 | New Poems: Dora Sigerson Shorter |  |
1
THE PRAYER
“Many worlds have I made,” said the Good God,
“But this is best of all,”
He slipped the round earth from His lap,
Space held the circling ball.
“But this is best of all,”
He slipped the round earth from His lap,
Space held the circling ball.
“Six days have I laboured,” said the Good God,
“To make it very fair,
And man and woman have I moulded fine,
Set them together there.
“To make it very fair,
And man and woman have I moulded fine,
Set them together there.
“Open ye night's windows,” said the Good God,
“For I would hear them pray,”
Up from the spinning globe there came
Loud cries from far away.
“For I would hear them pray,”
Up from the spinning globe there came
Loud cries from far away.
2
“Into my hands deliver,” cried the man,
“The chast'ning of my foe,
His vineyards grant me—his slaves and oxen,
So shall I lay him low.”
“The chast'ning of my foe,
His vineyards grant me—his slaves and oxen,
So shall I lay him low.”
“Give to me strange beauty,” said the young maid,
“More fair than all to be,
So I anoint my body and go forth
To draw men's hearts to me.”
“More fair than all to be,
So I anoint my body and go forth
To draw men's hearts to me.”
“Behold! this is not good,” said the Lord God,
“Nor made to My desire,”
Then cried His little Son, “I shall go forth,
To save them from Thine ire.”
“Nor made to My desire,”
Then cried His little Son, “I shall go forth,
To save them from Thine ire.”
“Oh, reach ye down your arms,” said the Good God
Unto the seraphim,
“Lift up the broken body of My child
For they have tortured Him.”
Unto the seraphim,
“Lift up the broken body of My child
For they have tortured Him.”
3
“Open the windows of the night,” said the Good God,
“For I would hear them weep,”
Up from the spinning world's tumultuous sound
Man's prayers imperious leap.
“For I would hear them weep,”
Up from the spinning world's tumultuous sound
Man's prayers imperious leap.
“Into my hands deliver,” cried the man,
“My foe to bend and break,
Burst Thou his strongholds and his ships entomb,
So I my vengeance take.”
“My foe to bend and break,
Burst Thou his strongholds and his ships entomb,
So I my vengeance take.”
“Give to me rare beauty,” said the young maid,
“More fair than all to be,
So I in silken raiment shall go forth
To draw men's souls to me.”
“More fair than all to be,
So I in silken raiment shall go forth
To draw men's souls to me.”
4
THE CRY ETERNAL
Last eve and through the night I heard a cry
Go forth across the fields, and still to-day
I hear it echo, and the fierce reply
Of some poor stricken heart too far away.
Go forth across the fields, and still to-day
I hear it echo, and the fierce reply
Of some poor stricken heart too far away.
Beside my gate a little calf, bereft
Of those maternal cares that were his right,
Calls for the milky comfort he has left,
And learns his first hard lesson through the night.
Of those maternal cares that were his right,
Calls for the milky comfort he has left,
And learns his first hard lesson through the night.
And from afar the answering cries repeat
His grief forlorn, his longing, and his woe—
Poor mother mourning, in her green retreat,
Her helpless young lost in the vale below.
His grief forlorn, his longing, and his woe—
Poor mother mourning, in her green retreat,
Her helpless young lost in the vale below.
And I had come unto the quiet ways
Of pleasant fields, of woods so cool and deep,
To lose those cries that from the city's maze
Wearied my hours and broke my troubled sleep.
Of pleasant fields, of woods so cool and deep,
To lose those cries that from the city's maze
Wearied my hours and broke my troubled sleep.
5
To hear this lone and this most stricken call
Of all earth's prayers that pierce the eternal height
And by the closéd doors of Heaven fall—
What woman's heart can bear it through the night?
Of all earth's prayers that pierce the eternal height
And by the closéd doors of Heaven fall—
What woman's heart can bear it through the night?
6
THE GOOD LORD GAVE
The good Lord gave, the Lord has taken from me,
Blessed be His name, His holy will be done:
The mourners all have gone, all save I, his mother,
The little grave lies lonely in the sun.
Blessed be His name, His holy will be done:
The mourners all have gone, all save I, his mother,
The little grave lies lonely in the sun.
Nay! I would not follow, though they did beseech me,
For the angels come now waiting for my dead.
Heaven's door is open, so my whispers soar there,
While the gentle angels lift him from his bed.
For the angels come now waiting for my dead.
Heaven's door is open, so my whispers soar there,
While the gentle angels lift him from his bed.
