,
Writhed like the wreaths of a flame,
Like the luminous, drifting breath
Of a wraith in the chamber of death;
And their pleadings fell
With the moans of a petalled shell,
As they curled with purrings and hisses
Their warm lips bubbling with kisses,
Rolling in tremulous eagerness
Of an amorous siren's soft caress
For this second Ulysses.
Of a soft wind blew,
And a shiver ran up to the flag at the masthead high;
And the blast of disruption blew, and the night wailed loud in her pain,
And the stars hid under a cloud that was heavy and blue with rain.
And the small waves writhed as they came,
Writhed like the wreaths of a flame,
Like the luminous, drifting breath
Of a wraith in the chamber of death;
And their pleadings fell
With the moans of a petalled shell,
As they curled with purrings and hisses
Their warm lips bubbling with kisses,
Rolling in tremulous eagerness
Of an amorous siren's soft caress
For this second Ulysses.
139
But he cried in his agony,
“Away with thy curséd lips, O sea!
And thy snaky fingers of weeds
That reach from the sleeve of thy frothing beads!
Echo no more the voice
Of our weakening spirit's choice!
Heaven knows that we yearn
For the secret impossible bliss of return.
But the flame of an inward fire
Burns fiercer than tenderest heart's desire,
A fire that feeds
On the very anguish of wonderful deeds.
Begone, I say! Make way, make way,
In the name of the Lord!
With His cross on my sword,
I carve from this doubt and temptation
A path through thy sheer desolation!”
“Away with thy curséd lips, O sea!
And thy snaky fingers of weeds
That reach from the sleeve of thy frothing beads!
Echo no more the voice
Of our weakening spirit's choice!
Heaven knows that we yearn
For the secret impossible bliss of return.
But the flame of an inward fire
Burns fiercer than tenderest heart's desire,
A fire that feeds
On the very anguish of wonderful deeds.
Begone, I say! Make way, make way,
In the name of the Lord!
With His cross on my sword,
I carve from this doubt and temptation
A path through thy sheer desolation!”
Then the balm
Of a perfect calm
Fell over the passionate seas;
A fragrant calm
Like the hush of a psalm,
That hangs on the boughs of the cocoanut trees,
That hides in the heart of a great cool palm,
Where the coral harps like bended moons
Echo forever the splendid tunes
That float on the dreams of the broad lagoons.
Of a perfect calm
Fell over the passionate seas;
A fragrant calm
Like the hush of a psalm,
That hangs on the boughs of the cocoanut trees,
That hides in the heart of a great cool palm,
Where the coral harps like bended moons
Echo forever the splendid tunes
That float on the dreams of the broad lagoons.
140
Then the flying fish
Arose, and sped with a sudden dash
Like the shivering line of a lightning flash,
And sank again with a joyous plash;
Like golden shuttles in silver mesh,
Like love that leaps to the burning flesh;
Again and again, like the throb of a fresh young wish.
Arose, and sped with a sudden dash
Like the shivering line of a lightning flash,
And sank again with a joyous plash;
Like golden shuttles in silver mesh,
Like love that leaps to the burning flesh;
Again and again, like the throb of a fresh young wish.
O wish that no god may know!
O throb of despair and delay!
O sob of another dying day!
O faith that flies like shaft from a bow,
Then sinks again in the floods of woe!
O throb of despair and delay!
O sob of another dying day!
O faith that flies like shaft from a bow,
Then sinks again in the floods of woe!
Then cried he in deeper pain:—
“O last faint flutter of hope, thou shalt not fail!
Breathe, breathe again
Into the pallid cheek of my despondent sail
The shell-hued glinting of thy gleeful gale!
Respond, respond,
O holy universal Mother of the seas beyond!
O brooding Dove, breathe inspiration fair;
Be it through lightnings of the summer air
That kisses warm
With furious fevered breath,
Or be it in the utmost throes of tropic storm;
Even in Death,
Reveal, reveal thy form!”
“O last faint flutter of hope, thou shalt not fail!
Breathe, breathe again
Into the pallid cheek of my despondent sail
The shell-hued glinting of thy gleeful gale!
Respond, respond,
O holy universal Mother of the seas beyond!
O brooding Dove, breathe inspiration fair;
Be it through lightnings of the summer air
That kisses warm
With furious fevered breath,
Or be it in the utmost throes of tropic storm;
Even in Death,
Reveal, reveal thy form!”
141
Hark!
A sudden shriek in the dark!
A whistle that shoots to the peak!
A darkness that sweeps to the deck!
A crash like a wreck!
O blast of disruption triumphant! O wail of the travail of Time!
And the backs of the green waves break;
And the stout beams crackle and creak;
And the keels roll weak,
And reel in the cavernous wake
Of a violet lightning streak.
Shudder of terrified worlds in the glare of the lightning sublime!
A sudden shriek in the dark!
A whistle that shoots to the peak!
A darkness that sweeps to the deck!
A crash like a wreck!
O blast of disruption triumphant! O wail of the travail of Time!
And the backs of the green waves break;
And the stout beams crackle and creak;
And the keels roll weak,
And reel in the cavernous wake
Of a violet lightning streak.
Shudder of terrified worlds in the glare of the lightning sublime!
Shuddering rumble of thunder drums!
Wailing flutes of the hurricane!
Trailing beards of the matted rain!
Suns that crumble in blinding crumbs!
Wailing flutes of the hurricane!
Trailing beards of the matted rain!
Suns that crumble in blinding crumbs!
Hist!
Whistling from water-snakes' nests,
Pestiferous,
Vociferous!
Sulphurous gulfs!
Rushing of selfless elfs!
Restless cresting of helpless breasts!
Shifting rifts of the hapless mist!
And ever the shrouded form
Of the great gaunt god of the storm,
With eyes as of skulls
That shine in the lulls,
And fingers with skin like a wing,
That cling to the hair
With the clutch of despair,
As foul sea-claws to a drowned corpse cling!
Whistling from water-snakes' nests,
Pestiferous,
Vociferous!
Sulphurous gulfs!
Rushing of selfless elfs!
Restless cresting of helpless breasts!
Shifting rifts of the hapless mist!
142
Of the great gaunt god of the storm,
With eyes as of skulls
That shine in the lulls,
And fingers with skin like a wing,
That cling to the hair
With the clutch of despair,
As foul sea-claws to a drowned corpse cling!
O blast of disruption, and utter diremption!
O shudder of doubt that is passing the bonds of dimension!
O mental and physical tension
Of terrified worlds that are hurled as if lost to redemption!
Disruption! Distortion!
Destruction! Abortion!
Worry, and murmur, and motion of scurrying currents!
Tearing, and perilous tossing of turbulent torrents!
Murderous horror, and crossing of error with terror!
Scoff of the physical surf like a breath on the psychical mirror!
Mist-driven broods of the ocean like moods of our mystical nature!
Railing and blare in the tempest, and wail and despairing of travail!
Thrills of creation in glare of the wills of the powers of evil!
Swords that shall leap with the hour to the hearts of creator and creature!
O shudder of doubt that is passing the bonds of dimension!
O mental and physical tension
Of terrified worlds that are hurled as if lost to redemption!
Disruption! Distortion!
Destruction! Abortion!
Worry, and murmur, and motion of scurrying currents!
Tearing, and perilous tossing of turbulent torrents!
Murderous horror, and crossing of error with terror!
Scoff of the physical surf like a breath on the psychical mirror!
Mist-driven broods of the ocean like moods of our mystical nature!
Railing and blare in the tempest, and wail and despairing of travail!
Thrills of creation in glare of the wills of the powers of evil!
Swords that shall leap with the hour to the hearts of creator and creature!
143
“Ah peace, peace!
Santa Maria, peace!
Let the wild torture of this fury cease!
Yea, on this watery desert have I fasted, and sung thy praise
A thousand times over a Lenten season of forty nights and days.
Unmoved on the lofty tower of thy purposes dim I stood.
Lust, and Ambition, and Doubt, and Fear swept by in a hurricane brood.
But I was not, I am not strong.
How long, O Mother of our Lord, how long
Shall I be hammered as molten steel in the forge of this scourger's mood?”
Santa Maria, peace!
Let the wild torture of this fury cease!
Yea, on this watery desert have I fasted, and sung thy praise
A thousand times over a Lenten season of forty nights and days.
Unmoved on the lofty tower of thy purposes dim I stood.
Lust, and Ambition, and Doubt, and Fear swept by in a hurricane brood.
But I was not, I am not strong.
How long, O Mother of our Lord, how long
Shall I be hammered as molten steel in the forge of this scourger's mood?”
O first unwelcomed foreigner!
O last unconscious mariner!
See, through the swift unravelling fringe of the shattered clouds
Light breaks.
Fragments of mist are swirling like lost bewildered flakes.
The stars are swimming in scattered crowds.
Tossed on the breast of heaven what waif is this from the wreck?
What messenger of hope alights upon thy shrouds?
A small brown speck
Helpless it falls, it flutters to the deck.
O thrill of a prophecy dying! O flutter of wingéd wish!
“Nay;—'t is only a flying fish
Hapless thrown up
From the lip of the ocean's frothing cup.”
“O comrade mine, what is 't? What is 't?—It stirred!
It cannot be—Jesu beloved, dare I lisp the word?—
It cannot be, I say,—
Great God, make way!
A small land bird!”
O last unconscious mariner!
See, through the swift unravelling fringe of the shattered clouds
Light breaks.
Fragments of mist are swirling like lost bewildered flakes.
The stars are swimming in scattered crowds.
Tossed on the breast of heaven what waif is this from the wreck?
What messenger of hope alights upon thy shrouds?
A small brown speck
Helpless it falls, it flutters to the deck.
144
“Nay;—'t is only a flying fish
Hapless thrown up
From the lip of the ocean's frothing cup.”
“O comrade mine, what is 't? What is 't?—It stirred!
It cannot be—Jesu beloved, dare I lisp the word?—
It cannot be, I say,—
Great God, make way!
A small land bird!”
There it lies with heart a-tremble,
Plumage torn by fire and hail;
While earth's boldest sons assemble
Weeping o'er its body frail:—
Even as angel choirs are weeping
Round some stricken tortured soul
Freed from storms of sin, and sleeping
At its last unconscious goal.
Plumage torn by fire and hail;
While earth's boldest sons assemble
Weeping o'er its body frail:—
Even as angel choirs are weeping
Round some stricken tortured soul
Freed from storms of sin, and sleeping
At its last unconscious goal.
So flies the blesséd dove with olive bough
To thee, lone wanderer on a world-wide ark.
So shall the smile of God direct thy prow
To some new Ararat across the dark.
Thence shall thine eyes behold again the sight
That flashed on Moses from Mount Pisgah's height.
Look up, for soon shall break upon thy brow
What Israel's chieftain led, a pillar of fire by night.
How calm and how sweet the night!
How fresh and how pure the sea!
And the cool salt air like a thing of delight
Sweeps over the soul as a wing in flight,
And the sky is barred by the caging bright
Where hope is beating her plume to be free.
Thrills of the joy of creation in potence of prophecy new!
And the stars new washed like a crown of leaves
Are held in the arms of the virgin sky,
Are raised by the royal love that heaves
The loyal heart of the tiptoe wave
At the new-found kiss of a master brave,
Of her true-found prince who is sailing by.
Heroes on high to be lifted, and crowned with the stars of the true!—
Yes, the true,—
And the new,—
Lapped by two great infinities of blue;
Wrapped in the vapors of the cosmic dew.
To thee, lone wanderer on a world-wide ark.
So shall the smile of God direct thy prow
To some new Ararat across the dark.
Thence shall thine eyes behold again the sight
That flashed on Moses from Mount Pisgah's height.
Look up, for soon shall break upon thy brow
What Israel's chieftain led, a pillar of fire by night.
145
How fresh and how pure the sea!
And the cool salt air like a thing of delight
Sweeps over the soul as a wing in flight,
And the sky is barred by the caging bright
Where hope is beating her plume to be free.
Thrills of the joy of creation in potence of prophecy new!
And the stars new washed like a crown of leaves
Are held in the arms of the virgin sky,
Are raised by the royal love that heaves
The loyal heart of the tiptoe wave
At the new-found kiss of a master brave,
Of her true-found prince who is sailing by.
Heroes on high to be lifted, and crowned with the stars of the true!—
Yes, the true,—
And the new,—
Lapped by two great infinities of blue;
Wrapped in the vapors of the cosmic dew.
O thrill of the joy of creation!
O will of the mood of devotion!
O prophecy potent of ocean!
O stars of the crown of salvation!
Penitent lifting of faces to infinite graces!
Permanent drifting of planets to ultimate places!
Potency patent of dust on the brow of the just!
Latent devotion of trust to the new she embraces!
O will of the mood of devotion!
O prophecy potent of ocean!
O stars of the crown of salvation!
Penitent lifting of faces to infinite graces!
Permanent drifting of planets to ultimate places!
146
Latent devotion of trust to the new she embraces!
But hark!
What was spoken?
Was it the throb of yon spark
That cuts like a Damascene blade to the dome of the dark?
Has the heart of a white star broken?
Was it the whisper of distance? Was it the blinding roar
Of wedges of light that are splitting the sky to the ocean's floor;
Even as solid edges of proud Vesuvius split
In the rage of a lava-fit,
When the glorious crimson blood spurts through with a hiss
The red ripe wound of each orifice?
What was spoken?
Was it the throb of yon spark
That cuts like a Damascene blade to the dome of the dark?
Has the heart of a white star broken?
Was it the whisper of distance? Was it the blinding roar
Of wedges of light that are splitting the sky to the ocean's floor;
Even as solid edges of proud Vesuvius split
In the rage of a lava-fit,
When the glorious crimson blood spurts through with a hiss
The red ripe wound of each orifice?
