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diff --git a/10750-0.txt b/10750-0.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..ac49bdd --- /dev/null +++ b/10750-0.txt @@ -0,0 +1,2427 @@ +*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 10750 *** + +THE MIRACLE + +AND OTHER POEMS + +BY VIRNA SHEARD + +1913 + + + + + + + +TO MY DEAR BROTHER + +ELDRIDGE STANTON (JUNIOR) + +WHO DIED BRAVELY AT NIAGARA, ON THE AFTERNOON OF +SUNDAY, FEBRUARY 4TH, 1912. + +No tears for thee, no tears, or sighs, +Or breaking heart-- +But smiles, that thou so well that bitter hour +Didst play thy part! + +VIRNA SHEARD. + + + + +CONTENTS + +THE MIRACLE +THE CROW +WHEN APRIL COMES +KISMET +A SONG OF SUMMER DAYS +AT THE PLAY +CHRISTMAS +THE HEART COURAGEOUS +A SONG +THE CALL +THE KNIGHT-ERRANT +A SOUTHERN LULLABY +THE FAIRY CLOCK +THE SLUMBER ANGEL +THE LONELY ROAD +SEA-BORN +THE ANGEL +WHEN CHRISTMAS COMES +THE OPAL MONTH +NOCTURNE +A SONG OF LOVE +THE UNKNOWING +THE PETITION +HALLOWE'EN +THE GLEANER +THE ROVER +IN SOLITUDE +THE ROBIN +A SONG OF ROSES +PRAIRIE +THE CLIMBER +THE DAISY +THE VISION +SAINTS +AT MIDNIGHT +NOVEMBER +THE LILY-POND +LILACS +APRIL +PAEANS +THE HARP +GULLS +THE SHEPHERD WIND +THE TEMPLE +REQUEST +A SONG +THE TOAST +THE SEA-SHELL +AT DAWN +THE WHISTLER +COMMON-WEALTH +DON CUPID +HEAVEN +SIR HENRY IRVING +JEAN DE BREBOEUF +IN EGYPT +A SONG OF POPPIES +A PAGAN PRAYER +A LOVE SONG + + + + + +THE MIRACLE AND OTHER POEMS + + +THE MIRACLE + +Up from the templed city of the Jews, + The road ran straight and white +To Jericho, the City of the Palms, + The City of Delight. + +Down that still road from far Judean hills + The shepherds drove their sheep +At silver dawn--at stirring of the birds-- + When men were all asleep. + +Full many went that weary way at noon, + Or rested by the trees, +Romans and slaves, Gentiles and bearded priests, + Sinners and Pharisees. + +But when the pink clouds drifted far and high, + Like rose leaves blowing past, +When in the west where one star blessed the sky + The gates of day shut fast. + +All travellers journeyed home, and the moonlight + Washed the road fresh and sweet, +Until it seemed a gleaming ivory path, + Waiting for royal feet. + +* * * * * + +Now it was noon, and life at its full tide + Rolled ever to and fro, +A restless sea, between Jerusalem + And white-walled Jericho. + +Blind Bartimeus, by the highway side, + Sat begging 'neath the trees, +And heard the world go by, Gentiles and Jews, + Sinners and Pharisees. + +Blind Bartimeus of the mask-like face, + And patient, outstretched hand-- +He upon whom his God had set a mark + No man might understand; + +Blind Bartimeus of the lonely dark, + Who knew no thing called fear, +But dreamt his dreams, and heard the little sounds + No man but he could hear. + +He heard the beating of the bird's soft wings + Uprising through the air; +He heard the camel's footfall in the dust, + And knew who travelled there. + +He heard the lizard when it moved at noon + On the grey, sunlit wall; +He heard the far-off temple bells, what time + He felt the shadows fall. + +Now, in the golden hour, he stooped to hear + A muffled sound and low, +The tramping of a myriad sandalled feet + That came from Jericho. + +Then on the road a little lad he knew + Ran past, with eager cry, +"Ho, Bartimeus! Give thine heart good cheer, + For David's Son comes by! + +"He comes! He comes! And, sad one, who can say + What He may do for thee? +He makes the lame to walk! He heals the sick! + He makes the blind to see!" + +"He makes the blind to see! Oh, God of Hosts, + Beyond the sky called blue, +What if Messiah cometh to His own! + What if the words be true!" + +On his swift way the little herald sped, + Like bird upon the wing, +And left the lean, brown beggar--world-forgot-- + Waiting for Israel's King. + +But when the dust came whirling to his feet-- + When the mad throng drew near-- +Blind Bartimeus rose, and from his lips + A cry rang loud and clear-- + +The cry of all the ages, of each soul + In sad captivity; +The endless cry from depths of bitter woe-- + "Have mercy upon me!" + +What though the wild oncoming multitude + Jested and bade him cease; +What though the Scribes and mighty Pharisees + Told him to keep his peace; + +What though his heart grew faint, and all the strength + Slipped from each trembling limb-- +The One of all the earth his soul desired + Stood still--and spoke to him. + +Then silence fell, while the upheaving throng, + As sea-waves backward curled, +Left a great path, and down the path there shone + The Light of all the world. + +The Light from whose mysterious golden depths + The Sun rose in his might-- +The light from whose white, hidden fires were lit + The torches of the night; + +The Light that shining on a thing of