 | The ghost's entry and other poems |  |
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THE GHOST'S ENTRY, ETC.
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THE GHOST'S ENTRY
The candle flutters and darkles.
There is no sound within.
The embers from ashes redden;
One flame crawls spectral and thin.
There is no sound within.
The embers from ashes redden;
One flame crawls spectral and thin.
The candle flutters and darkles.
Wide and black is the door—I start! ...
The Wind was the ghost that entered,
And shook me and chilled my heart.
Wide and black is the door—I start! ...
The Wind was the ghost that entered,
And shook me and chilled my heart.
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OTHO IN THE TOMB OF CHARLEMAGNE
When Otho, in the Tomb of Charlemagne,Faced the gigantic Skeleton, alone
With orb and sceptre, crowned, upon his throne—
The mighty king who had not ceased to reign—
Shaken with sudden fear, he saw, instead,
Death, crowned, with orb and sceptre there, and fled!
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POOR MOTH
Poor Moth, that, fluttering through my candle's flame,Die of your sudden passion for the light;—
From the great outer gulf of night you came,
Then pass into utter night!
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THE OLD PIANO'S PLAYER
AT A COUNTRY HOUSE IN OHIO
It stands here in the empty house. ... What dream-wrought tones are these!
Her fingers from the Past are reached, and wake the enchanted keys.
Her fingers from the Past are reached, and wake the enchanted keys.
Lo, shapes of grace, an eager group, about her lightly press:
What pulses music-quickened beat! O eyes of tenderness!
What pulses music-quickened beat! O eyes of tenderness!
Sweet-hearted songs arise from sleep. The spell of Youth and Love
Warms long-hushed lips again with speech: old dreams to music move. ...
Warms long-hushed lips again with speech: old dreams to music move. ...
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Yes, the gay hearts are ashes now, responsive long ago. ...
To phantom fingers on the keys lost voices ebb and flow.
To phantom fingers on the keys lost voices ebb and flow.
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A TRAGEDY OF LONG BRIDGE
Across Long Bridge a woman with her child
Hurries—what backward glances quick and wild!
Hurries—what backward glances quick and wild!
Dark is her face with Nature's mask of woe;
She is a slave—yes, this was long ago.
She is a slave—yes, this was long ago.
Behind her lay Virginia in the sun;
Before her shone the dome of Washington.
Before her shone the dome of Washington.
Behind her Slavery burdened day and dream;
Before her Freedom held a high, faint gleam.
Before her Freedom held a high, faint gleam.
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Behind her, like a bloodhound in her track,
Came her fierce master, strong to drag her back.
Came her fierce master, strong to drag her back.
Behind, before her—if she dreamed, or saw,
I know not—lo, the bond-securing Law!
I know not—lo, the bond-securing Law!
Panting she passes now the central tide,
Where the deep river shines on either side.
Where the deep river shines on either side.
Hark! clamorous men behind her follow fleet—
Faster she flies with wild and piteous feet;
Faster she flies with wild and piteous feet;
See!—who approach her from the Northern shore?
She pauses, turns; she looks behind, before!
She pauses, turns; she looks behind, before!
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‘Stop her!’—the servants of the Law behind:—
All must obey, though Pity speak, ‘Be blind!’
All must obey, though Pity speak, ‘Be blind!’
She stands, all tremulous, helpless, looking round.
They close about her—she will soon be bound!
They close about her—she will soon be bound!
Hard arms are stretched—she springs with one shrill scream,
Her child close-prest, and sinks into the stream!
Her child close-prest, and sinks into the stream!
Baffled her master stands with raging breath—
Law cannot reach the Slave's Deliverer, Death.
Law cannot reach the Slave's Deliverer, Death.
... Yes, it was long ago; but still at night
Across Long Bridge is seen the piteous flight.
Across Long Bridge is seen the piteous flight.
Still, sometimes,—who has seen I do not know—
Is seen the dreadful chase of long ago.
Is seen the dreadful chase of long ago.
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Fierce shouts are heard: lo! shapes of shadow run—
A dusky woman's, with her babe, is one!
A dusky woman's, with her babe, is one!
Hark! a last shriek—the shrill appeal to Death! ...
The water laps the pier with marshy breath.
The water laps the pier with marshy breath.
Near the Virginia end of Long Bridge, at Washington, was once a slave-pen, and many years ago, it is said, a tragedy, somewhat similar to that related here, took place upon the bridge.