O pillars of light that are lifting the glare of the glorified ceiling,
O fierce arabesques of the stars as they leap in antiphonal passion,
O shaft of the uttermost steeple that reels with the madness of feeling,
Here shower thy blazing cathedral on the corpse of this universe ashen!
Rise in thy architectonic splendor of radiant fires
From the womb of creative desires!
On the combing wave of thy crystal dome now set
The diamond jet
Of each sparkling minaret,
Pouring like infinite golden foam from the torches of molten spires!
Let each tongue of flame
Have an individual name,
A voice effervescent,
Evanescent,
Swept from the floor to the roof in a pæan incessant;
As of luminous souls
In the joy of their self-won force,
Each on the tremulous wedge of a rocket's course
From the vortices shot of the duplicate cosmic poles!
O fierce arabesques of the stars as they leap in antiphonal passion,
O shaft of the uttermost steeple that reels with the madness of feeling,
Here shower thy blazing cathedral on the corpse of this universe ashen!
Rise in thy architectonic splendor of radiant fires
From the womb of creative desires!
147
The diamond jet
Of each sparkling minaret,
Pouring like infinite golden foam from the torches of molten spires!
Let each tongue of flame
Have an individual name,
A voice effervescent,
Evanescent,
Swept from the floor to the roof in a pæan incessant;
As of luminous souls
In the joy of their self-won force,
Each on the tremulous wedge of a rocket's course
From the vortices shot of the duplicate cosmic poles!
What gossamer network of comets' tails
Shrouds heaven in rainbow veils!
Pulsing in changeable gold on the breast of this astral chameleon,
Filaments scattered like crowns of enamel on walls of Alhambra,
Orbital laces of loops on the centres of darker penumbra,
Flashing of manes from the chargers in star-clustered perihelion!
Shrouds heaven in rainbow veils!
Pulsing in changeable gold on the breast of this astral chameleon,
Filaments scattered like crowns of enamel on walls of Alhambra,
Orbital laces of loops on the centres of darker penumbra,
Flashing of manes from the chargers in star-clustered perihelion!
Yet these soft skeins of astral floss
Waving like beards of incandescent moss
Of a sudden condense
By some centripetal master influence.
Earth's breath is held,
As when in the gloomy slime of chaotic eld
The atoms huddled in blank amaze
At the soul-searching gaze
Of the first created sun.
So now, on this altar of night
Blazes anew that sacramental light
For a day's work done.
Four-armed it lies,
A blinding prophecy in the central skies;
A cross!
Waving like beards of incandescent moss
Of a sudden condense
148
Earth's breath is held,
As when in the gloomy slime of chaotic eld
The atoms huddled in blank amaze
At the soul-searching gaze
Of the first created sun.
So now, on this altar of night
Blazes anew that sacramental light
For a day's work done.
Four-armed it lies,
A blinding prophecy in the central skies;
A cross!
How calm the night! How free
After this meteoric ecstasy!
The world is still
With fixity of faith, and deep untroubled will:—
Faith in the infinite blue spirit of the sky,
Will in the infinite true bosom of the sea.
Purposes unclouded, and the goal like a star set firm;
Time but a gentle bride in Creation's fond embrace.
Kiss of a hero who lifts the veil from a virgin's face!
Goddess-birth from the foam of the sea at the God-appointed term!
After this meteoric ecstasy!
The world is still
With fixity of faith, and deep untroubled will:—
Faith in the infinite blue spirit of the sky,
Will in the infinite true bosom of the sea.
Purposes unclouded, and the goal like a star set firm;
Time but a gentle bride in Creation's fond embrace.
Kiss of a hero who lifts the veil from a virgin's face!
Goddess-birth from the foam of the sea at the God-appointed term!
Ah, hero, weep—
In the happy dreams of thy sleep,
Pillowed on folds of rosy-hued idea
On the deck of the Santa Maria.
Sail on, and dream
In the molten glow of this steady tidal stream
That bears thee sure
To worlds more wonderful and pure
Than thou canst deem.
In the happy dreams of thy sleep,
Pillowed on folds of rosy-hued idea
149
Sail on, and dream
In the molten glow of this steady tidal stream
That bears thee sure
To worlds more wonderful and pure
Than thou canst deem.
And now on the tossing edges of the East
A higher wave of molten silver flashes,
Flashes a moment, and dashes
Like spray by the stars to be kissed.
Nay, nay,
'T is not wave-mist.
'T is a star that thou hast not seen;
For it flashes keen
With a diamond light increased,
And it comes to stay.
'T is a wave,—'t is a star,—'t is an arch,—
'T is the chord of a harp a-tune.
It wafts thee a secret thy fancy hath never heard.
'T is a luminous golden orb with expanding wing.
It shakes the sea from its breast as a king-like bird.
'T is the saintly, impersonal moon.
As a godlike thing
With solemn and dignified motion
She rises,—she leaps,—she is free.
She soars away on the constellated march
Of the deathless Zodiac.
Her parting smile irradiates the ocean.
It lies in the foaming wake of thy perilous track.
It beckons thee onward, not back,
'T is thy pillar of fire by night.
And so, with her virginal kiss on thy brow,
Slumber thou,
Dream thou now
Of the ultimate Light!
A higher wave of molten silver flashes,
Flashes a moment, and dashes
Like spray by the stars to be kissed.
Nay, nay,
'T is not wave-mist.
'T is a star that thou hast not seen;
For it flashes keen
With a diamond light increased,
And it comes to stay.
'T is a wave,—'t is a star,—'t is an arch,—
'T is the chord of a harp a-tune.
It wafts thee a secret thy fancy hath never heard.
'T is a luminous golden orb with expanding wing.
It shakes the sea from its breast as a king-like bird.
'T is the saintly, impersonal moon.
As a godlike thing
With solemn and dignified motion
She rises,—she leaps,—she is free.
She soars away on the constellated march
Of the deathless Zodiac.
Her parting smile irradiates the ocean.
150
It beckons thee onward, not back,
'T is thy pillar of fire by night.
And so, with her virginal kiss on thy brow,
Slumber thou,
Dream thou now
Of the ultimate Light!
151
SECOND MOVEMENT. Dreams.
O pearly themes that flutter like beams of the moons,
O languid dreams that swoon in the arms of the noons,
Like perfumes of blossoms that toss on the roses of bosoms,
Like spice-winds that pillow their sighs in the tresses of willow!
Like a passionate prayer from the lips, like a star from eclipse
Roll into the peace of the soul as a liquid diamond slips
Down cool green lotus leaves to the flame of the budding tips!
As their ruby hearts unfold to the warm noon gold,
Shell within shell unrolled, like a secret told
By a virgin bride without fear in a lover's ear;—
So, themes of his delicate dreams, expand in gleams
Of glorified visions that twine as a garland of vine;
Thought that shall leap from a thought as flame from a name,
Rays that are written on Time as a blaze that came,
As a blinding blast that shot from the womb of the past,
And pierced like a peerless star through the future far;—
Death in the bloom, like a child that shall dance on a tomb;—
Faith that hath kissed the blue mist in the dome of the vast.
O languid dreams that swoon in the arms of the noons,
Like perfumes of blossoms that toss on the roses of bosoms,
Like spice-winds that pillow their sighs in the tresses of willow!
Like a passionate prayer from the lips, like a star from eclipse
Roll into the peace of the soul as a liquid diamond slips
Down cool green lotus leaves to the flame of the budding tips!
As their ruby hearts unfold to the warm noon gold,
Shell within shell unrolled, like a secret told
By a virgin bride without fear in a lover's ear;—
So, themes of his delicate dreams, expand in gleams
Of glorified visions that twine as a garland of vine;
Thought that shall leap from a thought as flame from a name,
Rays that are written on Time as a blaze that came,
As a blinding blast that shot from the womb of the past,
And pierced like a peerless star through the future far;—
152
Faith that hath kissed the blue mist in the dome of the vast.
But see, he hath plunged in its sphere
As a joyful boy in the cool green floods of a mere.
His soul is light as the wings of a dragon-fly
That leisurely dances by.
As a joyful boy in the cool green floods of a mere.
His soul is light as the wings of a dragon-fly
That leisurely dances by.
He stands by the dark gray gates of a city now;
And over the wreath of smoke that fringes the brow
Where castles cling like an oak to the crumbling crag,
Mid rumble of distant drums and the thunder of guns
He marks with a breathless hope where the sudden lightning runs
Of a Christian flag;—
Flag that hath leaped from its faith, as a flame from a name.
O imperial name that is written in deathless flame!
And over the wreath of smoke that fringes the brow
Where castles cling like an oak to the crumbling crag,
Mid rumble of distant drums and the thunder of guns
He marks with a breathless hope where the sudden lightning runs
Of a Christian flag;—
Flag that hath leaped from its faith, as a flame from a name.
O imperial name that is written in deathless flame!
Hark, 't is the drums! and a dark line comes
With a trumpet peal o'er a wave of steel;
Where the heroes march in a wide blue arch,
And the chargers prance in a stately dance.
Each knight sits light with his thin steel lance
Mid banners in lanes of the ribboned manes;
And strict in time to the martial chime
A loud hymn reigns o'er the proud glad plains.
“I see afar the blaze of the jewelled tents
In circling zones,
And in the midst twin thrones
Like new-born stars on the startled firmaments.”
With a trumpet peal o'er a wave of steel;
Where the heroes march in a wide blue arch,
And the chargers prance in a stately dance.
Each knight sits light with his thin steel lance
Mid banners in lanes of the ribboned manes;
And strict in time to the martial chime
A loud hymn reigns o'er the proud glad plains.
153
In circling zones,
And in the midst twin thrones
Like new-born stars on the startled firmaments.”
Hark to the fife, like a thin keen knife
That cuts steel ranks on the Genil's banks
For a queen set light on a charger white.
In a deep black band the turbaned stand,
And bow to the sweep of her lifted hand;
While the stern chiefs come like Titans dumb
To the low sad tap of the Moorish drum,
That her glove may seize on the world's gold keys.
That cuts steel ranks on the Genil's banks
For a queen set light on a charger white.
In a deep black band the turbaned stand,
And bow to the sweep of her lifted hand;
While the stern chiefs come like Titans dumb
To the low sad tap of the Moorish drum,
That her glove may seize on the world's gold keys.
“In this vast camp of Spain
Where plumes of knights are tossing like a crested main,
And coronets of swords shall leap with diamond tip,
And forests of bowed heads shall dip
At curse or smile on royal Isabella's lip,
I come to grasp the silken tangles of the rein.
Ah, not in vain
These years of cold disdain!
I would have choked my pride.
For one sweet smile I would have crouched and died.
But now all glorified
She reigns the mistress of the universes wide;
And I shall kneel, and cry:—
‘O gracious lady who hast bid me die,
The Lord divine
Now consecrates me for His own and thine.’
Where plumes of knights are tossing like a crested main,
And coronets of swords shall leap with diamond tip,
And forests of bowed heads shall dip
At curse or smile on royal Isabella's lip,
I come to grasp the silken tangles of the rein.
Ah, not in vain
These years of cold disdain!
I would have choked my pride.
For one sweet smile I would have crouched and died.
But now all glorified
She reigns the mistress of the universes wide;
And I shall kneel, and cry:—
‘O gracious lady who hast bid me die,
154
Now consecrates me for His own and thine.’
“Still cold and dumb?
I hear the heart-beat of a muffled drum,
The wailing of a dirge for heroes dead.
And dust is on my head!
I hear the heart-beat of a muffled drum,
The wailing of a dirge for heroes dead.
And dust is on my head!
“O blinding blast from the open tomb of the past!
Would that again I could rest on my mother's breast!
Would I could lie where the strife of these years should die,
And innocent kneel in the spells of the village bells!
Would that again I could rest on my mother's breast!
Would I could lie where the strife of these years should die,
And innocent kneel in the spells of the village bells!
“And yet I knew; and yet I dimly guessed
When as a guileless boy
I climbed the steep Ligurian cliffs in lusty joy,
And gazed far off upon the dimpled breast
Of blue-eyed seas that slumbered in the West.
For was I not compelled
As by a great hand held
To gaze, and gaze, and gaze
Through tender brooding miles of purple haze,
Till soft-winged isles
Seemed lifting orange bosoms to the sun's last smiles,
And my light will, a feather free,
Was blown like a trembling bird far out to sea
By storm-winds, Alpine-brewed, of passionate prophecy?
When as a guileless boy
I climbed the steep Ligurian cliffs in lusty joy,
And gazed far off upon the dimpled breast
Of blue-eyed seas that slumbered in the West.
For was I not compelled
As by a great hand held
To gaze, and gaze, and gaze
Through tender brooding miles of purple haze,
Till soft-winged isles
Seemed lifting orange bosoms to the sun's last smiles,
And my light will, a feather free,
Was blown like a trembling bird far out to sea
By storm-winds, Alpine-brewed, of passionate prophecy?
155
“When calling to the straying goats
That scrape and browse
Where silver-coated olive groves in sunshine drowse,
Or climb in bleating flocks
For verdant vales that smile among the splintered rocks,
I heard strange notes
Whispered in siren tones from distant dancing boats.
At first in fear I hid.
Then, as in trance, not knowing what I did,
I snatched the iron cross from my panting breast;
That cross my mother hung
To keep me ever innocent and young.
It clung to me as if it were a hand that tenderly caressed.
But with one parting, burning kiss
I stood, and flung it to the ether's vast abyss.
Far down I marked it like a circling flame
Sink sunlike in the wave.