clay + Giveth it Life and Will: +The Light that with an unknown power can blast + And bid all life be still; + +The Light that calls a ray of its own light + A man's undying soul-- +The Light that lifts the broken lives of earth, + Touches and makes them whole. + +Up towards the Radiance Bartimeus went, + Alone, and poor, and blind-- +Feeling his way, if haply it led on + To One he fain would find. + +Then spoke the Voice again. Oh, mystic words + Of a compelling grace: +The curtain rose from off his darkened sight-- + He saw the King's own face. + +So strangely beautiful--so strangely near-- + He worshipped with his eyes, +Unheeding that for him at last there shone + The sunlit noonday skies. + +What though the clamouring crowd echoed his name + Unto its utmost rim, +He only saw the Christ--and in the light + He rose and followed Him. + +* * * * * + +Oh, Bartimeus of the mask-like face, + And patient, outstretched hand, +Was it for this God set on thee the mark + No man might understand? + + + + +THE CROW + + Hail, little herald!--Art thou then returning +From summer lands, this wild and wind-torn day? + Hast brought the word for which our hearts are yearning, + That spring is on the way? + Hark! Now there comes a clear, insistent calling, + +From hill tops crested with untarnished snow; + The trumpet notes are drifting--floating--falling-- + Whene'er the breezes blow! + + "Winter is over, and the spring is coming!" + Glad is thy message, little page in black-- + "Winter is over, and the spring is coming-- + The spring is coming back!" + + Tell me, 0 prophet, bird of sombre feather, +Who taught thee all the mysteries of spring?-- + Didst note each passing mood of wind and weather, +While flying to the North on buoyant wing? + + Or didst thou rest upon the bare brown branches +And hear the sap go singing through the trees?-- + Didst watch with keen, far-seeing downward glances, + The leaves unlock their cells with fairy keys? + +What though thy voice hath not a trace of sweetness + It thrills one through and through, +With promises of Joy in all completeness + What time the skies are blue. +When robins from the apple-trees are flinging + Out on the air their silver shower of song,-- +In lilac days, when children run a-singing, + No single thought shall do thy memory wrong. + + "Winter is over and the spring is coming!" + Sweet are thy tidings, little page in black-- + "Winter is over and the spring is coming-- + The spring is coming back!" + + + + +WHEN APRIL COMES! + +When April comes with softly shining eyes, + And daffodils bound in her wind-blown hair, +Oh, she will coax all clouds from out the skies, +And every day will bring some sweet surprise,-- + The swallows will come swinging through the air + When April comes! + +When April comes with tender smile and tear, + Dear dandelions will gild the common ways, +And at the break of morning we will hear +The piping of the robins crystal clear-- + While bobolinks will whistle through the days, + When April comes! + +When April comes, the world so wise and old, + Will half forget that it is worn and grey; +Winter will seem but as a tale long told-- +Its bitter winds with all its frost and cold + Will be the by-gone things of yesterday, + When April comes! + + + + +KISMET + +Love came to her unsought, + Love served her many ways, +And patiently Love followed her + Throughout the nights and days. + +Love spent his life for her + And hid his tears and sighs; +He bartered all his soul for her, + With tender pleading eyes. + +Her scarlet mouth that smiled, + Mocked lightly at his woe, +And while she would not bid him stay + She did not bid him go. + +But hope within him failed + Until he pled no more-- +And cold and still he turned his face + Away from her heart's door. + +* * * * * + +Long were the days she watched + For one who never came;-- +Through sleepless nights her white lips bore + The burden of a name. + + + + +A SONG OF SUMMER DAYS + +As pearls slip off a silken string and fall into the sea, +These rounded summer days fall back into eternity. + +Into the deep from whence they came; into the mystery-- +At set of sun each one slips back as pearls into the sea. + +They are so sweet--so warm and sweet--Love fain would hold them fast: +He weeps when through his finger tips they slip away at last. + + + + +AT THE PLAY + +Just above the boxes and where the high lights fall +Looketh down a carven face from out the gilded wall. + +Van Dyke beard and broidered ruff silently confess +That he lived--and loved perchance--in days of Good Queen Bess. +(Laces fine and linen sheer, curled and perfumed hair +Well became those gentlemen of gay, insouciant air.) + +See! He gazeth evermore at the stage below; +Noteth well the players as they quickly come and go; +Queens and