O Lord, when Thou gavest he was weak and helpless,
Could not rise nor wander from my shielding arm;
Lovely is he now and strong with four sweet summers,
Laughing, running, tumbling, hard to keep from harm.
Could not rise nor wander from my shielding arm;
Lovely is he now and strong with four sweet summers,
Laughing, running, tumbling, hard to keep from harm.
7
If some tender mother, whose babe on earth is living,
Takes his little hand to guide his stranger feet
'Mid the countless hosts that cross the floor of heaven,
Thou wilt not reprove her for Thy pity sweet.
Takes his little hand to guide his stranger feet
'Mid the countless hosts that cross the floor of heaven,
Thou wilt not reprove her for Thy pity sweet.
If upon her breast she holds his baby beauty,
All his golden hair will fall about her hand,
Laughing let her fingers pull it into ringlets—
Long and lovely ringlets. She will understand.
All his golden hair will fall about her hand,
Laughing let her fingers pull it into ringlets—
Long and lovely ringlets. She will understand.
Wilful are his ways and full of merry mischief;
If he prove unruly, lay the blame on me,
Never did I chide him for his noise or riot,
Smiled upon his folly, glad his joy to see.
If he prove unruly, lay the blame on me,
Never did I chide him for his noise or riot,
Smiled upon his folly, glad his joy to see.
Each eve shall I come beside his bed so lowly;
“Hush-a-by, my baby,” softly shall I sing,
So, if he be frightened, full of sleep and anger,
The song he loved shall reach him and sure comfort bring.
“Hush-a-by, my baby,” softly shall I sing,
So, if he be frightened, full of sleep and anger,
The song he loved shall reach him and sure comfort bring.
8
Lord, if in my praying, Thou should'st hear me weeping,
Ever was I wayward, always full of tears,
Take no heed of this grief. Sweet the gift Thou gavest
All the cherished treasure of those golden years.
Ever was I wayward, always full of tears,
Take no heed of this grief. Sweet the gift Thou gavest
All the cherished treasure of those golden years.
Do not, therefore, hold me to Thy will ungrateful;
Soon I shall stand upright, smiling, strong, and brave,
With a son in heaven the sad earth forgetting,
But 'tis lonely yet, Lord, by the little grave,
Oh, 'tis lonely, lonely, by the little grave!
Soon I shall stand upright, smiling, strong, and brave,
With a son in heaven the sad earth forgetting,
But 'tis lonely yet, Lord, by the little grave,
Oh, 'tis lonely, lonely, by the little grave!
9
THE FOUR CHILDREN
A Ballad of Good Intentions
Four children played by an old oak tree,
Big John and James and little Benjie,
And, threading a chain of daisies fine,
On the leaf-brown sward knelt Geraldine.
Big John and James and little Benjie,
And, threading a chain of daisies fine,
On the leaf-brown sward knelt Geraldine.
Quoth John, “I'll ride on the gipsies' road,
For narrow space and a small abode
Would break this vagrant heart in me,
And the world is wide and good to see.”
For narrow space and a small abode
Would break this vagrant heart in me,
And the world is wide and good to see.”
“I'll stay,” said James, “for my father's sake
From his ageing hand his toil to take,
So he have at last his heart's desire
To sit at ease by the glowing fire.”
From his ageing hand his toil to take,
So he have at last his heart's desire
To sit at ease by the glowing fire.”
“I shall not work,” said little Benjie,
“Nor roam the world that is fair to see;
But here I'll stay in the green beech wood,
By my mother's side and I'll just be good.”
“Nor roam the world that is fair to see;
But here I'll stay in the green beech wood,
By my mother's side and I'll just be good.”
10
Linking her chain sweet Geraldine said,
“Big John or James I will surely wed;
I soon must choose which shall best please me,
I care not at all for little Benjie.”
“Big John or James I will surely wed;
I soon must choose which shall best please me,
I care not at all for little Benjie.”
The oak grows brown and the oak grows green
The owl and thrush on her branch have been;
For fifty winters a snood of snow
She wears all white till the spring winds blow.
The owl and thrush on her branch have been;
For fifty winters a snood of snow
She wears all white till the spring winds blow.
For fifty autumns a robe of red
She wears till the wet west wind has fled,
But ne'er from dawn till the dusk of day
Hath she heard the sound of a child at play.
She wears till the wet west wind has fled,
But ne'er from dawn till the dusk of day
Hath she heard the sound of a child at play.
Big John grows old and all full of care,
He works till night in his oaken chair;
His feet have led him not long nor late,
No more than a league from his father's gate.