‘O God!’ I cried, ‘whose sweet torn martyred frame
Thy Virgin Mother gave
The fierce relentless worlds to pacify and save,
I'll follow Thee,
Thou Master who canst walk upon the sea!
Whether from pole to pole
Thou lead'st my consecrated soul;
Be it to jungle heats of tropic noons that tell
Of the despair of hell,
Or to the caps of Hyperborean ice
That crush a starving world in hardening crests of vice,
Or where vast silent lands like unexpected grace
May glorify the timid ocean's face,
Be it for gain or loss,
I'll follow thee
Into that unknown sea,
My Cross!’
That scrape and browse
Where silver-coated olive groves in sunshine drowse,
Or climb in bleating flocks
For verdant vales that smile among the splintered rocks,
I heard strange notes
Whispered in siren tones from distant dancing boats.
At first in fear I hid.
Then, as in trance, not knowing what I did,
I snatched the iron cross from my panting breast;
That cross my mother hung
To keep me ever innocent and young.
It clung to me as if it were a hand that tenderly caressed.
But with one parting, burning kiss
I stood, and flung it to the ether's vast abyss.
Far down I marked it like a circling flame
Sink sunlike in the wave.
‘O God!’ I cried, ‘whose sweet torn martyred frame
Thy Virgin Mother gave
The fierce relentless worlds to pacify and save,
I'll follow Thee,
Thou Master who canst walk upon the sea!
Whether from pole to pole
Thou lead'st my consecrated soul;
Be it to jungle heats of tropic noons that tell
Of the despair of hell,
Or to the caps of Hyperborean ice
That crush a starving world in hardening crests of vice,
Or where vast silent lands like unexpected grace
156
Be it for gain or loss,
I'll follow thee
Into that unknown sea,
My Cross!’
“Ah, then I felt
A darkness like a belt
Drawn close around me as in ecstasy I knelt.
And a slow disappointing chill
Like torture crept to the heart of my yearning will.
And then I knew, as now,
That I must die as Thou
On crumbling naked plains
Outside the city walls where ignorance reigns;
Alone, misunderstood, despised, condemned, in chains.”
A darkness like a belt
Drawn close around me as in ecstasy I knelt.
And a slow disappointing chill
Like torture crept to the heart of my yearning will.
And then I knew, as now,
That I must die as Thou
On crumbling naked plains
Outside the city walls where ignorance reigns;
Alone, misunderstood, despised, condemned, in chains.”
Death in new bloom, like a child that shall dance on a tomb!
Ah, cross of my doom, let me die with my Lord in the gloom!
Yet, Faith, thou hast kissed the blue mist in the dome of the vast.
O, fall like a peerless star that is clear to the last!
[OMITTED]
“But now for the daring of deeds!—Where these desolate piles
Of rat-haunted, moss-planted wharves are complaining for miles;
Where the blanched and decrepit old salt like a ghost lingers still
With his tales of the glory of eld, till he pales at his story of ill;
Where the mighty façades of old Genoa painted like skies
Are but trappings that deck a dead bride on the strand where she lies;—
I can view like a seer, I can feel as a soul with new senses
The East beating in as a spice-laden breeze that condenses,
Where the forests of masts bear the fruit of the opulent marts,
And ships are like girls at a fair, and the world all ablaze with her arts,
And the scar-smitten men are like Argonauts newly returned
With the foam of the sea on their lips, and the blood in their veins as it burned.—
But visages turbaned and dark, and scimetars curved like a moon
Have swept with their Turcoman wrack as a storm on a hidden lagoon.
And the heroes and ships are no more; and the story of yore
Is heard in the streets like the echo of surf on a shore.
Ah, cross of my doom, let me die with my Lord in the gloom!
Yet, Faith, thou hast kissed the blue mist in the dome of the vast.
O, fall like a peerless star that is clear to the last!
[OMITTED]
“But now for the daring of deeds!—Where these desolate piles
Of rat-haunted, moss-planted wharves are complaining for miles;
157
With his tales of the glory of eld, till he pales at his story of ill;
Where the mighty façades of old Genoa painted like skies
Are but trappings that deck a dead bride on the strand where she lies;—
I can view like a seer, I can feel as a soul with new senses
The East beating in as a spice-laden breeze that condenses,
Where the forests of masts bear the fruit of the opulent marts,
And ships are like girls at a fair, and the world all ablaze with her arts,
And the scar-smitten men are like Argonauts newly returned
With the foam of the sea on their lips, and the blood in their veins as it burned.—
But visages turbaned and dark, and scimetars curved like a moon
Have swept with their Turcoman wrack as a storm on a hidden lagoon.
And the heroes and ships are no more; and the story of yore
Is heard in the streets like the echo of surf on a shore.
158
“But, my Lord!
O my drowning, my crucified Lord!
That this torrent of devils abhorred
Should dishonor the shrine of Thy grave!
What is gold, what is art, what is fame
In the curse of this shame to Thy name?
With Thy summons to save
I could rush through the world like a breath of avenging flame;
I would dare the vile monsters of seas where a ship never strayed;
I would carve me a way through the void with my blood on my blade
In the stress of that blesséd crusade!
O my drowning, my crucified Lord!
That this torrent of devils abhorred
Should dishonor the shrine of Thy grave!
What is gold, what is art, what is fame
In the curse of this shame to Thy name?
With Thy summons to save
I could rush through the world like a breath of avenging flame;
I would dare the vile monsters of seas where a ship never strayed;
I would carve me a way through the void with my blood on my blade
In the stress of that blesséd crusade!
“But, behold!
There is need of the gold
To bid for the charter of kings, and to mellow the hearts of the cold.—
Through the sea! Through the paths of the sea!—
And hath He not beckoned me on to a mission untold?—
Through the sea to the West!—Can it be?—
Through the West to the East!—O my God, through the darkness to Thee!
Where the roofs are ablaze with the wealth Thou hast stored for my fee!
Where even the Khan in his tents shall hail me with bend of the knee!
And the rays of the midnight sun behold like a pageant unrolled
Where the curtains of time are upfurled o'er the stage of a unified world!
There is need of the gold
To bid for the charter of kings, and to mellow the hearts of the cold.—
Through the sea! Through the paths of the sea!—
And hath He not beckoned me on to a mission untold?—
Through the sea to the West!—Can it be?—
Through the West to the East!—O my God, through the darkness to Thee!
Where the roofs are ablaze with the wealth Thou hast stored for my fee!
Where even the Khan in his tents shall hail me with bend of the knee!
159
Where the curtains of time are upfurled o'er the stage of a unified world!
“O themes of my passionate dreams, expand in the gleams
Of these glorified visions that whirl like a cloud in a pearl,
Where thought follows thought as a flame that shall swirl from a flame,
As a prophecy written on time, as a burning star for an aim,
Thy Star of the East that hath shot from the tomb of the past,
And pierced like a lance through the bar of the ocean far,
And sent me my faith like a star in the dome of the future vast!—
[OMITTED]
“O, but how slow is time! How cold, how slow
My white-haired tides of effort ebb and flow!
How like a baffled mist I flutter to and fro!
With restless questionings
I chase the mocking phantoms of my kings.
With straining eye
I trace on endless maps the outlines of my misery.
What gain to me
To follow hollow-eyed the shifting contour of the sea?—
Not to the South
Where foam the heated tides from Niger's mouth
I 'd steer these foolish ships.—
My needle dips
Forever to the West where fancy slips
Down endless planetary slopes,
And in the bitter sea of disappointment gropes
The wreckage of my hopes.
Of these glorified visions that whirl like a cloud in a pearl,
Where thought follows thought as a flame that shall swirl from a flame,
As a prophecy written on time, as a burning star for an aim,
Thy Star of the East that hath shot from the tomb of the past,
And pierced like a lance through the bar of the ocean far,
And sent me my faith like a star in the dome of the future vast!—
[OMITTED]
“O, but how slow is time! How cold, how slow
My white-haired tides of effort ebb and flow!
How like a baffled mist I flutter to and fro!
With restless questionings
I chase the mocking phantoms of my kings.
With straining eye
I trace on endless maps the outlines of my misery.
What gain to me
To follow hollow-eyed the shifting contour of the sea?—
Not to the South
160
I 'd steer these foolish ships.—
My needle dips
Forever to the West where fancy slips
Down endless planetary slopes,
And in the bitter sea of disappointment gropes
The wreckage of my hopes.
“Yet once, when near the pole,
A strange aurora stole
Over the frosty darkness of my soul.
On Thule's strands
Where Hekla like a priestess lifts gray hands
Out of the crystal tent in which she stands,
A wondrous thing
I heard a poet sing
Of islands in the West where blooms perpetual Spring,
Where suns at midnight shine
O'er vales of golden vine,
And gods and heroes press the nectar of their wine.—
O for that liquid gold!—
But now the juicy body of my will grows old.
The vines and veins of hope run deathly cold.
I think the evening bell of my lost faith hath tolled.
A strange aurora stole
Over the frosty darkness of my soul.
On Thule's strands
Where Hekla like a priestess lifts gray hands
Out of the crystal tent in which she stands,
A wondrous thing
I heard a poet sing
Of islands in the West where blooms perpetual Spring,
Where suns at midnight shine
O'er vales of golden vine,
And gods and heroes press the nectar of their wine.—
O for that liquid gold!—
But now the juicy body of my will grows old.
The vines and veins of hope run deathly cold.
I think the evening bell of my lost faith hath tolled.
“Ah, toll, sweet bell!
Toll, toll
Forever as a balm to some excruciated soul;
Sweet bell, whose surges swell
Like dancing lights upon the waters of a stagnant dell,
Like visions of a saint in penitential cell!
Toll
Well
Where surges roll
In a dirge's knell!
Read as a creed from a scroll
The secrets thy sobbings tell!
Roll
To the uttermost steadfast pole
Of a Christian martyr's goal!
Swell
As the cold white mornings stole,
As the shivering sunlight fell
When the Christ was vainly mocked by the litanies of hell!
Bell
Toll,
Swell,
Roll,
It is well
For the soul!
Now high to the roof fling the spears of thy leaping spell!
Now low at the base of the tomb lay the fears and the years of our dole!—
“But, fierce as a river that scoffs at the bondage of chains,
And proud as the ghost of a cloud that rides over the plains,
I mock at thee, bells; at the shock of your insolent yells.
I crave no relief. Let me quaff to the full of my grief!
Let me clasp her and kiss her, my sorrow, and laugh at her sting!
Like a knife let her cut to my life! Let my parted lips cling
To the darling keen edge of the sword of Despair, and be wrapped in her hair!—
Toll, toll
161
Sweet bell, whose surges swell
Like dancing lights upon the waters of a stagnant dell,
Like visions of a saint in penitential cell!
Toll
Well
Where surges roll
In a dirge's knell!
Read as a creed from a scroll
The secrets thy sobbings tell!
Roll
To the uttermost steadfast pole
Of a Christian martyr's goal!
Swell
As the cold white mornings stole,
As the shivering sunlight fell
When the Christ was vainly mocked by the litanies of hell!
Bell
Toll,
Swell,
Roll,
It is well
For the soul!
Now high to the roof fling the spears of thy leaping spell!
Now low at the base of the tomb lay the fears and the years of our dole!—
162
And proud as the ghost of a cloud that rides over the plains,
I mock at thee, bells; at the shock of your insolent yells.
I crave no relief. Let me quaff to the full of my grief!
Let me clasp her and kiss her, my sorrow, and laugh at her sting!
Like a knife let her cut to my life! Let my parted lips cling
To the darling keen edge of the sword of Despair, and be wrapped in her hair!—
“O bell, like a passionate prayer, like a star from eclipse,
Like the dancing of lights in the misty white marsh of a dell,
Toll, toll, sweet bell, and roll
O'er the peace of the world, as a liquid diamond slips
Down cool green leaves to the blood of these foaming lips!
Read as a screed from a scroll
The secrets thy throbbings tell,
Like a sobbing saint in his cell;
Shell within shell inrolled, like a sin untold
By a penitent maid in the fear of a master's ear!—
Lips for the knife, though it cut to the heart of my life!—
Faith that hath kissed the sweet strife like the tears of a star through the mist!
“O Faith! Faith! Faith! O thou soul which art freed from a wrath!
Though the body lie cold, and the bells of thy dirge be tolled,
Upspringing, outwinging, with a joy like a skylark singing;
Spurning the mourning, the scourge of calamity scorning,
Hearing but wedding-bells ringing, and burning with light of the morning,
Breathing sweet perfumes of blossoms that cross on the meekness of bosoms,
Proud as the prance of a steed that rides over a cloud!
I cling like a waif of the sea to the skirt of thy shroud,
Like a sailor a-sea in the surf to a rock that is browed
By the sad white smile of a dove as she flies to her love;—
Like a dove as she flies to the breast of her God in the skies;
Like a love as it lies in the depths of two beautiful eyes:—
To my Faith let me rise! Let me leap to the star of my prize!—
On this altar of light where the tapers are burning all night,
And the pillars of shades lie about in the dark colonnades,
Where the sense with sweet savor is dim, and the silence lies pure like a hymn,
I shall vow to Thee, bountiful Christ, like a prince of the blood I shall shower
The wealth of the world on Thy tomb, and the bloom of my strength for Thy dower!
Like the dancing of lights in the misty white marsh of a dell,
Toll, toll, sweet bell, and roll
O'er the peace of the world, as a liquid diamond slips
Down cool green leaves to the blood of these foaming lips!
Read as a screed from a scroll
The secrets thy throbbings tell,
Like a sobbing saint in his cell;
Shell within shell inrolled, like a sin untold
By a penitent maid in the fear of a master's ear!—
Lips for the knife, though it cut to the heart of my life!—
Faith that hath kissed the sweet strife like the tears of a star through the mist!