kings and maidens fair, motley fools and friars, +Lords and ladies, stately dames, mounted knights and squires. + +Well he knoweth all of them, all the grave and gay, +These are they he dreamt of in the far and far away; +Saints and sinners, see they come down the bygone years, +And the world still shares with them its laughter and its tears. + +Still we haunt the greenwood for love of Rosalind, +Still we hear the Jester's bells ajingle on the wind, +Still the frenzied Moor we fear--Ah! and even yet +Breathless wait before the tomb of all the Capulet. + +Though the slow years pass away, yet on land and sea, +Follow we the Danish Prince in sad soliloquy; +And I fancy sometimes when the round moon saileth high +Yet in Venice meet the Jew--as he goeth by. + +(Just above the boxes and where the high lights fall +Looketh down a carven face from out the gilded wall.) + + + + +CHRISTMAS + +With all the little children, far and near, +God wot! to-day we'll sing a song of cheer! +To rosy lips and eyes, that know not guile, +We one and all will give back smile for smile; +And for the sake of all the small and gay +We will be children also for to-day. + +Holly we'll hang, with mistletoe above! +God wot! to-day we'll sing a song of love! +And we will trip on merry heel and toe +With all the fair who lightly come and go; +We will deny the years that lie behind +And say that age is only in the mind. + +And to the needy, in whatever place, +God wot! to-day we'll lend a hand of grace; +For where is he who hath not need himself, +Although he dine on silver or on delf? +And we who pass and nod this Christmas Day +May never meet again on life's highway. + +But when the lights are lit, and day has flown-- +God wot! there will be some who sit alone; +Who sit and gaze into the embers' glow, +And watch strange things that flitter to and fro-- +The ghosts of dreams; and faces--long unseen; +Shadows of shadows--things that once have been. + + + + +THE HEART COURAGEOUS + +Who hath a heart courageous + Will fight with right good cheer; +For well may he his foes out-face + Who owns no foe called Fear! + +Who hath a heart courageous + Will fight as knight of old +For that which he doth count his own-- + Against the world to hold. + +Who hath a heart courageous + Will fight both night and day, +Against the Host Invisible-- + That holds his soul at bay, + +Who hath a heart courageous + Rests with tranquillity, +For Time he counts not as his foe, + Nor Death his enemy. + + + + +A SONG + +Love maketh its own summer time, + 'Tis June, Love, when we are together, +And little I care for the frost in the air, + For the heart makes its own summer weather. + +Love maketh its own winter time, + And though the hills blossom with heather, +If you are not near, 'tis December, my dear, + For the heart makes its own winter weather. + + + + +THE CALL + +Across the dusty, foot-worn street + Unblessed of flower or tree, +Faint and far-off--there ever sounds + The calling of the sea. + +From out the quiet of the hills, + Where purple shadows lie, +The pine trees murmur, "Come and rest + And let the world go by." + +The west wind whispers all night long + "Oh, journey forth afar +To the green and pleasant places + Where little rivers are!" + +And the soft and silken rustling + Of bending yellow wheat +Says, "See the harvest moon--that dims + The arc-lights of the street." + +Though the city holds thee captive + By trick, and wile, and lure, +Out yonder lies the loveliness + Of things that shall endure. + +The river road is wide and fair, + The prairie-path is free, +And still the old earth waits to give + Her strength and joy to thee. + + + + +THE KNIGHT-ERRANT + +Keen in his blood ran the old mad desire + To right the world's wrongs and champion truth; +Deep in his eyes shone a heaven-lit fire, + And royal and radiant day-dreams of youth! + +Gracious was he to both beggar and stranger, + And for a rose tossed from fair finger-tips +He would have ridden hard-pressed through all danger, + The rose on his heart and a song on his lips! + +All the king's foes he counted his foemen; + His not to say that a cause could be lost; +Spirits like his faced the enemies' bowmen + On long vanished fields--nor counted the cost. + +Wide was his out-look and far was his vision; + Soul-fretting trifles he sent down the wind; +Small griefs gained only his cheerful derision,-- + God's weather always was fair to his mind. + +But he would comfort a child who was crying, + Knightly his deed to all such in distress; +Never a beast by the road-side lay dying + He did not stoop to with gentle caress. + +And by the old, and the sad, and the broken, + Often he lingered, a well-beloved guest; +Dear was his voice, whatever the word spoken, + Sweetening their day with a song or a jest. + +In