He works till night in his oaken chair;
His feet have led him not long nor late,
No more than a league from his father's gate.
Where yew trees wave and their dark leaves shed
Young James lies cold in his four-foot bed,
O soft did his father lay him down,
And over him drew the earth so brown
Young James lies cold in his four-foot bed,
O soft did his father lay him down,
And over him drew the earth so brown
11
In a far-off land on a lonely height
Geraldine weeps full many a night,
And prays all day 'neath a gallows tree
Where hangs the corpse of little Benjie.
Geraldine weeps full many a night,
And prays all day 'neath a gallows tree
Where hangs the corpse of little Benjie.
12
THE GUARDIAN ANGELS
A Ballad
Father John in the green lane went
And he drew his robe full tight,
“I would,” quoth he, “I were home again
For there's evil in the night.
And he drew his robe full tight,
“I would,” quoth he, “I were home again
For there's evil in the night.
“I would,” quoth he, “the gold I bear
Were safe with the poor and old,
For strange the fear that follows me
That my eyes cannot behold.”
Were safe with the poor and old,
For strange the fear that follows me
That my eyes cannot behold.”
He looked him left and there he saw
A white rose climb and cling,
He looked him right and in the brake
A wild bird shook his wing.
A white rose climb and cling,
He looked him right and in the brake
A wild bird shook his wing.
He looked him back and far there stood
The old church tall and dim,
Yet on the lonely path there came
A terror strange to him.
The old church tall and dim,
Yet on the lonely path there came
A terror strange to him.
13
Without the shadow of the trees
That bent above his way,
Where lost the moon her silver light,
He stood at last at bay.
That bent above his way,
Where lost the moon her silver light,
He stood at last at bay.
And on his gown, from his pale brow
Fell great tears of his fright;
His shaking hands held close the gold
Wrapped in its cloth so white.
Fell great tears of his fright;
His shaking hands held close the gold
Wrapped in its cloth so white.
He knelt him down upon his knee
And prayed the Lord to hear,
“Christ, loosen Thou these laggard feet
That hold me slow in fear.
And prayed the Lord to hear,
“Christ, loosen Thou these laggard feet
That hold me slow in fear.
“Oh, strengthen Thou this childish heart
That trembles all afraid,
In pity for the calling sick
Who die without my aid.
That trembles all afraid,
In pity for the calling sick
Who die without my aid.
“And let me bring all safely through
The shadows of the night,
The gold I bear for old and poor,
Still Thou this strange affright.”
The shadows of the night,
The gold I bear for old and poor,
Still Thou this strange affright.”
14
And as he prayed from off his heart
Fear's clutching fingers fell,
A holy joy grew in his heart
He knew that all was well.
Fear's clutching fingers fell,
A holy joy grew in his heart
He knew that all was well.
He turned him left and stayed to take
A white rose from her tree,
He turned him right and lilted low
A wild bird melody.
A white rose from her tree,
He turned him right and lilted low
A wild bird melody.
He looked him back and smiling saw
The tall church guarding him,
And then all fearless laughing sped
Through shadows strange and dim.
The tall church guarding him,
And then all fearless laughing sped
Through shadows strange and dim.
When but a year had passed away
There came before his gate,
A dying man who “Succour,” cried
“Before it be too late.”
There came before his gate,
A dying man who “Succour,” cried
“Before it be too late.”
“Oh, shrive me, Father, ere I die,”
The moaning stranger said;
He took him to his own hearth side
And laid him on his bed.
The moaning stranger said;
He took him to his own hearth side
And laid him on his bed.
15
“Oh, Father! Father! hear me now
And let me rest in peace.”
“Now speak, my son, and tell your sin
To give your soul release.”
And let me rest in peace.”
“Now speak, my son, and tell your sin
To give your soul release.”
“It was one night a year ago—
Sweet Mary, ease my pain—
I followed far your toiling feet
Within a lonely lane.
Sweet Mary, ease my pain—
I followed far your toiling feet
Within a lonely lane.
“The red gold for the old and poor
You had beneath your gown,
I hid within a darksome place
Where I could strike you down.”
You had beneath your gown,
I hid within a darksome place
Where I could strike you down.”
Now Father John he smiled and leant
In pity by the bed,
“I did disarm you by my prayer,
I thank the Lord,” he said.
In pity by the bed,
“I did disarm you by my prayer,
I thank the Lord,” he said.
“I went in fear upon my path
I knew some danger lay,
And lone I knelt upon the road
A little while to pray.”
I knew some danger lay,
And lone I knelt upon the road
A little while to pray.”