163
Though the body lie cold, and the bells of thy dirge be tolled,
Upspringing, outwinging, with a joy like a skylark singing;
Spurning the mourning, the scourge of calamity scorning,
Hearing but wedding-bells ringing, and burning with light of the morning,
Breathing sweet perfumes of blossoms that cross on the meekness of bosoms,
Proud as the prance of a steed that rides over a cloud!
I cling like a waif of the sea to the skirt of thy shroud,
Like a sailor a-sea in the surf to a rock that is browed
By the sad white smile of a dove as she flies to her love;—
Like a dove as she flies to the breast of her God in the skies;
Like a love as it lies in the depths of two beautiful eyes:—
To my Faith let me rise! Let me leap to the star of my prize!—
On this altar of light where the tapers are burning all night,
And the pillars of shades lie about in the dark colonnades,
Where the sense with sweet savor is dim, and the silence lies pure like a hymn,
164
The wealth of the world on Thy tomb, and the bloom of my strength for Thy dower!
“O Faith, my soul is swept in thy whirling clasp,
And twined with the spiral flame of a distant bell
Into some vast new plane of pure white thought. I grasp
Earth's crystal secrets, crowns of thorns in many a martyr's cell.
And naked facts, like startled souls at the trump of doom,
Leaving their body of tangled lies in the tomb,
Gaze at me earnestly face to face
In this far cool focus of space.
Suns turn, and spurn, and burn
Like sacred jewels each set in a silver urn.
Stars whirl and swirl
In their pathway of diamond-powdered pearl;
Each planet lifting her dainty aural robes
From the trailing dust of the globes
With the swift wide-skirted swing of a joyful dancing girl.
Across blue oceans of Nothing
Currents of pale magnetic rivers are seething and frothing;
Thought, like a soul-spun gauze
Of cometary laws,
Weaving eternal bands,
As the flush on the cheek of the cold North maid expands,
Without hurry or pause.
And cool, and far,
And still,
Seated like Fate in a fixed gold car,
Somewhere in the nebulous wake of the polar star,
With His little finger that pulls as a primal will
God sweeps the orderly skeins
Of the cobweb reins
That hold the worlds in the netted leash of inexorable chains;—
And every wingéd mote like a needle speeds to those silent lanes.
And twined with the spiral flame of a distant bell
Into some vast new plane of pure white thought. I grasp
Earth's crystal secrets, crowns of thorns in many a martyr's cell.
And naked facts, like startled souls at the trump of doom,
Leaving their body of tangled lies in the tomb,
Gaze at me earnestly face to face
In this far cool focus of space.
Suns turn, and spurn, and burn
Like sacred jewels each set in a silver urn.
Stars whirl and swirl
In their pathway of diamond-powdered pearl;
Each planet lifting her dainty aural robes
From the trailing dust of the globes
With the swift wide-skirted swing of a joyful dancing girl.
Across blue oceans of Nothing
Currents of pale magnetic rivers are seething and frothing;
Thought, like a soul-spun gauze
Of cometary laws,
165
As the flush on the cheek of the cold North maid expands,
Without hurry or pause.
And cool, and far,
And still,
Seated like Fate in a fixed gold car,
Somewhere in the nebulous wake of the polar star,
With His little finger that pulls as a primal will
God sweeps the orderly skeins
Of the cobweb reins
That hold the worlds in the netted leash of inexorable chains;—
And every wingéd mote like a needle speeds to those silent lanes.
“And Earth,
Dear, sweet, round, hornéd cup of the waxing Earth,
Blessed as the focal choice of the Christ for birth,
An open book thou art spread;
Each deed of thine a potent prophecy writ large in red;
Each second a seed of infinite fruit or weed that shall spread and spread;
Each soul a trickling dainty theme self-sung on a timid reed,
Until the heart-burst of its melody is freed
Into the wild chromatic rush of a symphony overhead!
And thou, dark slippery slope of a sea unstable
That would, if it could, obliterate
The encausted record-stroke of Fate;
Thou foolish flirt, whom the strong true core of this ball holds firm
To the bed of an endless hymeneal term,
The numbered arcs of thy bond are graven as if on a silver table!
Dear, sweet, round, hornéd cup of the waxing Earth,
Blessed as the focal choice of the Christ for birth,
An open book thou art spread;
Each deed of thine a potent prophecy writ large in red;
Each second a seed of infinite fruit or weed that shall spread and spread;
Each soul a trickling dainty theme self-sung on a timid reed,
Until the heart-burst of its melody is freed
Into the wild chromatic rush of a symphony overhead!
And thou, dark slippery slope of a sea unstable
That would, if it could, obliterate
The encausted record-stroke of Fate;
166
To the bed of an endless hymeneal term,
The numbered arcs of thy bond are graven as if on a silver table!
“O Christ, how every dotted island teems
With the potent agonizing bliss of Thy dying dreams!
All far-blown faces, and races, and spaces
Are merged like drops in the omnipresent sea of Thy luminous graces:—
Dwarfed Ethiopians who dare the furnace of sand-choked wind,
And dark soft-spoken ruby-merchants from the templed rivers of Ind,
And moon-bosomed languid Arabian girls that sigh for a kiss as they play
In broken notes like a sob on the zither at close of day,
And yellow fur-clad gentlemen that hawk with the tented Khan,
Or in fish-scale armor covetous scan
The blue of the rifted sea that hides the gold-towered roofs of Japan;—
All these,
And as many more as the shrunken earth may please,
Thine anointed Admiral shall seize,
And lead to the tomb-throned capital of Thy Monarchy of Man!
“O pray, pray, pray,
Thou sobbing cathedral bell with thy tones of earth's sombre gray,
Now shot with the throbbing of bursting stars, now dark with the doom of dismay!
I kneel in the gloom of the flickering wax, and the saints on the altars sway;
And the shadows creep with the promise of sleep.—But thy clarion cries ‘Away!’
I leap to my feet with a sword in thy beat; and the cold white kiss of the day
Slips in through a door like a ghost on the floor.—The friars are coming to pray.
O pray, pray, pray,
Dear peaceful golden souls enwrapped in the hood of earth's sombre gray,
Whose tidal dreams of bridal themes breathe love in a fleshless ray!
My passion blends with God's pure ends,
Where prayer like a folded air ascends.
With the potent agonizing bliss of Thy dying dreams!
All far-blown faces, and races, and spaces
Are merged like drops in the omnipresent sea of Thy luminous graces:—
Dwarfed Ethiopians who dare the furnace of sand-choked wind,
And dark soft-spoken ruby-merchants from the templed rivers of Ind,
And moon-bosomed languid Arabian girls that sigh for a kiss as they play
In broken notes like a sob on the zither at close of day,
And yellow fur-clad gentlemen that hawk with the tented Khan,
Or in fish-scale armor covetous scan
The blue of the rifted sea that hides the gold-towered roofs of Japan;—
All these,
And as many more as the shrunken earth may please,
Thine anointed Admiral shall seize,
And lead to the tomb-throned capital of Thy Monarchy of Man!
167
Thou sobbing cathedral bell with thy tones of earth's sombre gray,
Now shot with the throbbing of bursting stars, now dark with the doom of dismay!
I kneel in the gloom of the flickering wax, and the saints on the altars sway;
And the shadows creep with the promise of sleep.—But thy clarion cries ‘Away!’
I leap to my feet with a sword in thy beat; and the cold white kiss of the day
Slips in through a door like a ghost on the floor.—The friars are coming to pray.
O pray, pray, pray,
Dear peaceful golden souls enwrapped in the hood of earth's sombre gray,
Whose tidal dreams of bridal themes breathe love in a fleshless ray!
My passion blends with God's pure ends,
Where prayer like a folded air ascends.
“Peace, infinite, deep,
Lies in the arms of Resignation, like a babe asleep.
'T is not these earthly prayers alone.
I hear sweet choirs who hymn pure bliss at the foot of the throne.”
O glorious themes of their faith like the crimson of lotus blossoms!
O pure white petals of folded hands on the crystal mirrors of bosoms!
O priceless pearls from their lips! O flames from their finger-tips!
Roll over the face of his soul as a diamond tear-drop slips:—
Prayer within prayer unrolled, as the word God told
Of eternal love in the dear sweet shell of the Virgin's ear!
Roll into the peace of the world, as the soft gray dawn that stole
Round the crucified Saviour's head, and sang as an Easter aureole,
When the faces of angels came, and smiled, and kissed the pang from His soul!
Lies in the arms of Resignation, like a babe asleep.
'T is not these earthly prayers alone.
I hear sweet choirs who hymn pure bliss at the foot of the throne.”
168
O pure white petals of folded hands on the crystal mirrors of bosoms!
O priceless pearls from their lips! O flames from their finger-tips!
Roll over the face of his soul as a diamond tear-drop slips:—
Prayer within prayer unrolled, as the word God told
Of eternal love in the dear sweet shell of the Virgin's ear!
Roll into the peace of the world, as the soft gray dawn that stole
Round the crucified Saviour's head, and sang as an Easter aureole,
When the faces of angels came, and smiled, and kissed the pang from His soul!
169
THIRD MOVEMENT. Wedding Music.
If in melody
Pure truth were spoken,
If on harps of glee
All dark-eyed falling rays to shimmering stars were broken,
Then were things
Flames with wings
Lightly in one another floating, as a skylark sings.
Yes, each ripe morn
Blown from a silver horn
Would wreathe itself in harmony of love for souls new born;
Each heart-drop sorrow-drawn
Would melt
As crystal flute-notes felt
In pulse of dove-like flight o'er buoyant symphonies of dawn.
Pure truth were spoken,
If on harps of glee
All dark-eyed falling rays to shimmering stars were broken,
Then were things
Flames with wings
Lightly in one another floating, as a skylark sings.
Yes, each ripe morn
Blown from a silver horn
Would wreathe itself in harmony of love for souls new born;
Each heart-drop sorrow-drawn
Would melt
As crystal flute-notes felt
In pulse of dove-like flight o'er buoyant symphonies of dawn.
So star-browed angels fly
On wings of echoing notes
To some far Alpine call of a hero's horn that floats
Down blue-lit corridors of sky;
Fly in wide sympathetic rings, and pause, and hark
To the new-strung chorded rim of the ocean's arc
Where three white ships like breathless swallows are skimming by.
On wings of echoing notes
To some far Alpine call of a hero's horn that floats
Down blue-lit corridors of sky;
170
To the new-strung chorded rim of the ocean's arc
Where three white ships like breathless swallows are skimming by.
As when moons
Through flooded heaven
Trail trumpet-petalled tunes
In silver tendrils o'er the diamond trellis of the astral seven,
So this flight
Of a tragic night
Flashes a radiant message to the farthest nebulæ of light;—
Yea, unseen spheres
Sweeps in its song of years
For crested choral hosts aflame with their organ-pipes of spears,
Spears of auroral rose
That quiver
Like sunsets on a river,
Or the crimson-hearted song that bursts when a lotus blossom blows.
Through flooded heaven
Trail trumpet-petalled tunes
In silver tendrils o'er the diamond trellis of the astral seven,
So this flight
Of a tragic night
Flashes a radiant message to the farthest nebulæ of light;—
Yea, unseen spheres
Sweeps in its song of years
For crested choral hosts aflame with their organ-pipes of spears,
Spears of auroral rose
That quiver
Like sunsets on a river,
Or the crimson-hearted song that bursts when a lotus blossom blows.
O listening silver sphere,
What do you hear
When the round blue shell of the universe is curled at your ear?
What have the comets done
To the lips of the sun?
What whispers
Of penitent meek lispers
Steal to your far confessional like the sigh of a dove-eyed nun?
What do you hear
When the round blue shell of the universe is curled at your ear?
171
To the lips of the sun?
What whispers
Of penitent meek lispers
Steal to your far confessional like the sigh of a dove-eyed nun?
Low bells
Now twinkle through the sky like stars from dimpled wells.
Fair white-winged maidens stand
Who fling the trailing gauze of their torches wide
O'er the delicate fern-like limbs of a virgin land,
Of an innocent dreaming bride.
O, unkissed cheek of a moon that the pillows of spaces hide!
O golden tresses of autumn leaves outspread!
O spicy breeze that sighs from a maiden heart,
They smile as they beckon a strange white prince to part
The foaming lace of thy bed.
Now twinkle through the sky like stars from dimpled wells.
Fair white-winged maidens stand
Who fling the trailing gauze of their torches wide
O'er the delicate fern-like limbs of a virgin land,
Of an innocent dreaming bride.
O, unkissed cheek of a moon that the pillows of spaces hide!
O golden tresses of autumn leaves outspread!
O spicy breeze that sighs from a maiden heart,
They smile as they beckon a strange white prince to part
The foaming lace of thy bed.
Dear patient bride of Time,
For thee the unborn planets dream they chime;
As Orphic melody
That floats upon an unsuspected harmony;
As a babe's eye uncloses
In wonder at a waving mystery of clustered roses;
As if sighs
Of sense first won in losing Paradise!
For thee the unborn planets dream they chime;
As Orphic melody
That floats upon an unsuspected harmony;
As a babe's eye uncloses
In wonder at a waving mystery of clustered roses;
172
Of sense first won in losing Paradise!
As if stars
With hearts were throbbing,
As if silver bars
In quivering minor melody of love were sobbing,
So the curve
Where white ships swerve
Sweeps with a tremulous moon-edged kiss to the lips of a naked nerve;
And startled miles
Dreaming of love's strange smiles
With a shiver twang the emerald harp of their thousand isles;—
And bridal torches burn
Like eyes
O'er jewelled lawns of skies
Where laughing angels dance as light as the tiptoe dew on a fern.