the far times of brave ballad and story, + Men of his make kept the gates of the sea, +Wrought mighty deeds of power and glory, + Scattered their tyrants, and set the land free! + +* * * * * + +In the far times when perchance hearts were stronger, + When for a faith men could face death alone, +And it would seem that love lasted longer, + Such a white soul would have come to its own. + +Down in the city the people but noted + One who was silent when things went awry, +Toiled at dull tasks, and was strangely devoted + To small deeds of kindness that others passed by. + +Down in the city the people but noted + One who thought little of wealth and its ways; +One whose true words were full often misquoted, + One who laughed lightly at blame or at praise. + + + + +A SOUTHERN LULLABY + +Little honey baby, shet yo' eyes up tight;-- + (Shadow-man is comin' from de moon!)-- +You's as sweet as roses if dey is so pink an white; + (Shadow-man '11 get here mighty soon.) + +Little honey baby, keep yo' footses still!-- + (Rocky-bye, oh, rocky, rocky-bye!) +Hush yo' now, an listen to dat lonesome whippo'-will; + Don't yo' fix yo' lip an start to cry. + +Little honey baby, stop dat winkin' quick!; + (Hear de hoot-owl in de cotton-wood!) +Yess--I sees yo' eyes adoin' dat dere triflin' trick-- + (He gets chillun if dey isn't good.) + +Little honey baby, what yo' think yo' see?-- + (Sister keep on climbin' to de sky--) +Dat's a June bug--it aint got no stinger, lak a bee-- + (Reach de glory city by an by.) + +Little honey baby, what yo' skeery at?-- + (Go down, Moses--down to Phar-e-oh,)-- +No--dat isn't nuffin but a furry fly-round bat;-- + (Say, he'd betta let dose people go.) + +Little honey baby, yo' is all ma own,-- + Deed yo' is.--Yes,--dat's a fia-fly;-- +If I didn't hab yo'--reckon I'd be all alone; + (Rocky-bye--oh, rocky, rocky-bye.) + +Little honey baby, shet yo' eyes up tight;-- + (Shadow man is comin' from de moon,) +You's as sweet as roses, if dey is so pink and white; + (Shadow-man '11 get here mighty soon.) + + + The lines in brackets are supposed to be sung or chanted. + The Southern "Mammy" seldom sang a song through, but + interladed it with comments.--V.S. + + + + +THE FAIRY CLOCK + +Silver clock! O silver clock! tell to me the time o' day! +Is there yet a little hour left for us to work and play? +Tell me when the sun will set--tiny globe of silver-grey. + +It has been so glad a world since the coming of the morn, +Oft I wondered when I met any souls who seemed forlorn-- +And I scarce gave heed to those who were old or travel worn. + +Mayhap I have loved too well the merry fleeting things; +Run too lightly with the wind--chased too many shining wings; +Thought too seldom of the night, and the silence that it brings. + +Well I fear me I have been but an idler in the sun-- +All unfinished are the tasks long and long ago begun-- +In the dark perchance they weep, who have left their work undone. + +And I know each black-frocked friar preacheth sermons that, alas! +Fain would halt the dancing feet of those careless ones who pass +Down a sweet and primrose path, through the ribbons of the grass. + +Silver-clock! O Silver-clock! It was only yesterday +Dandelions flecked the field, starry bright, and gold and gay; +You are but the ghost of one--little globe of silver-grey! + +Tell me--tell me of the hour--for there is so much to do! +Is it early? Is it late? Fairy clock! 0 tell me true, +As I blow you down the wind, out upon a road of blue. + + + + +THE SLUMBER ANGEL + +When day is ended, and grey twilight flies + On silent wings across the tired land, +The slumber angel cometh from the skies-- +The slumber angel of the peaceful eyes, + And with the scarlet poppies in his hand. + +His robes are dappled like the moonlit seas, + His hair in waves of silver floats afar; +He weareth lotus-bloom and sweet heartsease, +With tassels of the rustling green fir trees, + As down the dusk he steps from star to star. + +Above the world he swings his curfew bell, + And sleep falls soft on golden heads and white; +The daisies curl their leaves beneath his spell, +The prisoner who wearies in his cell + Forgets awhile, and dreams throughout the night. + +* * * * * + +Even so, in peace, comes that great Lord of rest + Who crowneth men with amaranthine flowers; +Who telleth them the truths they have but guessed, +Who giveth them the things they love the best, + Beyond this restless, rocking world of ours. + + + + +THE LONELY ROAD + +We used to fear the lonely road + That twisted round the hill; +It dipped down to the river-way, + And passed the haunted mill, +And then crept on, until it reached + The churchyard, green and still. + +No pipers ever took that road, + No gipsies, brown and gay; +No shepherds with their gentle flocks, + No