16
The dying man he raised his head
And laughed both long and loud,
“Oh, ne'er a prayer would hold my hand
Or keep you from your shroud.
And laughed both long and loud,
“Oh, ne'er a prayer would hold my hand
Or keep you from your shroud.
“But by you went two mighty men
To guard you either side,
Else had my dagger reached your heart
And surely you had died.”
To guard you either side,
Else had my dagger reached your heart
And surely you had died.”
Then Father John upon his knees
Bent low his holy head,
“God's angels walked beside me there
Lest you my blood should shed:
My guardian angels walked by me,
I thank Thee, Lord,” he said.
Bent low his holy head,
“God's angels walked beside me there
Lest you my blood should shed:
My guardian angels walked by me,
I thank Thee, Lord,” he said.
17
THE POISONED ARROW
All wounded sore he lay upon my path,
His piteous moans his woeful need confessed;
I stooped to find his hurt with searching hand—
A poisoned arrow pierced his panting breast.
His piteous moans his woeful need confessed;
I stooped to find his hurt with searching hand—
A poisoned arrow pierced his panting breast.
He had a friend who dwelt beside the way,
And, running swift, I called to him for aid:
“Your comrade lies all wounded to his death;
Some secret foe a havoc here has made.”
And, running swift, I called to him for aid:
“Your comrade lies all wounded to his death;
Some secret foe a havoc here has made.”
Deaf to my call, I saw him crouch and creep,
Screened in a laurel's shade, the leaves among
He moved to pry and peer and pry again—
Within his hand he held a bow unstrung.
Screened in a laurel's shade, the leaves among
He moved to pry and peer and pry again—
Within his hand he held a bow unstrung.
18
A CHILD'S SONG
The starlings they have come to town,
With polka dots on their robes of brown;
They sit a crowd on the old plane tree,
And sing this quaint old melody:
Creak, creak, pipe, pipe, squeak, squeak, sweet!
They come with winter snow and sleet—
Creak, creak, pipe, pipe, squeak, squeak, sweet!
With polka dots on their robes of brown;
They sit a crowd on the old plane tree,
And sing this quaint old melody:
Creak, creak, pipe, pipe, squeak, squeak, sweet!
They come with winter snow and sleet—
Creak, creak, pipe, pipe, squeak, squeak, sweet!
Oh, starling, starling, tell me true
Of pleasant lands that have sheltered you
Of running brook and woodland tree!
This is the tale he told to me:
Creak, creak, pipe, pipe, squeak, squeak, sweet!
Above the hum of busy street—
Creak, creak, pipe, pipe, squeak, squeak, sweet!
Of pleasant lands that have sheltered you
Of running brook and woodland tree!
This is the tale he told to me:
Creak, creak, pipe, pipe, squeak, squeak, sweet!
Above the hum of busy street—
Creak, creak, pipe, pipe, squeak, squeak, sweet!
The starlings all will fly away,
With ice and snow on a sunshine day,
Starling, starling, do not go!
I miss your pretty singing so:
Chirp, chirp, cheep, cheep, tweet, tweet, sweet!
'Tis but the sparrows in the street—
Chirp, chirp, cheep, cheep, tweet, tweet, sweet!
With ice and snow on a sunshine day,
Starling, starling, do not go!
I miss your pretty singing so:
19
'Tis but the sparrows in the street—
Chirp, chirp, cheep, cheep, tweet, tweet, sweet!
In summer, in a woodland glade,
When I shall walk all unafraid,
Lured by the blossom and the bee,
I'll hear this quaint old melody:
Creak, creak, pipe, pipe, squeak, squeak, sweet!
And echo call from her retreat—
Creak, creak, pipe, pipe, squeak, squeak, sweet!
When I shall walk all unafraid,
Lured by the blossom and the bee,
I'll hear this quaint old melody:
Creak, creak, pipe, pipe, squeak, squeak, sweet!
And echo call from her retreat—
Creak, creak, pipe, pipe, squeak, squeak, sweet!
The starlings they have come from town,
With polka dots on their robes of brown:
Oh, starling, starling, tell me true,
Of city far, now what think you?
Creak, creak, pipe, pipe, squeak, squeak, sweet!
This fine tale he did repeat—
Creak, creak, pipe, pipe, squeak, squeak, sweet!
With polka dots on their robes of brown:
Oh, starling, starling, tell me true,
Of city far, now what think you?
Creak, creak, pipe, pipe, squeak, squeak, sweet!
This fine tale he did repeat—
Creak, creak, pipe, pipe, squeak, squeak, sweet!