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WRECK
I
After the tempest-roar
The shell sighs on the shore.
The shell sighs on the shore.
A ship shines, rosily,
One sail-gleam, far at sea.
One sail-gleam, far at sea.
Waves toss, near by, a mast—
The last Hope climbed it last.
The last Hope climbed it last.
II
After the tempest-roar
The shell sighs on the shore.
The shell sighs on the shore.
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A maiden, by the sea,
Sees the sail shine rosily.
Sees the sail shine rosily.
On shore the mast is flung—
The dead Hope, dying, clung!
The dead Hope, dying, clung!
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AWAKE IN A HAUNTED HOUSE
In the olden mansion lying,
That knew me long ago,
I see the frozen river,
Without, in still bright snow.
That knew me long ago,
I see the frozen river,
Without, in still bright snow.
The moon, so close by the window,
Hangs in the tree;—with her light,
A glitter of motionless silence,
All the ice-lit boughs are bright.
Hangs in the tree;—with her light,
A glitter of motionless silence,
All the ice-lit boughs are bright.
Jarring the drowsy stillness,
There are footsteps on the stair,
Uplifting their ghostly echoes
From the chambers everywhere.
There are footsteps on the stair,
Uplifting their ghostly echoes
From the chambers everywhere.
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How near they startle the stairway!—
I feel the opening door!
Now, far and fainter and dying,
They echo in me no more.
I feel the opening door!
Now, far and fainter and dying,
They echo in me no more.
In a moment the door will open,—
How near they grow again! ...
They have left their dreadful silence
Walking within my brain.
How near they grow again! ...
They have left their dreadful silence
Walking within my brain.
Upon the empty stairway
I have heard them often before;
In this olden house, returning,
They haunt me evermore.
I have heard them often before;
In this olden house, returning,
They haunt me evermore.
Strangers have never heard them—
I know they all are mine,
Rising, O heart, and dying
On that haunted stair of thine! ...
I know they all are mine,
Rising, O heart, and dying
On that haunted stair of thine! ...
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O life, make braver thy beating.
The terror on the stair
Is the long dread procession
That follows thee everywhere!
The terror on the stair
Is the long dread procession
That follows thee everywhere!
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THE DEAD STAR
Yonder, in empty dark,
Wanders, somewhere, a wasted sun, whose light,
Erst breathed abroad with life-creating spark,
Made hanging gardens of the circling night.
Wanders, somewhere, a wasted sun, whose light,
Erst breathed abroad with life-creating spark,
Made hanging gardens of the circling night.
Through Time's dark emptiness,
Some soul, that genius lit, goes, withered, wan,
Its flame to blackness fallen, purposeless;—
The dead star wanders with the fire-spent man.
Some soul, that genius lit, goes, withered, wan,
Its flame to blackness fallen, purposeless;—
The dead star wanders with the fire-spent man.
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THE UNBIDDEN GUEST
ON THE DEATH OF A BRIDE
Ah, many a door He jars with welcome knock!
To the o'erburthened breast,
Through the dark hall, His footstep gives no shock,
But seems a sound of rest.
To the o'erburthened breast,
Through the dark hall, His footstep gives no shock,
But seems a sound of rest.
O Uninvited! every street hath such,
Enough, enough for Thee!
Hunger and Cold, they bless Thy kindred touch,
And ask Thy company!
Enough, enough for Thee!
Hunger and Cold, they bless Thy kindred touch,
And ask Thy company!
... Lo, one glad house by Love had lighted been
With his first, soft, sweet Moon,
And Life, the Bidden Guest, had just come in—
Followed by Thee how soon!
With his first, soft, sweet Moon,
And Life, the Bidden Guest, had just come in—
Followed by Thee how soon!
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Sudden the lamps grow dark, a stealthy cold
Palsies the joyous room;—
The young man's place is taken by the old,
Dark, deaf, dumb, sightless Groom!
Palsies the joyous room;—
The young man's place is taken by the old,
Dark, deaf, dumb, sightless Groom!
The marriage greetings falter in speechless pain;
Blithe bells, your toll we hear! ...
The bridal party, 'tis her funeral train;
The bridal bed 's her bier!
Blithe bells, your toll we hear! ...
The bridal party, 'tis her funeral train;
The bridal bed 's her bier!