loads of scented hay; +No market-waggons jingled by + On any Saturday. + +The dog-wood there flung wide its stars, + In April, silvery sweet; +The squirrels crossed that path all day + On tiny flying feet; +The wild, brown rabbits knew each turn, + Each shadowy safe retreat. + +And there the golden-belted bee + Sang his sweet summer song, +The crickets chirped there to the moon + With steady note and strong; +Till cold and silence wrapped them round + When autumn nights grew long. + +But, oh! they brought the lonely dead + Along that quiet way, +With strange procession, dark and slow, + On sunny days and grey; +We used to watch them, wonder-eyed, + Nor care again to play. + +And we forgot each merry jest; + The birds on bush and tree +Silenced the song within their throats + And with us watched to see, +The soft, slow passing out of sight + Of that dark mystery. + +* * * * * + +We fear no more the lonely road + That winds around the hill; +Far from the busy world's highway + And the gods' slow-grinding mill; +It only seems a peaceful path, + Pleasant, and green, and still. + + + + +SEA-BORN + +Afar in the turbulent city, + In a hive where men make gold, +He stood at his loom from dawn to dark, + While the passing years were told. + +And when he knew it was summer-time + By the grey dust on the street, +By the lingering hours of daylight, + And the sultry noon-tide heat-- + +Oh! he longed as a captive sea-bird + To leave his cage and be free, +For his heart like a shell kept singing + The old, old song of the sea. + +And amid the noise and confusion + Of wheels that were never still, +He heard the wind through the scented pines + On a rough, storm-beaten hill; + +While, beyond a maze of painted threads, + Where his tireless shuttle flew, +In fancy he saw the sunlit waves + Beckon him out to the blue. + + + + +THE ANGEL + +Down the white ward with slow, unswerving tread + He came ere break of day-- +A cowl was drawn about his down-bent head, + His misty robes were grey. + +And no man even knew that he went by, + None saw or heard him pass; +Softly he moved as clouds drift down the sky, + Or shadows cross the grass. + +Close to a little bed where one lay low, + At last he took his stand, +And touched the head that tossed in restless woe + With gentle, outstretched hand. + +"When bitterness," he said, "is at an end, + And joy grows far and dim, +I am the angel whom the Lord doth send + To lead men on to Him. + +"Past the innumerable stars, my friend, + Past all the winds that blow, +We, too, must travel to our journey's end. + Arise! And let us go!" + +"Stay! Stay!" the other cried. "I know thy face! + Death is thy dreaded name!" +"Nay--I am known as 'Love' in that far place," + He said, "from whence I came." + +But still the other cried, with moan and tear, + "I fear the dark--and thee!" +"There is no dark," the angel said, "nor fear, + For those who go with me. + +"There is no loneliness, and nevermore + The shadow-haunted night, +When we pass out beyond Life's swinging door + The road," he said, "is bright." + +Then backward slipped the cowl from off his head, + Downward the robe of grey; +A radiant presence by the lowly bed + Greeted the breaking day. + +* * * * * + +Within the long white ward one lay alone, + None watched by him awhile, +But some who passed him said, in whispered tone, + "See--on his lips--the smile!" + + + + +WHEN CHRISTMAS COMES + +For thee, my small one--trinkets and new toys, +The wine of life and all its keenest joys, + When Christmas comes. +For me, the broken playthings of the past +That in my folded hands I still hold fast, + When Christmas comes. + +For thee, fair hopes of all that yet may be, +And tender dreams of sweetest mystery, + When Christmas comes. +For thee, the future in a golden haze, +For me, the memory of some bygone days, + When Christmas comes. + +For thee, the things that lightly come and go, +For thee, the holly and the mistletoe, + When Christmas comes. +For me, the smiles that are akin to tears, +For me, the frost and snows of many years, + When Christmas comes. + +For thee, the twinkling candles bright and gay, +For me, the purple shadows and the grey, + When Christmas comes. +For thee, the friends that greet thee at the door, +For me, the faces I shall see no more, + When Christmas comes. + +But ah, for both of us the mystic star +That leadeth back to Bethlehem afar, + When Christmas comes. +For both of us the child they saw of old, +That evermore his mother's arms enfold, + When Christmas comes. + + + + +THE OPAL MONTH + +Now cometh October--a nut-brown maid, +Who in robes of crimson and gold arrayed + Hath taken the king's highway! +On the world she smiles--but to me it seems +Her eyes are misty with mid-summer dreams, + Or memories of the May. + +Opals