20
THE SIX SORROWS
There are six sorrows in my heart—
Red Allen, Clare, and Joan,
Sweet Bet, and Jock, and little Roy;
Six sorrows all my own.
Red Allen, Clare, and Joan,
Sweet Bet, and Jock, and little Roy;
Six sorrows all my own.
Red Allen was my first-born son,
How dear he was to see,
The first sweet babe—and now he lies
Beneath the church-yard tree.
How dear he was to see,
The first sweet babe—and now he lies
Beneath the church-yard tree.
My little Clare, and pretty Joan,
Sleep, too, in wind and rain,
But never do I wake at night
To wish them home again.
Oh, never do I wake at night
To call them home again.
Sleep, too, in wind and rain,
But never do I wake at night
To wish them home again.
Oh, never do I wake at night
To call them home again.
I have three sorrows in my breast
To drown my heart in tears,
My Betty, Jock, and little Roy,
To shade my waning years.
To drown my heart in tears,
My Betty, Jock, and little Roy,
To shade my waning years.
21
My sunshine Bet, she made her choice—
A good man he, and true;
And 'neath my fond contented eyes
Their pretty courtship grew.
A good man he, and true;
And 'neath my fond contented eyes
Their pretty courtship grew.
When, from the winding road, a foot
Stole by my garden gate,
And by my door a honey voice
Did whisper long and late.
Stole by my garden gate,
And by my door a honey voice
Did whisper long and late.
And oft a cloth of lavender
Young pedlar John would bear,
And oft a silken ribbon long
To bind my child's soft hair.
Young pedlar John would bear,
And oft a silken ribbon long
To bind my child's soft hair.
Oh, bitter was the secret shame
He hid beneath his load,
My sunshine Bet is far away
Upon the gypsies' road.
My pretty Bet has strayed away
Upon the winding road.
He hid beneath his load,
My sunshine Bet is far away
Upon the gypsies' road.
My pretty Bet has strayed away
Upon the winding road.
I have two sorrows in my heart,
To wear me night and day—
My Jock, and little Roy, who runs
Beside my knee at play.
To wear me night and day—
My Jock, and little Roy, who runs
Beside my knee at play.
22
My six-foot Jock, in all the town
No lad was like to him,
What mother's heart could hold my pride
Though joy my eyes would dim.
No lad was like to him,
What mother's heart could hold my pride
Though joy my eyes would dim.
Then I could weep but happy tears,
They soothe not now my grief,
The burning anguish of my heart
Has quenched that font's relief.
They soothe not now my grief,
The burning anguish of my heart
Has quenched that font's relief.
One morn his brow on me did frown,
His ready laugh grew still,
Full late it was when he came home,
In silence from the hill.
His ready laugh grew still,
Full late it was when he came home,
In silence from the hill.
“Where have you been, my son so dear,
So long, so late!” I cried,
“To seek a little lamb who strayed
Upon the bleak hill-side.”
So long, so late!” I cried,
“To seek a little lamb who strayed
Upon the bleak hill-side.”
“What dyes so red, my child, my son,
The plaid about your breast?”
“'Tis where the wounded lamb did lie,
And here its heart-beat pressed.”
The plaid about your breast?”
“'Tis where the wounded lamb did lie,
And here its heart-beat pressed.”
23
“There come four men about the gate,
Their looks are stern and cold?”
“They do but seek the little lamb
That died beyond the fold.”
Their looks are stern and cold?”
“They do but seek the little lamb
That died beyond the fold.”
“Then I shall make the window fast,
And I shall bar the door;
Oh, fear is bitter at my heart,
And I can bear no more.”
And I shall bar the door;
Oh, fear is bitter at my heart,
And I can bear no more.”
“You may not bar the oaken door,
Nor make the window fast;
But you shall pray for my lost soul,
As long as life shall last.”
Nor make the window fast;
But you shall pray for my lost soul,
As long as life shall last.”
“For I must go with those who wait
About the door with me,
Since I have slain my own false love
Beneath the linden tree.
Oh, I have slain my faithless love,
Beneath the linden tree.”
About the door with me,
Since I have slain my own false love
Beneath the linden tree.
Oh, I have slain my faithless love,
Beneath the linden tree.”
I have one sorrow in my heart,
My Roy, who sleeps so sound.
Oh, will the wide world call this babe,
Or holds the grave his shroud?
Oh, shall I grieve his golden youth,
Or weep him in his shroud?
My Roy, who sleeps so sound.
Oh, will the wide world call this babe,
24
Oh, shall I grieve his golden youth,
Or weep him in his shroud?