With hearts were throbbing,
As if silver bars
In quivering minor melody of love were sobbing,
So the curve
Where white ships swerve
Sweeps with a tremulous moon-edged kiss to the lips of a naked nerve;
And startled miles
Dreaming of love's strange smiles
With a shiver twang the emerald harp of their thousand isles;—
And bridal torches burn
Like eyes
O'er jewelled lawns of skies
Where laughing angels dance as light as the tiptoe dew on a fern.
O dance as light
As a fawn, sweet night!
And let the starlight bring
The echo of the melody you sing.
As a fawn, sweet night!
And let the starlight bring
The echo of the melody you sing.
The liquid metre
Of wind-swept pearl
Where cloud-nymphs bathe
In an upland tarn
Is clear as the ripple
Of nights that swathe
The rounded limbs
Of a white moon-girl.
Of wind-swept pearl
Where cloud-nymphs bathe
In an upland tarn
173
Of nights that swathe
The rounded limbs
Of a white moon-girl.
Sweet as the twitter
Of Pleiad swallows
That build gold nests
In the purple eaves,
The placid hours
With dove-like breasts
Their love are cooing
In dark cool hollows.
Of Pleiad swallows
That build gold nests
In the purple eaves,
The placid hours
With dove-like breasts
Their love are cooing
In dark cool hollows.
And nebulous milk
Of blue-veined skies
That feeds twin orbs
In the lap of dawn
Is pure as the fire
The soul absorbs
From the love-lit font
Of the virgin's eyes.
Of blue-veined skies
That feeds twin orbs
In the lap of dawn
Is pure as the fire
The soul absorbs
From the love-lit font
Of the virgin's eyes.
Ah, hero, drink thy fill
Of the fiery breath of God's will!
Upon thine ears
Converge
Through whispering galleries of the years
The murmurs of the surge
Where swooning lipless voices
Clamor for rebirth.
Like a waked god rejoices
This captain of yon caravel of earth.
He leaps upon the rainbow bridge of hope, and scans far seas
Through star-lensed mysteries.
No spirit realm
Is stranger to his helm.
The peal
Of his trumpet cry
Cuts like a keel
Upon Eternity.
Of the fiery breath of God's will!
Upon thine ears
Converge
Through whispering galleries of the years
The murmurs of the surge
174
Clamor for rebirth.
Like a waked god rejoices
This captain of yon caravel of earth.
He leaps upon the rainbow bridge of hope, and scans far seas
Through star-lensed mysteries.
No spirit realm
Is stranger to his helm.
The peal
Of his trumpet cry
Cuts like a keel
Upon Eternity.
Bring scarlet lilies
That wander breathless
O'er Martian meadows
In fluted fire!
And kneel in the hush
Of Lunar shadows;
And spin gold crowns
For a hero deathless!
That wander breathless
O'er Martian meadows
In fluted fire!
And kneel in the hush
Of Lunar shadows;
And spin gold crowns
For a hero deathless!
Where leaping shuttles
Of meteors pattern
The pale brocade
Of the astral film
Now tangle his hair
With diamond braid,
And twine his fingers
With rings of Saturn!
Of meteors pattern
The pale brocade
Of the astral film
Now tangle his hair
With diamond braid,
175
With rings of Saturn!
And soft as feathers
Of suns that hover
O'er milky waters
Where star-maids hide,
Now bare your bosoms,
Uranian daughters,
To pillow the brow
Of your sleeping lover!
Of suns that hover
O'er milky waters
Where star-maids hide,
Now bare your bosoms,
Uranian daughters,
To pillow the brow
Of your sleeping lover!
So shall we set him on a polar throne,
And lay his hand upon earth's loosened zone.—O bliss
Of a martyr's wedding-kiss!
Hath not each Christ who whispers down the years
Seen triumph blurred through halo-crowns of tears?
As if a truth-swept burning glass should melt
With the concentrated agony it felt?
O agony of tears, now blessed as wine!
Immortals drink thee with a sob divine.
And Bodhisattwa, clad with tainted flesh,
Crowned with the sting of blood-warm sins that mesh
Their diamond-hearted wills, o'ertop the world.
Like unseen germs in pulp of fruit-cells curled
Their thoughts swell rooted in the brains of kings.
The very heavens are stirring with their wings
Of rosy-hued idea. The Easts and Wests
Are held in their two hands; and on their breasts
Lie child-eyed prophecies of faiths and creeds;
And new-born worlds are twined like crystal symphonies of beads.
And lay his hand upon earth's loosened zone.—O bliss
Of a martyr's wedding-kiss!
Hath not each Christ who whispers down the years
Seen triumph blurred through halo-crowns of tears?
As if a truth-swept burning glass should melt
With the concentrated agony it felt?
O agony of tears, now blessed as wine!
Immortals drink thee with a sob divine.
And Bodhisattwa, clad with tainted flesh,
Crowned with the sting of blood-warm sins that mesh
Their diamond-hearted wills, o'ertop the world.
Like unseen germs in pulp of fruit-cells curled
Their thoughts swell rooted in the brains of kings.
The very heavens are stirring with their wings
Of rosy-hued idea. The Easts and Wests
176
Lie child-eyed prophecies of faiths and creeds;
And new-born worlds are twined like crystal symphonies of beads.
Ah, play on the sorted reeds
Of plaintive years that slip
Like yearning beads
Of deep unutterable prayer
From a holy lip!
And dance
O'er crystal slabs of air
As light as the gossamer trip
Of million-footed Chance!
Of plaintive years that slip
Like yearning beads
Of deep unutterable prayer
From a holy lip!
And dance
O'er crystal slabs of air
As light as the gossamer trip
Of million-footed Chance!
Come, play on the flutes
Of tempered eons!
Come, dance on the pebbles
Of time-worn suns!
Let young moons pipe
With their silver trebles!
Let comets prance
To the earth's proud pæans!
Of tempered eons!
Come, dance on the pebbles
Of time-worn suns!
Let young moons pipe
With their silver trebles!
Let comets prance
To the earth's proud pæans!
Shoot hymns of lightning,
O maids with torches,
Through unploughed tracks
Where the planets race!
Bow down, ye Lords
Of the Zodiacs,
While thunder rolls
Through your pillared porches!
O maids with torches,
Through unploughed tracks
Where the planets race!
177
Of the Zodiacs,
While thunder rolls
Through your pillared porches!
To the silken tent
The bridegroom flashes
As a star-kiss throbs
In the earth's warm breath.
Now close it with curtains
Of silver sobs;
And pin it with diamonds
That slip from your lashes!—
The bridegroom flashes
As a star-kiss throbs
In the earth's warm breath.
Now close it with curtains
Of silver sobs;
And pin it with diamonds
That slip from your lashes!—
O sweet veiled virgin land that lies like a leaf
In the cup of the seas, in the lap of the drifting skies,
Drink softly thy draught of dreams, for the night is brief,
For the cool still touch of the morn on thy shoulder lies!
Lay bare the bud-like founts of thy bridal grief!
Like a widowed nun with tears thou shalt wash the pearls of thine eyes.
In the cup of the seas, in the lap of the drifting skies,
Drink softly thy draught of dreams, for the night is brief,
For the cool still touch of the morn on thy shoulder lies!
Lay bare the bud-like founts of thy bridal grief!
Like a widowed nun with tears thou shalt wash the pearls of thine eyes.
As a tragedy leaps from its germ of deed, when a star
Is born of the clash of suns in a fate-swept path,
So souls like steeds are spurred by the gilded car
To the plunging doom of their death, or in foaming wrath
Are whirled by the charioteer in a circle far
Down haggard face-browed lanes of a hero's aftermath.—
Is born of the clash of suns in a fate-swept path,
So souls like steeds are spurred by the gilded car
178
Are whirled by the charioteer in a circle far
Down haggard face-browed lanes of a hero's aftermath.—
Must the liquid metre break
On a storm-swept lake?
And mar with its wailing bitter
The Pleiads' placid twitter?
Shall not the hero's diamond-hearted will
O'ertop all ill?
Then let the piping eons
Dance to the earth's proud pæans!
For if in trailing tunes
Heaven shall vibrate to the pang of new-born moons,
If discord only strengthens
The Titan-hearted harmony it lengthens,
Shall not these blood-notes quiver
As if a million ruby blossoms floated on a tranquil river?
On a storm-swept lake?
And mar with its wailing bitter
The Pleiads' placid twitter?
Shall not the hero's diamond-hearted will
O'ertop all ill?
Then let the piping eons
Dance to the earth's proud pæans!
For if in trailing tunes
Heaven shall vibrate to the pang of new-born moons,
If discord only strengthens
The Titan-hearted harmony it lengthens,
Shall not these blood-notes quiver
As if a million ruby blossoms floated on a tranquil river?
As if some new melodic sense
Were born of senses;
As if the sun-burst of omniscience
Were shot from the seven-hued ray that a crystal soul condenses;
So an immortal ear
The pure white truth shall hear
As if it filtered through a soundless, formless, stainless atmosphere.
How can it race
O'er broken strings of place,
For everywhere is omnipresent in one burning focal point of space?
How can it rhyme
O'er rhythmic lapse of time,
For God hath swept etherial pulses into one limpid lake of love sublime?
As bubbling springs where tear-eyed nymphs have rule,
The soul wells up with insight clear and cool.
Each diamond-hearted brother
Shoots rays into another;
And all things lie about on one another's breast like lotus petals in a pool.
Were born of senses;
As if the sun-burst of omniscience
Were shot from the seven-hued ray that a crystal soul condenses;
So an immortal ear
The pure white truth shall hear
179
How can it race
O'er broken strings of place,
For everywhere is omnipresent in one burning focal point of space?
How can it rhyme
O'er rhythmic lapse of time,
For God hath swept etherial pulses into one limpid lake of love sublime?
As bubbling springs where tear-eyed nymphs have rule,
The soul wells up with insight clear and cool.
Each diamond-hearted brother
Shoots rays into another;
And all things lie about on one another's breast like lotus petals in a pool.
So the pure motive of the bridegroom speeds
As if an opal bird had dropped to an emerald nest of reeds.
As if an opal bird had dropped to an emerald nest of reeds.
But what if he bear the sting
Of a mortal thing,
And bind with the silken chain of a self the bride's unconscious wing?
What if he stain with a tear the virgin lace of her bed?—
Ah, Psyche, thy bed is the vast white ocean of human suffering;
And his the awful kiss of a soul with its own true freedom wed!
Of a mortal thing,
And bind with the silken chain of a self the bride's unconscious wing?
What if he stain with a tear the virgin lace of her bed?—
180
And his the awful kiss of a soul with its own true freedom wed!
When out of the calm cool gray of the primal night
God's thoughts, breathed light,
Like clouds on the pearly wing of the morning flew,
No sense-refracted ray,
No tear-stained dream of a separate self they knew.
Like babes they lay,
Or folded petals asleep in the soft white arms of a dew.
God's thoughts, breathed light,
Like clouds on the pearly wing of the morning flew,
No sense-refracted ray,
No tear-stained dream of a separate self they knew.
Like babes they lay,
Or folded petals asleep in the soft white arms of a dew.
As tender flocks of tune
Carol upon symphonic interludes of glee;
As if a single dimpled moon
Showered a million diamond kisses on the crescents of the sea;
So in a nesting mood
Shall selfless spirits brood,
Cooing to one another in the ecstasy of dove-like brotherhood.
To stand upon the brink!
In crystal depths to sink
Where saints in clear community of purpose think!
Not as a mere drop lost;
But as a new note tossed
Into the overwhelming organ-floods of Pentecost!
O white baptismal font of impersonal fire!
We dip in thee
Our helpless naked individuality,
And fling our separate beaded wills like pearls on a funeral pyre!
Carol upon symphonic interludes of glee;
As if a single dimpled moon
Showered a million diamond kisses on the crescents of the sea;
So in a nesting mood
Shall selfless spirits brood,
Cooing to one another in the ecstasy of dove-like brotherhood.
To stand upon the brink!
In crystal depths to sink
Where saints in clear community of purpose think!
Not as a mere drop lost;
But as a new note tossed
Into the overwhelming organ-floods of Pentecost!
181
We dip in thee
Our helpless naked individuality,
And fling our separate beaded wills like pearls on a funeral pyre!
He who seeks
Shall find;—
Whether on mountain peaks,
Or in the desert wind;
Whether with white dumb hands he shrieks
To the future deaf and blind;
Whether on wasted knee bespeaks
The lonely God of his mind.
Shall find;—
Whether on mountain peaks,
Or in the desert wind;
Whether with white dumb hands he shrieks
To the future deaf and blind;
Whether on wasted knee bespeaks
The lonely God of his mind.
But where shall the soul aghast
Woo its true self in fierce immortal agony of passion?
Upon what deserts of the haggard crowd, in what gray garb of penitential fashion
Shall it invoke the purity of its long-forgotten past?
Woo its true self in fierce immortal agony of passion?
Upon what deserts of the haggard crowd, in what gray garb of penitential fashion
Shall it invoke the purity of its long-forgotten past?
Bathed in the sweet virginity
Of this young land that rises like a shell-nymph from the sea
Behold, O man, the perfect crisis of thy opportunity!
By bitter balm of conflict purified,
Alone shalt thou be worthy of thy starry bride.
Not as the lawless denizen of Greed;
But as the loving citizen self-freed
Pouring his life-stream into the ocean of the common need.
O fertile prophecies that laugh on a wedding morn!
O dispensation newly born!