agleam in the dusk of her hair +Flash their hearts of fire and colours rare + As she dances gaily by-- +Yet she sighs for each empty swinging nest, +And she tenderly holds against her breast + A belated butterfly. + +The crickets sing no more to the stars-- +The spiders no more put up silver bars + To entangle silken wings; +But the quail pipes low in the rusted corn, +And here and there--both at night and at morn-- + A lonely robin still sings. + +A spice-laden breeze of the south is blent +With perfumed winds from the Orient + And they weave o'er her a spell, +For nun-like she goeth now, still and sweet-- +And while mists like incense curl at her feet, + She lingers her beads to tell. + + + + +NOCTURNE + +Infold us with thy peace, dear moon-lit night, + And let thy silver silence wrap us round +Till we forget the city's dazzling light, + The city's ceaseless sound. + +Here where the sand lies white upon the shore, + And little velvet-fingered breezes blow, +Dear sea, thy world-old wonder-song once more + Sing to us e'er we go. + +Give us thy garnered sweets, short summer hour: + Perfume of rose, and balm of sun-steeped pine; +Scent from the lily's cup and horned flower, + Where bees have drained the wine. + +Come, small musicians in the rough sea grass, + Pipe us the serenade we love the best; +And winds of midnight, chant for us a mass, + Our hearts would be at rest. + +God of all beauty, though the world is thine, + Our faith grows often faint, oft hope is spent; +Show us Thyself in all things fair and fine, + Teach us the stars' content. + + + + +A SONG OF LOVE + +Love reckons not by time--its May days of delight +Are swifter than the falling stars that pass beyond our sight. + +Love reckons not by time--its moments of despair +Are years that march like prisoners, who drag the chains they wear. + +Love counts not by the sun--it hath no night or day-- +'Tis only light when love is near--'tis dark with love away. + +Love hath no measurements of height, or depth, or space, +But yet within a little grave it oft hath found a place. + +Love is its own best law--its wrongs seek no redress; +Love is forgiveness--and it only knoweth how to bless. + + + + +THE UNKNOWING + +If the bird knew how through the wintry weather +An empty nest would swing by day and night, +It would not weave the strands so close together + Or sing for such delight. + +And if the rosebud dreamed e'er its awaking +How soon its perfumed leaves would drift apart, +Perchance 'twould fold them close to still the aching + Within its golden heart. + +If the brown brook that hurries through the grasses +Knew of drowned sailors--and of storms to be-- +Methinks 'twould wait a little e'er it passes + To meet the old grey sea. + +If youth could understand the tears and sorrow, +The sombre days that age and knowledge bring, +It would not be so eager for the morrow + Or spendthrift of the spring. + +If love but learned how soon life treads its measure, +How short and swift its hours when all is told, +Each kiss and tender word 'twould count and treasure, + As misers count their gold. + + + + +THE PETITION + +Sweet April! from out of the hidden place + Where you keep your green and gold, +We pray thee to bring us a gift of grace, + When the little leaves unfold. + +Oh! make us glad with the things that are young; + Give our hearts the quickened thrills +That used to answer each robin that sung + In the days of daffodils. + +For what is the worth of all that we gain, + If we lose the old delight, +That came in the time of sun and rain, + When the whole round world seemed right? + +It was then we gave, as we went along, + The faith that to-day we keep; +And those April days were for mirth and song, + While the nights were made for sleep. + +Yet, though we follow with steps that are slow + The feet that dance and that run; +We would still be friends with the winds that blow, + And companions to the sun! + + + + +HALLOWE'EN + +There is an old Italian legend which says that on the eve of +the beloved festival of All Saints (Hallowe'en) the souls of the +dead return to earth for a little while and go by on the wind. +The feast of All Saints is followed by the feast of the dead, when +for a day only the sound of the _Miserere_ is heard throughout the +cities of Italy. + + +Hark! Hark to the wind! 'Tis the night, they say, +When all souls come back from the far away-- +The dead, forgotten this many a day! + +And the dead remembered--ay! long and well-- +And the little children whose spirits dwell +In God's green garden of asphodel. + +Have you reached the country of all content, +0 souls we know, since the day you went +From this time-worn world, where your years were spent? + +Would you come back to the sun and the rain, +The sweetness, the strife, the thing we call pain, +And then unravel life's tangle again? + +I lean to the dark--Hush!