I have six sorrows in my heart,
Red Allen, Clare, and Joan,
Sweet Bet, and Jock, and little Roy—
Six sorrows all my own.
Red Allen, Clare, and Joan,
Sweet Bet, and Jock, and little Roy—
Six sorrows all my own.
25
A BALLAD OF THE WAILING GHOST
As I between the dusk and dark
Walked down by Hampton Towers,
I strayed upon the haunted path
In the forbidden hours.
Walked down by Hampton Towers,
I strayed upon the haunted path
In the forbidden hours.
I paced the long and lonesome way
In meditation deep,
And there I saw a little maid
Who bitterly did weep.
In meditation deep,
And there I saw a little maid
Who bitterly did weep.
Quaint was her silken robe and flowed
In some disorder down,
And on her slender shoulders fell
Her locks of tangled brown.
In some disorder down,
And on her slender shoulders fell
Her locks of tangled brown.
“Too late! Too late!” she weeping cried,
Her voice was like the wind—
She passed and wrung her lily hands
And left me far behind.
Her voice was like the wind—
She passed and wrung her lily hands
And left me far behind.
26
A maid distraught indeed was she
Her anguish all confessed—
In the sharp sighing that flew forth
From out her heaving breast.
Her anguish all confessed—
In the sharp sighing that flew forth
From out her heaving breast.
When she had gone an echo flew
Across the haunted bower;
“Too late! Too late!” the whisper came
From ev'ry sleeping flower.
Across the haunted bower;
“Too late! Too late!” the whisper came
From ev'ry sleeping flower.
I met a youth upon the path
And bade him tell to me
If he had seen the little maid
Who wept so dolefully.
And bade him tell to me
If he had seen the little maid
Who wept so dolefully.
Upon his cheek the ruddy rose
Swift faded into white,
“God pity you, for you have seen
The wailing ghost this night.
Swift faded into white,
“God pity you, for you have seen
The wailing ghost this night.
“Pray, pray,” he cried, “and shrive your soul,
And so avert your fate,”
And as he flew me swift in fear
A whisper cried “Too late!”
And so avert your fate,”
And as he flew me swift in fear
A whisper cried “Too late!”
27
An evil prayer rose to my lip
“Lord! This my soul's relief,
To hold her slender hands in mine,
And know her secret grief.”
“Lord! This my soul's relief,
To hold her slender hands in mine,
And know her secret grief.”
28
LEAVES
On the dry brown bough
The withered leaves still cling
In their last desperate hold
And ceaseless murmuring.
The withered leaves still cling
In their last desperate hold
And ceaseless murmuring.
They push the swinging branch
To beat upon the pane;
“Save us,” they whispering cry—
“We shall not live again!”
To beat upon the pane;
“Save us,” they whispering cry—
“We shall not live again!”
She laughs in pretty play,
The child beside my chair,
“Look at the linden tree!
The leaves are dancing there.
The child beside my chair,
“Look at the linden tree!
The leaves are dancing there.
“Are swaying on the branch,
Are singing in their glee;
The little song I hear
Is, ‘I am glad to be.’”
Are singing in their glee;
The little song I hear
Is, ‘I am glad to be.’”
29
At night when she doth rest
From all her laughing hours,
And plays in dreamy vales
With everlasting flowers.
From all her laughing hours,
And plays in dreamy vales
With everlasting flowers.
I hear the withered leaves
Beat loud upon the pane,
“Save us,” they screaming cry—
“We shall not live again!”
Beat loud upon the pane,
“Save us,” they screaming cry—
“We shall not live again!”
What grief within my breast
Beats to the tapping call?
Deep in my heart I hear
The rustling of their fall.
Beats to the tapping call?
Deep in my heart I hear
The rustling of their fall.
30
SISTER MARIE
A Legend of Tyrol
I through the valley of Klausen went
By a little stream, and heard it sigh,
Down by its bed I crouched and bent
A listening ear as it hurried by.
By a little stream, and heard it sigh,
Down by its bed I crouched and bent
A listening ear as it hurried by.
“Lord, have mercy,” it murmured low,
“Sainted Mother, oh, pray for me!”
I laid my hand in the water's flow
“Say, little stream, what your troubles be.”
“Sainted Mother, oh, pray for me!”
I laid my hand in the water's flow
“Say, little stream, what your troubles be.”
“Virgin Mary, for my soul pray,
Lord, have pity,” it sighed again,
I through the valley did wend my way,
Heard it singing the odd refrain.
Lord, have pity,” it sighed again,
I through the valley did wend my way,
Heard it singing the odd refrain.