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THE SILENT PASSENGER
What homes are waiting now
With doors ajar, with quickening hearts—the smile
Of firelit quiet touching lip and brow—
For us, far off the while!
With doors ajar, with quickening hearts—the smile
Of firelit quiet touching lip and brow—
For us, far off the while!
Tidings have gone before—
Swift messengers, that traverse without fear
Darkness as day, whispering through many a door
Whose threshold knows us near!
Swift messengers, that traverse without fear
Darkness as day, whispering through many a door
Whose threshold knows us near!
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For some, perchance, the years
Have travelled with their faces that to-night
Return—ah, yes, for change, and Time, and tears!—
Where breathed their morning light.
Have travelled with their faces that to-night
Return—ah, yes, for change, and Time, and tears!—
Where breathed their morning light.
And some but yesterday,
Kissed parting lips, then smiling dared to part,
Trusting to-morrow, with its constant ray,
Should light heart back to heart.
Kissed parting lips, then smiling dared to part,
Trusting to-morrow, with its constant ray,
Should light heart back to heart.
... But who is he?—what door
Is open now for him?—what mother stands
Yearning to fold her wanderer safe once more
From the world's restless sands?
Is open now for him?—what mother stands
Yearning to fold her wanderer safe once more
From the world's restless sands?
What faithful one, beside
Hope's gentle watchfire, waits for Love's new bliss?—
What children, playing in Time's crawling tide,
Hold lips for father's kiss?
Hope's gentle watchfire, waits for Love's new bliss?—
What children, playing in Time's crawling tide,
Hold lips for father's kiss?
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One silent passenger,
In the quick press of eager tongue and brain!
Whither? I know not, nor who waits him there.—
He travels on the train!
In the quick press of eager tongue and brain!
Whither? I know not, nor who waits him there.—
He travels on the train!
O travellers, near or far!
Remember, loosening hands,—ah, clasp again!—
The silent passenger in yonder car,—
Death goes on every train!
Remember, loosening hands,—ah, clasp again!—
The silent passenger in yonder car,—
Death goes on every train!
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DREAM-WORLD
Dear, beautiful, far Land!
Where all these foot-sore, world-bent wanderers go,
Leaving their burden and the restless woe
Of the fierce flying sand!
Where all these foot-sore, world-bent wanderers go,
Leaving their burden and the restless woe
Of the fierce flying sand!
Thither all travel: there
Grey thorn-crowned kings find quick content, uncrowned;
The goaded slave, his treadmill bands unbound,
Breathes its unguarded air.
Grey thorn-crowned kings find quick content, uncrowned;
The goaded slave, his treadmill bands unbound,
Breathes its unguarded air.
Thither go glad at night
All hapless exiles in this foreign mart,
Finding the old ways reopened in each heart
Into forgotten light.
All hapless exiles in this foreign mart,
Finding the old ways reopened in each heart
Into forgotten light.
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There the lost child is found: ...
O gentle school-boy, vanished from our sight,
Fling your gay ball and fly your happy kite
In that enchanted ground!
O gentle school-boy, vanished from our sight,
Fling your gay ball and fly your happy kite
In that enchanted ground!
There, fast as in far years,
Are fallen heart-temples, fond-remembered homes:
Through Death-locked doors each face familiar comes
Smiling—we wake with tears!
Are fallen heart-temples, fond-remembered homes:
Through Death-locked doors each face familiar comes
Smiling—we wake with tears!
... How far, yet near, it seems!—
This dusty world struck underfoot away—
Circling lost suns, and sweet with happier day,
The holy sphere of dreams!
This dusty world struck underfoot away—
Circling lost suns, and sweet with happier day,
The holy sphere of dreams!
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THE DEAD HOUSE-FIRE
An hour ago the fireside gleamed,
And merry faces and glances beamed.
And merry faces and glances beamed.
Mother and children, with happy sire,
A garland of gladness, wreathed the fire.
A garland of gladness, wreathed the fire.
There were loving voices and laughing eyes,
Whispers of joy and soft replies.
Whispers of joy and soft replies.
Ghost-like in the darkness flutters a flame,
Then drops in the ashes whence it came.
Then drops in the ashes whence it came.
Ghost-like in the gloom the faces grow,
Then fade in my heart with the ember-glow.
Then fade in my heart with the ember-glow.
| The ghost's entry and other poems | |