--was it a sigh? +Or the painted vine-leaves that rustled by? +Or only a night-bird's echoing cry? + + + + +THE GLEANER + +As children gather daisies down green ways + Mid butterflies and bees, +To-day across the meadows of past days + I gathered memories. + +I stored my heart with harvest of lost hours-- + With blossoms of spent years; +Leaves that had known the sun of joy, and hours + Drenched with the rain of tears. + +And perfumes that were long ago distilled + From April's pink and white, +Again with all their old enchantment, filled + My spirit with delight. + +From out the limbo where lost roses go + The place we may not see, +With all its petals sweet and half-ablow, + One rose returned to me. + +Where falls the sunlight chequered by the shade + On meadows of the past, +I gathered blossoms that no sun can fade + No winter wind can blast. + + + + +THE ROVER + +Though I follow a trail to north or south, + Though I travel east or west, +There's a little house on a quiet road + That my hidden heart loves best; +And when my journeys are over and done, + 'Tis there I will go to rest. + +The snows have bleached it this many a year; + The sun has painted it grey; +The vines hold it close in their clinging arms; + The shadows creep there to stay; +And the wind goes calling through empty rooms + For those who have gone away. + +But the roses against the window-pane + Are the roses I used to know; +And the rain on the roof still sings the song + It sang in the long ago, +When I lay me down to sleep in a bed + Little and white and low. + +It is long since I bid it all good-bye, + With young light-hearted disdain; +I remember who stood at the door that day; + Her tears fell fast as the rain; +And I whistled a tune and waved my hand, + But never went back again. + +Toll I have paid at the gates of the world, + The sand I know and the sea; +I have taken the wide and open road, + With steps unhindered and free; +Yet, like a bell ringing down in my heart, + My home is calling to me. + + + + +IN SOLITUDE + +He is not desolate whose ship is sailing + Over the mystery of an unknown sea, +For some great love with faithfulness unfailing + Will light the stars to bear him company. + +Out in the silence of the mountain passes, + The heart makes peace and liberty its own-- +The wind that blows across the scented grasses + Bringing the balm of sleep--comes not alone. + +Beneath the vast illimitable spaces + Where God has set His jewels in array, +A man may pitch his tent in desert places + Yet know that heaven is not so far away. + +But in the city--in the lighted city-- + Where gilded spires point toward the sky, +And fluttering rags and hunger ask for pity, + Grey Loneliness in cloth-of-gold, goes by. + + + + +THE ROBIN + +Little brown brother, up in the apple tree, + High on its blossom-rimmed branches aswing, +Here where I listen earth-bound, it seems to me + You are the voice of the spring. + +Herald of Hope to the sad and faint-hearted, + Piper the gold of the world cannot pay, +Up from the limbo of things long departed + Memories you bring me to-day. + +You are the echo of songs that are over, + You are the promise of songs that will come, +You know the music, oh, light-winged rover, + Sealed in the souls of the dumb. + +All of the past that we wearily sigh for, + All of the future for which our hearts long, +All Love would live for, and all Love would die for + Wordless, you weave in a song. + +Little brown brother, up in the apple tree, + My spirit answers each note that you sing, +And while I listen--earth-bound--it seems to me + You are the voice of the spring. + + + + +A SONG OF ROSES + +'Tis time to sing of roses: of roses all ablow, + To every vagrant passing breeze they dip a courtesy low, +'Tis time to sing of roses! for June is here, you know. + +One song for true love's roses of sweetest deepest red, + Some heart will wear you faithfully when life itself hath fled, +And for the white rose sing a song--the white rose for the dead. + +And ah! the yellow roses, of brightest, lightest gold, + King Midas must have touched their leaves in mystic days of old, +Or they were made of sunshine, and gilded, fold by fold. + +And the roadside rose, sweet-briar, we would remember thee + And the cinnamon rose that evermore enthralls each passing bee, +You old, old-fashioned roses, a-growing wild and free. + +'Tis time to sing of roses! of roses all ablow! + They come again, as sweet, my dear, as those of long ago. +'Tis time to sing of roses! for June is here you know. + + + + +PRAIRIE + +Where yesterday rolled long waves of gold + Beneath the burnished blue of the sky, +A silver-white sea lies still and cold, + And a bitter wind blows by. + +But