The stream stole by, “O Christ, on me
“Take mercy, Lord, a soul afraid.”
I looked around and there did see
No thing to fear—a peasant maid.
“Take mercy, Lord, a soul afraid.”
I looked around and there did see
No thing to fear—a peasant maid.
31
“A fair good-day,” she shyly smiled;
“A fair good-day to you,” said I,
“And can you tell me why, sweet child,
So loud with prayer the stream goes by.”
“A fair good-day to you,” said I,
“And can you tell me why, sweet child,
So loud with prayer the stream goes by.”
“'Tis Sister Marie's voice, they say,
(God give her soul for ever rest),
Who in yon convent walls did pray
As Christ's pure bride she dreamt her blest.
(God give her soul for ever rest),
Who in yon convent walls did pray
As Christ's pure bride she dreamt her blest.
“But came at last a bitter day
When out of France flew flame and strife,
To still the singing birds and lay
Shamed flowers in the red stream of life.
When out of France flew flame and strife,
To still the singing birds and lay
Shamed flowers in the red stream of life.
“And ruthless soldiers climbed the hill,
Broke through the convent walls and ran
Mad through the house to spoil and fill
The home that God's pure peace began.
Broke through the convent walls and ran
Mad through the house to spoil and fill
The home that God's pure peace began.
“Before the Saviour's Cross she knelt
The fairest nun in all the place,
Bowed down until her shoulders felt
Rough hands to turn her hidden face.
The fairest nun in all the place,
Bowed down until her shoulders felt
Rough hands to turn her hidden face.
32
“She screamed, and up the marble stair
Flew like a creature of the wood,
And as the hunters on the hare
They turned—the chase was in their blood.
Flew like a creature of the wood,
And as the hunters on the hare
They turned—the chase was in their blood.
“Their shouts came to her like the call
Of baying hounds upon her track,
The turret roof she reached—the wall—
No hiding there—no going back.
Of baying hounds upon her track,
The turret roof she reached—the wall—
No hiding there—no going back.
“Loud came the soldiers, but she prayed
No mercy from her fellows there;
Death was more kind—she stood and swayed
On the high wall above the glen.
No mercy from her fellows there;
Death was more kind—she stood and swayed
On the high wall above the glen.
“A moment faltered—then she sprang
To the sweet air and God's embrace,
And where she fell, the little stream
Flowed soft across her dying face.
To the sweet air and God's embrace,
And where she fell, the little stream
Flowed soft across her dying face.
“So on the wall a cross is made
Lest we forget for her to pray,
For in God's sight she is afraid
Who took her own sweet life away.”
Lest we forget for her to pray,
For in God's sight she is afraid
Who took her own sweet life away.”
33
She pointed where upon the hill
There frowned the old grey convent wall,
And there I saw half pictured still,
A holy cross rise red and tall.
There frowned the old grey convent wall,
And there I saw half pictured still,
A holy cross rise red and tall.
Down on her knees the fair child bent,
“And pity her, dear Lord,” she cried—
On through the vale the strange stream went,
“Ah! pity me, dear Lord,” it sighed.
“And pity her, dear Lord,” she cried—
On through the vale the strange stream went,
“Ah! pity me, dear Lord,” it sighed.
34
THE LAST COACH
Before her mirror in a pouting mood,
Afraid to weep lest anger should revoke
The picture there, she did impatient brood
Why Fate should treat her worse than other folk.
Afraid to weep lest anger should revoke
The picture there, she did impatient brood
Why Fate should treat her worse than other folk.
Her lilac frock her mother's hand caressed,
So fond and helpful in maternal pride,
Here to its place a slipping button pressed,
And there a wayward ribbon softly tied.
So fond and helpful in maternal pride,
Here to its place a slipping button pressed,
And there a wayward ribbon softly tied.
“They will not come!” the maid in her despair
Cries out on Fate who serves her now so ill:
“'Tis past the hour, and oh! they do not care,
They have forgot that I am waiting still.”
Cries out on Fate who serves her now so ill:
“'Tis past the hour, and oh! they do not care,
They have forgot that I am waiting still.”
Upon the breeze there comes the sudden beat
Of many hoofs and hum of turning wheels,
The murmur of low voices in the street,
And from afar a church bell faintly peals.
Of many hoofs and hum of turning wheels,
The murmur of low voices in the street,
And from afar a church bell faintly peals.
35
“List!” said the maid, “'tis to my neighbour's gate
Come these proud horses, hear their harness ring.
Perchance her natal feast she holds in state,
And ev'ry guest some precious gift will bring.