For thee the systems waited, for thee the planets floated
Like smoke-wreaths ruby-noted
From the molten core of Time outblown through the lips of his silver horn.
Of this young land that rises like a shell-nymph from the sea
Behold, O man, the perfect crisis of thy opportunity!
By bitter balm of conflict purified,
Alone shalt thou be worthy of thy starry bride.
182
But as the loving citizen self-freed
Pouring his life-stream into the ocean of the common need.
O fertile prophecies that laugh on a wedding morn!
O dispensation newly born!
For thee the systems waited, for thee the planets floated
Like smoke-wreaths ruby-noted
From the molten core of Time outblown through the lips of his silver horn.
If on wing of melody
The past reborn came flying;
If in burst of prophecy
The future sang its heart out in one note, like a skylark dying;
And if the sweet-lipped themes
Of these twin sister streams
Were pressed into the single rosy petal of an angel's dreams;—
Then the whole fronded world
Into this downy seedling moment furled
Would sing to itself, like God before one gossamer thought uncurled.
So, night without a parallel,
Sing on, sing well,
As with the bursting heart of Nature prisoned in thy sapphire shell!
As if the very blisses of the bride
Were charged with all the motherhood of ages to be crucified!
As if the bridegroom heard
The pinion of a Dove
Whirring amid the boundless transports of his love,
And brooding with the very impregnation of the Primal Word!
The past reborn came flying;
If in burst of prophecy
The future sang its heart out in one note, like a skylark dying;
And if the sweet-lipped themes
Of these twin sister streams
Were pressed into the single rosy petal of an angel's dreams;—
Then the whole fronded world
Into this downy seedling moment furled
Would sing to itself, like God before one gossamer thought uncurled.
So, night without a parallel,
Sing on, sing well,
As with the bursting heart of Nature prisoned in thy sapphire shell!
183
Were charged with all the motherhood of ages to be crucified!
As if the bridegroom heard
The pinion of a Dove
Whirring amid the boundless transports of his love,
And brooding with the very impregnation of the Primal Word!
O bridal night
Veiled in thy spirit robe of white!
O panting wave
Of sea-green goddess in a glassy cave!
O sky atune!
O perfect-breasted moon
Cold with the splendor of a marble slave!
O braided stars upon the brow of Dawn!
And Pleiads' nests
Under the purple Wests!
And dove-eyed Lyra brooding on the lawn!
And thy keen sword, Orion!
And thou, O sun-tamed Lion!
And thou, again, great polar heart
That pinn'st the wingéd universe's spiral chart!—
All ye, and millions more
That teem in violet life upon the farthest astral shore!
Whirr up in one transcendent blast of wings;
And fill the jasmine melody that swings
From the pale yellow of magnetic stems,
And flings the cup-like magic of its hems
O'er the soft naked wilderness of things!—
Now in one last ecstatic canticle, ye moments, blend,
That mote-like rush upon the flaming end;
One perfect note of wedding bells to rise and sink
Upon the drum-like brink
Of steel-blue corded hemispheres,
Where now the mortal signal of the years
Is sounded for the fainting, dying world in elegies of tears!
Veiled in thy spirit robe of white!
O panting wave
Of sea-green goddess in a glassy cave!
O sky atune!
O perfect-breasted moon
Cold with the splendor of a marble slave!
O braided stars upon the brow of Dawn!
And Pleiads' nests
Under the purple Wests!
And dove-eyed Lyra brooding on the lawn!
And thy keen sword, Orion!
And thou, O sun-tamed Lion!
And thou, again, great polar heart
That pinn'st the wingéd universe's spiral chart!—
All ye, and millions more
That teem in violet life upon the farthest astral shore!
Whirr up in one transcendent blast of wings;
And fill the jasmine melody that swings
184
And flings the cup-like magic of its hems
O'er the soft naked wilderness of things!—
Now in one last ecstatic canticle, ye moments, blend,
That mote-like rush upon the flaming end;
One perfect note of wedding bells to rise and sink
Upon the drum-like brink
Of steel-blue corded hemispheres,
Where now the mortal signal of the years
Is sounded for the fainting, dying world in elegies of tears!
185
FOURTH MOVEMENT. Triumph.
Hark! From afar elemental voices prophesying!
Hist! 'T is the tune of the sirens of the deep!
Mark where yon star to an altar-flame is magnifying!
List to the moon like a sibyl in her sleep!
Hark through the mist,
List
For a shiver like a wind upon a glassy river!
List through the dark,
Hark
For a rattle like the omen of a coming battle!
Mark
Where the spark
Of a trumpet like a lark
Cuts against the dawny flashing of the dark!
List
While the murmur of the mist
Dies away;—
Dies away in the sobbing of the spray,
Of the spray of silver falling on a pool of amethyst!
Who waits
With calm white bosom veiled beyond the gates,
Where long cool chords of braided sleep
Trail with their stifled dooms upon the deep?
A breathless hush of wonder
Listens for avalanches of the muffled thunder.
Some blood-stained conqueror kneels awhile to weep.
Hist! 'T is the tune of the sirens of the deep!
Mark where yon star to an altar-flame is magnifying!
List to the moon like a sibyl in her sleep!
Hark through the mist,
List
For a shiver like a wind upon a glassy river!
List through the dark,
Hark
For a rattle like the omen of a coming battle!
Mark
Where the spark
Of a trumpet like a lark
Cuts against the dawny flashing of the dark!
List
While the murmur of the mist
Dies away;—
Dies away in the sobbing of the spray,
Of the spray of silver falling on a pool of amethyst!
186
With calm white bosom veiled beyond the gates,
Where long cool chords of braided sleep
Trail with their stifled dooms upon the deep?
A breathless hush of wonder
Listens for avalanches of the muffled thunder.
Some blood-stained conqueror kneels awhile to weep.
“Sleep, midnight pure.
I hang this harp, my heart, within the spiral void of thy delay.
The ministrel of the dawn is sure.
'T is sweet to pray.
How often have I prayed the night away,
Slipping on keels of eager glances into the silent onset of the gray!
I hang this harp, my heart, within the spiral void of thy delay.
The ministrel of the dawn is sure.
'T is sweet to pray.
How often have I prayed the night away,
Slipping on keels of eager glances into the silent onset of the gray!
“How calm to velvet lips the moonlight nestles,
As if a Lilliputian fleet of silver vessels
Were spreading nautilus sails to mermaids' breath!
How the hushed drowsy zephyr dreams, and listens
To catch the beaded sleep that on the fringe of midnight glistens!
And the whole sea is pulseless with the poppy-ecstasy of death!—
As if a Lilliputian fleet of silver vessels
Were spreading nautilus sails to mermaids' breath!
How the hushed drowsy zephyr dreams, and listens
To catch the beaded sleep that on the fringe of midnight glistens!
And the whole sea is pulseless with the poppy-ecstasy of death!—
“But what is it glares and swirls with a trumpet-clarion plume from the helmeted vortex of space?”
“Naught but the breaking moon on the mast!”
“A blinding golden Christ out-burst like a furnace-bloom from the womb of yon rifted place!
Didst thou not see?”
“Only the swerve of a prow that ploughs to the furrowy edge of the vast;
A shadow that wings to the lee!”
187
“A blinding golden Christ out-burst like a furnace-bloom from the womb of yon rifted place!
Didst thou not see?”
“Only the swerve of a prow that ploughs to the furrowy edge of the vast;
A shadow that wings to the lee!”
Hark! From afar elemental whispers penetrating!
Hist! 'T is the croon of the yearning of the sea!
Mark where yon star with a diamond kiss is scintillating!
List to the moon like a mermaid in the lee!
Hist! 'T is the croon of the yearning of the sea!
Mark where yon star with a diamond kiss is scintillating!
List to the moon like a mermaid in the lee!
“O wild suspense!
O spasm of ecstasy intense!
O agonizing moment like a knife!
Was it the mortal steel-keen edge of an earthly light?
Was it?—I'd give my life
Did it not curse with the mocking glare of a hell-born sprite!”
“Nay; it could be but the blade-like hair of the moon out-streaming.”
“O cruel, cruel dreaming!
O spasm of ecstasy intense!
O agonizing moment like a knife!
Was it the mortal steel-keen edge of an earthly light?
Was it?—I'd give my life
Did it not curse with the mocking glare of a hell-born sprite!”
“Nay; it could be but the blade-like hair of the moon out-streaming.”
“O cruel, cruel dreaming!
“'T is now the very breathless dead of the night.
The moon hath set in the track
Of a wingéd goblin black.
The breeze is light.
No sound to trouble
The ear, but a silver bubble,
A rounded hope that breaks
In hollow aches!—
The moon hath set in the track
Of a wingéd goblin black.
188
No sound to trouble
The ear, but a silver bubble,
A rounded hope that breaks
In hollow aches!—
“But what is it puffs like a swift pale passionate lip in the half-furled sail on the great cross-tree?”
Hark! 'T is the prayer of an altar-flame afloat!
“O Christ-like voice of a Judgment lightning-bell that shook wild orbs from the heart of the sea!”
“'T is a star!”—“'T is a light afloat like a tossing boat!
It flickers as fire-flies weave their ominous golden gleams with the braided grasses!”—
“Steady!—It glimmers!—It passes
As if like a luminous snake it glided through trees that shrank on a distant shore!”—
“Blank heaven! 'T is drowned once more!—
Again it lives!—It swims!—It swerves like a lantern that waves on a strand!—
O bursting prophecy of the ages grand!
It thrills to my soul! It throbs like a living flame in my hand!—
'T is land! 'T is land!—
Hark! 'T is the prayer of an altar-flame afloat!
“O Christ-like voice of a Judgment lightning-bell that shook wild orbs from the heart of the sea!”
“'T is a star!”—“'T is a light afloat like a tossing boat!
It flickers as fire-flies weave their ominous golden gleams with the braided grasses!”—
“Steady!—It glimmers!—It passes
As if like a luminous snake it glided through trees that shrank on a distant shore!”—
“Blank heaven! 'T is drowned once more!—
Again it lives!—It swims!—It swerves like a lantern that waves on a strand!—
O bursting prophecy of the ages grand!
It thrills to my soul! It throbs like a living flame in my hand!—
'T is land! 'T is land!—
“O star of salvation! O blessed exhalation!
O ecstasy boundless! O frenzy of forces!
'T is the flame of the land! Let its fierce exultation
Prance up through the blood like a legion of horses!
Come, leap from your slumber, ye argonauts splendid!
To your knees on the deck! On your wings to the shrouds!
Burn rockets of triumph for martyrdoms ended!
And waft your white prayers like a dove to the clouds!
O ecstasy boundless! O frenzy of forces!
189
Prance up through the blood like a legion of horses!
Come, leap from your slumber, ye argonauts splendid!
To your knees on the deck! On your wings to the shrouds!
Burn rockets of triumph for martyrdoms ended!
And waft your white prayers like a dove to the clouds!
“The heavens are melting;—they swoon in their gladness.
The womb of great Nature is bursting with blisses!
O helmsman, thou Anak, stand firm through thy madness!
O comrades, embrace me, I pant for your kisses!
Flash lights to the Niña! Shout horns to the Pinta!
O Martin Alonzo! immortals together
We have shared the cold scorn, we have dared the dark winter.
I crown thee, my brother, with stars of spring weather!
The womb of great Nature is bursting with blisses!
O helmsman, thou Anak, stand firm through thy madness!
O comrades, embrace me, I pant for your kisses!
Flash lights to the Niña! Shout horns to the Pinta!
O Martin Alonzo! immortals together
We have shared the cold scorn, we have dared the dark winter.
I crown thee, my brother, with stars of spring weather!
“The past is forgotten. A truce to all rancor!
I bless ye, dear children, who weep as ye kneel.—
Now leap to the windlass! Uncoil the great anchor!
Stanch hopes of the dawn, how ye throb through the keel!
Here are crowns for our toil! Here is balm for all doubting!
'T was the Virgin who flew with Her wings on our masts!
I hear the far blessing of cherubim shouting.
Let them shake the thin walls of the sky with their blasts!”
I bless ye, dear children, who weep as ye kneel.—
Now leap to the windlass! Uncoil the great anchor!
Stanch hopes of the dawn, how ye throb through the keel!
190
'T was the Virgin who flew with Her wings on our masts!
I hear the far blessing of cherubim shouting.
Let them shake the thin walls of the sky with their blasts!”
O blast of disruption triumphant! O wail of the travail of ages!
O shudder and shamble of planets a-tremble with doom as it rumbles!
Cold dews of the new are upon thee; the curse of the blood of the sages!
The world splits apart with a crash, and the dome of the elements tumbles!
And onsets of steeded archangels have torn up the tents of old orders!
And pillars of nations dissolve in the breath of the rampant marauders!
And quakings have swallowed the sun! And the core of the universe crumbles!
O shudder and shamble of planets a-tremble with doom as it rumbles!
Cold dews of the new are upon thee; the curse of the blood of the sages!
The world splits apart with a crash, and the dome of the elements tumbles!
And onsets of steeded archangels have torn up the tents of old orders!
And pillars of nations dissolve in the breath of the rampant marauders!
And quakings have swallowed the sun! And the core of the universe crumbles!
And curses, like shrieks of a Dawn when typhoons from their ambush of Caliban lair
Have streaked a black clutch of demoniac claw through the pale shredded gold of her hair,
And, tearing pearl mantles to tatters, have snatched the nude pink of the manacled nymph,
And stifled the sobs of her swoon in the drowning sea-bloods of her own native lymph;—
So curses of dark swollen crisis outburst counter-blasts to the challenge of morn.
So pæans of triumph swept back in a curdled recoil through the jaws of her horn.
And impotent engines of time fanned the terrified air with recalcitrant wing,
Like daring black plumes of a crow crested back by the hurricane hails of a Spring.—
Till, shot from the uttermost angle of space, blazed the rocket-like star of the Master;
And legions of light through the infinite corn-fields of suns leaping faster and faster
Swept down through the shaft of the visible void with the crash of triumphant disaster!—
And though worlds lay in stratified wreck on the beaches of systems, and perilous sheens
Of the crystalline levels of sprays spurted o'er the thin hulls of these Spanish marines,
Yet the hymn of the purpose of God, pulsing bliss through their hearts like a balm, was as oil
On this turbulent tide of their fate, and set finger of calm on the lips of turmoil.—
And the black ruffled plumes of the morn settled back on her pearly soft neck all a-quiver.—
And something sailed out from the rim of the sea like the ghost of a swan on a river.—
O hark to the hiss of yon spark, as it cuts with a Damascene kiss to the dome of the dark!
O list to the treacherous tune of the sirens that swim to the mystical whim of the moon!
O wait at the gate of the gray!
O kneel as ye reel to the sibilant sobbing of spray!
O wait in the tryst of the cool amethyst for the recreant maiden of day!
But hark! 't is a horn!
But list to the chant of the dawn!
There is thrill, there is whisper of morn!
The unseen Conqueror whirls his skirmish of lancers afar on the lawn!
Have streaked a black clutch of demoniac claw through the pale shredded gold of her hair,
191
And stifled the sobs of her swoon in the drowning sea-bloods of her own native lymph;—
So curses of dark swollen crisis outburst counter-blasts to the challenge of morn.
So pæans of triumph swept back in a curdled recoil through the jaws of her horn.
And impotent engines of time fanned the terrified air with recalcitrant wing,
Like daring black plumes of a crow crested back by the hurricane hails of a Spring.—
Till, shot from the uttermost angle of space, blazed the rocket-like star of the Master;
And legions of light through the infinite corn-fields of suns leaping faster and faster
Swept down through the shaft of the visible void with the crash of triumphant disaster!—
And though worlds lay in stratified wreck on the beaches of systems, and perilous sheens
Of the crystalline levels of sprays spurted o'er the thin hulls of these Spanish marines,
Yet the hymn of the purpose of God, pulsing bliss through their hearts like a balm, was as oil
On this turbulent tide of their fate, and set finger of calm on the lips of turmoil.—
And the black ruffled plumes of the morn settled back on her pearly soft neck all a-quiver.—
And something sailed out from the rim of the sea like the ghost of a swan on a river.—
192
O list to the treacherous tune of the sirens that swim to the mystical whim of the moon!
O wait at the gate of the gray!
O kneel as ye reel to the sibilant sobbing of spray!
O wait in the tryst of the cool amethyst for the recreant maiden of day!
But hark! 't is a horn!
But list to the chant of the dawn!
There is thrill, there is whisper of morn!
The unseen Conqueror whirls his skirmish of lancers afar on the lawn!
Hark, from afar to the jubilee reverberating!
Hist! 'T is the tune of the dancers of the sky!
Mark where yon star like a pillared flame is coruscating!
List while the croon of the eons flutters by!
Pause as ye kneel,
Feel
For the fingers of a sympathetic past that lingers!
Kneel, and beseech,
Reach
For the tresses of a future's virginal caresses!
Reach
Till the passion of your speech
Dies away on far horizons like a tide upon a beach!
Kneel
With a sacrament's appeal
While the will of the Supreme
Lifts the planet-folded curtain from the secret of His dream;
Wakes the consecrated ages with the breaking of His seal!
Hist! 'T is the tune of the dancers of the sky!
Mark where yon star like a pillared flame is coruscating!
List while the croon of the eons flutters by!
Pause as ye kneel,
Feel
For the fingers of a sympathetic past that lingers!
Kneel, and beseech,
Reach
For the tresses of a future's virginal caresses!
Reach
Till the passion of your speech
Dies away on far horizons like a tide upon a beach!
Kneel
With a sacrament's appeal
193
Lifts the planet-folded curtain from the secret of His dream;
Wakes the consecrated ages with the breaking of His seal!
“O morning of glory! O wonderful story!
We shall see the gold roofs where the sunlight is gleaming!”—
List! 'T is the doom of an ominous delay!—
“Nay, flames of the land in their joy transitory
Shall melt in realities sweeter than dreaming.”—
Hark! 'T is the gloom of a wing upon the gray!—
“Vast temples like palms shall o'ertop the blue mountains.
Fair maidens shall kneel on the beeches like willows.”—
Hist! 'T is the spume of the sirens in the bay!—
“And sages like gods shall recline where cool fountains
Fling down their gold braids to the breasts of the billows.”—
Mark! 't is the plume of the demon of the spray!—
We shall see the gold roofs where the sunlight is gleaming!”—
List! 'T is the doom of an ominous delay!—
“Nay, flames of the land in their joy transitory
Shall melt in realities sweeter than dreaming.”—
Hark! 'T is the gloom of a wing upon the gray!—
“Vast temples like palms shall o'ertop the blue mountains.
Fair maidens shall kneel on the beeches like willows.”—
Hist! 'T is the spume of the sirens in the bay!—
“And sages like gods shall recline where cool fountains
Fling down their gold braids to the breasts of the billows.”—
Mark! 't is the plume of the demon of the spray!—
“O tense expectation!”
Now, heave once again with thy travail, vast womb of the Earth!
“O dawn of salvation!”
Thine offspring, the Sun, hath awakened. He burns to the birth!
“O dance through my blood!”
The legions of vapors have snatched him, and wrapped him in fire!
“Shout flames to the flood!”
He reigns like a God on the throne of their hottest desire!
Now, heave once again with thy travail, vast womb of the Earth!
“O dawn of salvation!”
Thine offspring, the Sun, hath awakened. He burns to the birth!
194
The legions of vapors have snatched him, and wrapped him in fire!
“Shout flames to the flood!”
He reigns like a God on the throne of their hottest desire!
Parched by his sovereign blast
The siren of the sea-mist breaks
Her tangled coils in lingering golden flakes
That swirl in dimming breath athwart the pennon on the mast.
The stranger Tritons lean in gaping crowds,
Hanging on bowsprits, flocking like nesting gulls among the shrouds,
Peering in breathless wonder through
For emerald sheens to streak the mottled marquetry of blue.
“Dost see it?” “No,
'T was but the lazy turtle of a cloud-bank low
Pawing the murky tide.”—
“There! in yon purple whale that looms his verge
Upon the starboard side!”
“Can you not hear the muffled gulping of the surge,
As if some slimy passion monster-lipped
Over the naked bosom of a sandbar slipped?”—
“Hush! for the yeoman sun now ploughs
His yoked quadruple team
Where wingéd flocks upon the steaming upland browse!”—
“O jewelled gleam
Of diamond lace that droops upon a throbbing rosy neck!”
“Look where the braided fleck
Of foaming breath in spangles
Leaps like a toying hand that tangles
The fringe of palmy hair upon the reefs!”
“Now,—now
The curtain lifts,—and lifts!”
“We shall behold, perchance, the beetling brow
Of snowland drifts!”
“O thrills!” “O joys!”—“O griefs!
'T is but a desert wilderness of level staring greens!”
“There are no crystal sheens,
Or azure-skirted clouds of inland peaks!
Only a few familiar creeks
That loll with listless arm against the drowsy bosom of the land!”—
“Yet is it God's own strand!
Crescents of solid blessing bounding this slippery salt abyss!
O, I could fling a million-wingéd kiss
To every lisping leaf that croons in the lap of yon palms!
Ye crested doves of calms!”—
“Away! below! away!
Don proudest daintiest array
To grace this first glad Christian holiday,
This first mad feast
Drunk with the plighted East!”
“Quick float
The passion-breasted curve of each eager boat!”
“Stand, and be wrapped in
The imperial flag of thy monarchs, Captain!
Sailors, salute again
This first vice-regal reign!
Behold your Cosmos-conqueror, the vested Admiral of Spain!”
The siren of the sea-mist breaks
Her tangled coils in lingering golden flakes
That swirl in dimming breath athwart the pennon on the mast.
The stranger Tritons lean in gaping crowds,
Hanging on bowsprits, flocking like nesting gulls among the shrouds,
Peering in breathless wonder through
For emerald sheens to streak the mottled marquetry of blue.
“Dost see it?” “No,
'T was but the lazy turtle of a cloud-bank low
Pawing the murky tide.”—
“There! in yon purple whale that looms his verge
Upon the starboard side!”
“Can you not hear the muffled gulping of the surge,
As if some slimy passion monster-lipped
Over the naked bosom of a sandbar slipped?”—
“Hush! for the yeoman sun now ploughs
His yoked quadruple team
Where wingéd flocks upon the steaming upland browse!”—
195
Of diamond lace that droops upon a throbbing rosy neck!”
“Look where the braided fleck
Of foaming breath in spangles
Leaps like a toying hand that tangles
The fringe of palmy hair upon the reefs!”
“Now,—now
The curtain lifts,—and lifts!”
“We shall behold, perchance, the beetling brow
Of snowland drifts!”
“O thrills!” “O joys!”—“O griefs!
'T is but a desert wilderness of level staring greens!”
“There are no crystal sheens,
Or azure-skirted clouds of inland peaks!
Only a few familiar creeks
That loll with listless arm against the drowsy bosom of the land!”—
“Yet is it God's own strand!
Crescents of solid blessing bounding this slippery salt abyss!
O, I could fling a million-wingéd kiss
To every lisping leaf that croons in the lap of yon palms!
Ye crested doves of calms!”—
“Away! below! away!
Don proudest daintiest array
To grace this first glad Christian holiday,
This first mad feast
Drunk with the plighted East!”
196
The passion-breasted curve of each eager boat!”
“Stand, and be wrapped in
The imperial flag of thy monarchs, Captain!
Sailors, salute again
This first vice-regal reign!
Behold your Cosmos-conqueror, the vested Admiral of Spain!”
O blessed astronomer!
Who, fired with hope,
Point'st the spear-gathering eye of thy telescope
To some miscalculated altitude of dark;
Where yet thine eye shall mark
An unexpected new-waked planet stir
Upon a stranger arc;—
Now, thou, O Neptune's priest!
Whose blood-drawn charts like polished lenses magnify
Thine altars of the East;
Though thy swift prow may fly
Straight through the vast impossible as an arrow-beam of light,
Yet hast thou struck a dark unreckoned orb that bars thy flight.
The very failure of thy bitter shame
Shall lend a starry splendor to thy name!
Who, fired with hope,
Point'st the spear-gathering eye of thy telescope
To some miscalculated altitude of dark;
Where yet thine eye shall mark
An unexpected new-waked planet stir
Upon a stranger arc;—
Now, thou, O Neptune's priest!
Whose blood-drawn charts like polished lenses magnify
Thine altars of the East;
Though thy swift prow may fly
Straight through the vast impossible as an arrow-beam of light,
Yet hast thou struck a dark unreckoned orb that bars thy flight.
The very failure of thy bitter shame
Shall lend a starry splendor to thy name!
Now, streaking through the tide
As avalanches slide
Down the blue-green enamel of the hills,
Each petrel shallop thrills
To blooded brawn that sledges at the tholes;
And lips of parching souls
Suck the warm greens of fancy's tender juices.
Up through the palm-fringed sluices
Where amorous Atlantic pouts his melting mouth
Steeped in the spicy ardors of the South
Against twin coral lips,
Where the warm-blooded island sips
The trembling passion of his lazy swoons
Through the hot fanning of the naked noons,
The helmsmen steer.
The liquid languor of the atmosphere
Adopts them, laps them to the milky softness of its bosom.
They see white cups of lilies blossom
Their brimming hearts away in odor of a lotus dream.
Where now a clear cool stream
Sifts through its crystal hair the golden minnows of the sand,
They beach upon the land.
As avalanches slide
197
Each petrel shallop thrills
To blooded brawn that sledges at the tholes;
And lips of parching souls
Suck the warm greens of fancy's tender juices.
Up through the palm-fringed sluices
Where amorous Atlantic pouts his melting mouth
Steeped in the spicy ardors of the South
Against twin coral lips,
Where the warm-blooded island sips
The trembling passion of his lazy swoons
Through the hot fanning of the naked noons,
The helmsmen steer.
The liquid languor of the atmosphere
Adopts them, laps them to the milky softness of its bosom.
They see white cups of lilies blossom
Their brimming hearts away in odor of a lotus dream.
Where now a clear cool stream
Sifts through its crystal hair the golden minnows of the sand,
They beach upon the land.
Gliding through the palm leaves,
Crouching 'neath the grasses,
Where the liquid calm leaves
Shadow as it passes,
Flash of raven tresses!
Chestnut nakednesses!
Vain the guesses,
Be they forest lads or lasses.
No Paynims, these;
Or polished ivory Chinese;
Nor Ethiopian imps
Scanned through the snake-like glimpse
Of Afric's murky river!
Crested with butterfly plume, and a rainbow-wingéd quiver,
And smeared with melting drops of golden rings,—a prize
For salt-encrusted eyes,—
A leopard-lithe and cypress-stalwart chief
Breaks from his covert tawninesses of banana leaf;
And, with the timid bronzes of his train,
Prostrates himself before these white immortals of the main.—
Two cherished streams from primal human fount,
Parted by some far prehistoric mount,
To flow in one another on forever
One double-tinted river
From this first moment of fraternal years!—
Now doth the Admiral, prince among his peers,
Flash to the cloudland shore amid the crimsons of Olympian splendor;
As when the sun alights with glances tender
Upon the purple passion-world of skied Acropolis.