Come these proud horses, hear their harness ring.
Perchance her natal feast she holds in state,
And ev'ry guest some precious gift will bring.
“Hark! how they pass, full forty steeds and more,
My neighbour's child is but a maid like me;
Hear how her friends all whisper by her door,
While I forlorn and all neglected be.”
My neighbour's child is but a maid like me;
Hear how her friends all whisper by her door,
While I forlorn and all neglected be.”
“Thy humble coach last in the throng may wait,
Slow to advance while others hold the way;
Perchance but now it passes to our gate,
Let me look forth and seek the strange delay.”
Slow to advance while others hold the way;
Perchance but now it passes to our gate,
Let me look forth and seek the strange delay.”
The mother rose and to the window went,
With sore embittered heart that this parade
Was not for her dear girl; then slowly bent
There for a moment, silent and dismayed.
With sore embittered heart that this parade
Was not for her dear girl; then slowly bent
There for a moment, silent and dismayed.
36
Then came her child, in wonder at her mood,
Looked forth and saw, her neighbour's home before,
How two black steeds in mournful harness stood
To draw their coach of sorrow from the door.
Looked forth and saw, her neighbour's home before,
How two black steeds in mournful harness stood
To draw their coach of sorrow from the door.
“My neighbour's child is but almaid like thee,”
The mother cried, and swiftly heart to heart
They clung, and wept together prayerfully,
Till each sad coach did from their gaze depart.
The mother cried, and swiftly heart to heart
They clung, and wept together prayerfully,
Till each sad coach did from their gaze depart.
Then came the last, where merry faces pressed
Upon the glass all laughing to be late;
And beckoning hands all ready to caress—
This humble coach did stop before their gate.
Upon the glass all laughing to be late;
And beckoning hands all ready to caress—
This humble coach did stop before their gate.
37
RAIN AFTER DROUGHT
All night the small feet of the rain
Within the garden ran,
And gentle fingers tapped the pane
Until the dawn began.
Within the garden ran,
And gentle fingers tapped the pane
Until the dawn began.
The rill-like voices called and sung
The slanting roof beside;
“The children of the clouds have come;
Awake! awake!” they cried.
The slanting roof beside;
“The children of the clouds have come;
Awake! awake!” they cried.
“Weep no more the drooping rose
Nor mourn the thirsting tree,
The little children of the storm
Have gained their liberty.”
Nor mourn the thirsting tree,
The little children of the storm
Have gained their liberty.”
All night the small feet of the rain
About my garden ran,
Their rill-like voices called and cried
Until the dawn began.
About my garden ran,
Their rill-like voices called and cried
Until the dawn began.
38
HAUNTED
How restless are the dead whose silent feet will stray
In to our lone retreat or solitary way;
Within the dew-wet wood or sun-enchanted lane
We meet them face to face, we hear them speak again.
In to our lone retreat or solitary way;
Within the dew-wet wood or sun-enchanted lane
We meet them face to face, we hear them speak again.
How powerful are the dead whose voices ever speak,
So softly by our side in accents faint and weak:
They bid us go or stay, or do, or leave undone,
We hear them breathe our name ere dawn has well begun.
So softly by our side in accents faint and weak:
They bid us go or stay, or do, or leave undone,
We hear them breathe our name ere dawn has well begun.
How silent are the dead when come accusing fears
To chide our aching hearts, to fill our days with tears:
They hush not now our grief, nor heed us as we plead
For some unspoken word, or some ungentle deed.
To chide our aching hearts, to fill our days with tears:
39
For some unspoken word, or some ungentle deed.
Beside the golden fire they take the empty chair
They tread from room to room, they pass from stair to stair,
And when comes tranquil night to call to us to sleep
Within our pleasant dreams the restless dead will creep.
They tread from room to room, they pass from stair to stair,
And when comes tranquil night to call to us to sleep
Within our pleasant dreams the restless dead will creep.
How pitiless the dead who come in dearest guise
And most belovéd ways before our wistful eyes;
To cry to us lost words that we remembered not,
To act again each scene that we had half forgot.
And most belovéd ways before our wistful eyes;
To cry to us lost words that we remembered not,
To act again each scene that we had half forgot.
And should we seek to ease our heart with some caress
How timidly they fly and leave us loneliness:
How fugitive the dead who at our stricken call
Hide in the chilly tomb and answer not at all.
How timidly they fly and leave us loneliness:
How fugitive the dead who at our stricken call
Hide in the chilly tomb and answer not at all.
| New Poems: Dora Sigerson Shorter | |