And from the radiate prows they leap, as canopies
Of jewelled clouds to tent their monarch's glory.—
Up from the glooms of Aryan shadows hoary
They flock like gilded cormorants, and swoop
Upon the eel-like shore. A steel-winged troop
Of God's avengers, sword in hand, they swirl.
Above their viking heads embroidered battle-flags unfurl.
And hymns swell fan-like from the templed sod
To bless the Mother of these gods' own God.
Then doth Columbus kneel, and lave his face
In the warm billowy bosom of the bridal sands.
And stately are the loyal words that grace
Their twin-locked monarchs' memory. He stands
One instant, like a king that grasps all space:—
Then walks in silence down the savage shore.
And time flows on as placid as before.
Crouching 'neath the grasses,
Where the liquid calm leaves
Shadow as it passes,
Flash of raven tresses!
Chestnut nakednesses!
Vain the guesses,
Be they forest lads or lasses.
198
Or polished ivory Chinese;
Nor Ethiopian imps
Scanned through the snake-like glimpse
Of Afric's murky river!
Crested with butterfly plume, and a rainbow-wingéd quiver,
And smeared with melting drops of golden rings,—a prize
For salt-encrusted eyes,—
A leopard-lithe and cypress-stalwart chief
Breaks from his covert tawninesses of banana leaf;
And, with the timid bronzes of his train,
Prostrates himself before these white immortals of the main.—
Two cherished streams from primal human fount,
Parted by some far prehistoric mount,
To flow in one another on forever
One double-tinted river
From this first moment of fraternal years!—
Now doth the Admiral, prince among his peers,
Flash to the cloudland shore amid the crimsons of Olympian splendor;
As when the sun alights with glances tender
Upon the purple passion-world of skied Acropolis.
And from the radiate prows they leap, as canopies
Of jewelled clouds to tent their monarch's glory.—
Up from the glooms of Aryan shadows hoary
They flock like gilded cormorants, and swoop
199
Of God's avengers, sword in hand, they swirl.
Above their viking heads embroidered battle-flags unfurl.
And hymns swell fan-like from the templed sod
To bless the Mother of these gods' own God.
Then doth Columbus kneel, and lave his face
In the warm billowy bosom of the bridal sands.
And stately are the loyal words that grace
Their twin-locked monarchs' memory. He stands
One instant, like a king that grasps all space:—
Then walks in silence down the savage shore.
And time flows on as placid as before.
Ah, hero! hast thou felt
A shadow of the darkness like a belt
Folding thee close? And wilt thou press it down
Upon thy forehead, like a thorny crown?
And dost thou sense the martyred blood-drops trickle,
Thou fruiting ripeness for the Reaper's sickle?
A shadow of the darkness like a belt
Folding thee close? And wilt thou press it down
Upon thy forehead, like a thorny crown?
And dost thou sense the martyred blood-drops trickle,
Thou fruiting ripeness for the Reaper's sickle?
[OMITTED]
O what is it lurks in the heart of the diamond atoms of time, like a pestilent poison brewing?
Hark! 'T is the undertone of demons as they mock!
What querulous scud of an ominous storm through the creaking portals of purpose is whining and mewing?
Hist! 'T is the wings of the elemental flock!
List! 'T is the whetting of their swords upon the rock!
O blast of disruption, O jealousy pale, now the skeleton lair of thine ultimate evil unlock!
Hark! 'T is the undertone of demons as they mock!
What querulous scud of an ominous storm through the creaking portals of purpose is whining and mewing?
200
List! 'T is the whetting of their swords upon the rock!
O blast of disruption, O jealousy pale, now the skeleton lair of thine ultimate evil unlock!
O shriek of defiance, of hate that endangers thin bonds of the continents double;
Defiant despair with its gathering charges of blackness, as hurricanes bubble
From founts of the glacial granite, and grimly annihilate time with their trouble!
Now hark to the hiss of this garrulous crew the swift doom of their madness pursuing!—
“Yes, press us, ye tyrants of gods, if ye dare! We 've enough of your secret undoing.
Have you thrown us as hostage these wretches of Spaniards to torture and crush in our maw,
As once long ago you were forced to surrender your crucified King of the Law?
This world is our own; and no hint of its wealth shall go back with your robbers to Spain.
We Titans, and dragons, and gorgons, and vultures, and slimy green crabs of the main,
We send you a bat for our herald to parley! Quick, yield to our right, or be slain!”
Defiant despair with its gathering charges of blackness, as hurricanes bubble
From founts of the glacial granite, and grimly annihilate time with their trouble!
Now hark to the hiss of this garrulous crew the swift doom of their madness pursuing!—
“Yes, press us, ye tyrants of gods, if ye dare! We 've enough of your secret undoing.
Have you thrown us as hostage these wretches of Spaniards to torture and crush in our maw,
As once long ago you were forced to surrender your crucified King of the Law?
This world is our own; and no hint of its wealth shall go back with your robbers to Spain.
We Titans, and dragons, and gorgons, and vultures, and slimy green crabs of the main,
We send you a bat for our herald to parley! Quick, yield to our right, or be slain!”
O crests of the morning! O blades of the gloaming!
O knights of the splendor! O Lords of Creation!
The nebulous squadrons of chargers are foaming;
And legions wheel out from each far constellation.
The blood of the martyred lends spur to their valor.
No Paladins strong as the Christs who have died!
O tremble, ye myrmidon braggarts of pallor,
And kiss the steel glove of the God ye defied!
O knights of the splendor! O Lords of Creation!
201
And legions wheel out from each far constellation.
The blood of the martyred lends spur to their valor.
No Paladins strong as the Christs who have died!
O tremble, ye myrmidon braggarts of pallor,
And kiss the steel glove of the God ye defied!
Now, hurled like a hurricane hand when it reaches wild grasp for the zenith of noons,
Then combing like tides thunders down on the world with the snarl of embattled typhoons,
Mid crests of sea-horses that spume to Cimmerian skies their hoar ices of sprays,
Or, sucked to the depths of maelstroms, gulp down the rich boil of Tellurian blaze;—
So swung the sheen-crescents of Michael that swept with bent tails to the uttermost stars;
So legions of lightning split opulent space with their crests of beatified Mars;
And flung the dread weight of Olympian wills on the chattering hordes of the devils!—
O fierce coruscations of ranks superposed, gold on gold, flaming levels on levels
Over stratified crests of the steeled chevaliers their auroras of spectral dishevels!—
As they mount where the hoofs of victorious steeds thunder sparks from the flint of their helms,
As they mount, as they mount like the scaling of tides to the rims of Cyclopean realms,
Where the fumes of their manes sweep away with the silver of scud to the swash of the skies;—
Now damn with the vengeance of dominant doom, and the quench of the blood in your cries
Those green crumpled lights of a serpentine gloom in the hollows of impotent eyes;—
Till, chained in some vast subterranean tomb where Enceladus scoffs at their sighs,
He shall stifle with curds of crude matter their insolent wrangle and chatter;
Where the dragons that trail with the imps shall be shrunk to the crawling of shrimps,
And inordinate blasts of typhoons lie encaged like limp gas in balloons!
For the faith of the True in the New is as sure as the God in the blue;
And the seeds of corruption breed cold in the gangrenous limbs of the old.
And though heroes be butchered by scores, and their bodies be sown to the mould,
Yet the blood of the Christs silvers up in the lilies of Easter, and gold
Streaks the eve of Gethsemane's sweat with the splendors of purpose untold!
Then combing like tides thunders down on the world with the snarl of embattled typhoons,
Mid crests of sea-horses that spume to Cimmerian skies their hoar ices of sprays,
Or, sucked to the depths of maelstroms, gulp down the rich boil of Tellurian blaze;—
So swung the sheen-crescents of Michael that swept with bent tails to the uttermost stars;
So legions of lightning split opulent space with their crests of beatified Mars;
And flung the dread weight of Olympian wills on the chattering hordes of the devils!—
O fierce coruscations of ranks superposed, gold on gold, flaming levels on levels
Over stratified crests of the steeled chevaliers their auroras of spectral dishevels!—
As they mount where the hoofs of victorious steeds thunder sparks from the flint of their helms,
As they mount, as they mount like the scaling of tides to the rims of Cyclopean realms,
202
Now damn with the vengeance of dominant doom, and the quench of the blood in your cries
Those green crumpled lights of a serpentine gloom in the hollows of impotent eyes;—
Till, chained in some vast subterranean tomb where Enceladus scoffs at their sighs,
He shall stifle with curds of crude matter their insolent wrangle and chatter;
Where the dragons that trail with the imps shall be shrunk to the crawling of shrimps,
And inordinate blasts of typhoons lie encaged like limp gas in balloons!
For the faith of the True in the New is as sure as the God in the blue;
And the seeds of corruption breed cold in the gangrenous limbs of the old.
And though heroes be butchered by scores, and their bodies be sown to the mould,
Yet the blood of the Christs silvers up in the lilies of Easter, and gold
Streaks the eve of Gethsemane's sweat with the splendors of purpose untold!
O hark,
From afar!
'T is a lark!
'T is a star!
'T is the star of salvation that rides like a king through the triumphal arches of noon with the sun in his car!
From afar!
'T is a lark!
'T is a star!
203
But list
To the tune
Of the mist
In a swoon,
As it hooks its bent horns with the stratified islands of palms like the floating white wraith of a mariner-moon!
To the tune
Of the mist
In a swoon,
As it hooks its bent horns with the stratified islands of palms like the floating white wraith of a mariner-moon!
But kneel
Where they reach
Like a keel
On a beach,
As they plant a strange foot at the root of a cactus that weeps bloody blossoms too heavenly fragrant for speech!
Where they reach
Like a keel
On a beach,
As they plant a strange foot at the root of a cactus that weeps bloody blossoms too heavenly fragrant for speech!
O sing
With the hymn!
As a wing
Let it swim
In a curving blue wake through the dissonant billows of space to the Virgin enthroned with her pink cherubim!
With the hymn!
As a wing
Let it swim
In a curving blue wake through the dissonant billows of space to the Virgin enthroned with her pink cherubim!
O hark! O hark! O pray,
Ye dear warm lingering faiths of a dying day!
O day unparalleled on couch of rosy feathers dying,
Thy elemental voices still are prophesying.
Still shall the tuneful sirens of the deep
Drag thy triumphal car that rides sublime
Over the irridescent waves of Time
To where new curtained continents fore'er recede, and sleep.
O hark! O hark!
Over the globing oceans slide thy last immensities of arc.—
Now hath thy true astronomer and priest
Reached o'er the darkling bar with free-built arch
Where we shall see his grander purpose march
Round flaming inward altars to the crystal-hearted East.
His triumph is not bounded
By the vast bustle of this world of stepping-stones he founded;
But by the consummation of his plan
To weave all creeds
And teeming blossoms of the rarest human seeds
To deck the tomb-throned Union of his Monarchy of Man!
Ye dear warm lingering faiths of a dying day!
204
Thy elemental voices still are prophesying.
Still shall the tuneful sirens of the deep
Drag thy triumphal car that rides sublime
Over the irridescent waves of Time
To where new curtained continents fore'er recede, and sleep.
O hark! O hark!
Over the globing oceans slide thy last immensities of arc.—
Now hath thy true astronomer and priest
Reached o'er the darkling bar with free-built arch
Where we shall see his grander purpose march
Round flaming inward altars to the crystal-hearted East.
His triumph is not bounded
By the vast bustle of this world of stepping-stones he founded;
But by the consummation of his plan
To weave all creeds
And teeming blossoms of the rarest human seeds
To deck the tomb-throned Union of his Monarchy of Man!
But buzzing croons
That whizz among the gurgles of bassoons,
Where curly pearls
In vortices of whorls
Scoff like demonic faces in the moons;
Or sibilant shimmers
That hang low branches of their palmy glimmers
To mummer mimics of the lullabied lagoons;—
These still
Up-spill
From sulphurous chasms
The spurting spasms
Of incorrigible will;
Like buzzing flies
That choose where noonday dries
The slimy ooze of greening marshes for their minstrelsies;
Or crocodiles that snooze with snorting cries,
Or hissing drag
Their scaly lengths a-swish among the shivers of sweet flag.
That whizz among the gurgles of bassoons,
Where curly pearls
In vortices of whorls
Scoff like demonic faces in the moons;
Or sibilant shimmers
205
To mummer mimics of the lullabied lagoons;—
These still
Up-spill
From sulphurous chasms
The spurting spasms
Of incorrigible will;
Like buzzing flies
That choose where noonday dries
The slimy ooze of greening marshes for their minstrelsies;
Or crocodiles that snooze with snorting cries,
Or hissing drag
Their scaly lengths a-swish among the shivers of sweet flag.
And is there then no end of stifled woe?
We do not know.
We can but keep the faith
Even when sucked between the shredded jaws of death;—
Even as he,
The first and last begotten hero of the sea.
We can but let the twofold music sigh, and die away;
As if a maiden's hand
Led some dark shipwrecked thing along the strand
Until their voices blended with the evanescent murmur of the spray.
So now all subtlest natures seem
To melt upon the soft etherial bliss of the Supreme.
And perfect silence turns the numbered pages of a dying theme.
We do not know.
We can but keep the faith
Even when sucked between the shredded jaws of death;—
Even as he,
The first and last begotten hero of the sea.
We can but let the twofold music sigh, and die away;
As if a maiden's hand
Led some dark shipwrecked thing along the strand
Until their voices blended with the evanescent murmur of the spray.
So now all subtlest natures seem
To melt upon the soft etherial bliss of the Supreme.
And perfect silence turns the numbered pages of a dying theme.
| East and west : the discovery of America and other poems | |