nothing passes the door all day, + Though my watching eyes grow worn and dim, +Save a lean, grey wolf that swings away + To the far horizon rim. + +Then, one by one, the stars glisten out + Like frozen tears on a purple pall-- +The darkness folds my cabin about + And the snow begins to fall. + +I will make a hearth-fire red and bright + And set a light by the window pane +For one who follows the trail to-night + That will bring him home again. + +Love will ride with him my heart to bless-- + Joy will out-step him across the floor-- +What matters the great white loneliness + When we bar the cabin door? + + + + +THE CLIMBER + +He stood alone on Fame's high mountain top, + His hands at rest, his forehead bound with bay; +And yet he watched with eyes unsatisfied + The downward winding way. + +The great procession of the stars went by + Far overhead, beyond the mountain's rim, +But the unconquered worlds of time and space, + As nothing were to him. + +There from his vantage ground, so still and high, + He watched the storm clouds when they rolled below, +And felt the wind mount up to where he stood + Amid eternal snow. + +And sometimes in the valleys and the plains + He saw the little children at their play; +In cottage homes he saw the candle-light + Gleam out at close of day. + +But he and loneliness kept feast and fast, + The while with weary eyes, by night and day; +They watched the path that led to common things-- + The downward winding way. + +"'Twas there," he said, "that gladness passed me by, + In yonder valley, where I sought the truth; +And there, a few leagues up the rocky slope, + I said good-bye to Youth. + +"There, where the pine trees catch the sun's last gold, + Love reached its hands to me and bade me stop; +Oh, madness of the ones who climb," he said, + "Up to the mountain top!" + + + + +THE DAISY + +An angel found a daisy where it lay + On Heaven's highroad of transparent gold, +And, turning to one near, he said, "I pray, + Tell me what manner of strange bloom I hold. +You came a long, long way--perchance you know +In what far country such fair flowers blow?" + +Then spoke the other: "Turn thy radiant face +And gaze with me down purple depth of space. +See, where the stars lie spilled upon the night, +Like amber beads that hold a yellow light. +Note one that burns with faint yet steady glow; +It is the Earth--and there these blossoms grow. +Some little child from that dear, distant land +Hath borne this hither in his dimpled hand." + +Still gazed he down. "Ah, friend," he said, "I, too, +Oft crossed the fields at home where daisies grew." + + + + +THE VISION + +Long had she knelt at the Madonna's shrine, + With the empty chapel, cold and grey, +Telling her beads, while grief with marring line + And bitter tear stole all her youth away. + +Outcast was she from what Life holdeth dear; + Banished from joy that other souls might win; +And from the dark beyond she turned with fear, + Being so branded by the mark of sin. + +Yet when at last she raised her troubled face, + Haunted by sorrow, whitened by alarms, +Mary leaned down from out the pictured place, + And laid the little Christ within her arms. + +Rosy and warm she held Him to her heart, + She--the abandoned one--the thing apart. + + + + +SAINTS + +The Saints of Thy great Church, 0 Christ, + How vast their numbers be-- +On holy page and ancient scroll + Their blessed names we see, +And from the painted window panes + They smile eternally. + +Rope-girdled monk, and pallid maid, + And men who for Thy cross +Fought with the Saracen of old, + Counting their lives no loss-- +Martyrs who rose through golden flames, + Free of the body's dross. + +Yet there be Saints uncanonised, + Unrecognised, unknown-- +Here on the common roads of earth, + Oft times they walk alone; +Saints whom no soul hath ever praised, + Saints whom no Church doth own. + +Men who against their souls' grim foes + Wage an unyielding fight; +Men of new creeds, and men of old, + Men of dark hue, and white, +Each pressing hard towards some far gleam + Of Thy celestial light. + +Dwellers in places waste and lone, + Toilers upon the seas-- +Mayhap they seldom pray high heaven. + Softly--on bended knees-- +Yet in the roll-call of Thy Saints, + Dear Christ--remember these. + + + + +AT MIDNIGHT + +Turn Thou the key upon our thoughts, dear Lord, + And let us sleep; +Give us our portion of forgetfulness, + Silent and deep. + +Lay Thou Thy quiet hand upon our eyes + To close their sight; +Shut out the shining of the moon and stars + And candle-light. + +Keep back the phantoms and the visions sad, + The shades of grey, +The fancies that so haunt the little hours + Before the day. + +Quiet the time-worn questions that are all + Unanswered yet, +Take from the spent and troubled souls of us + Their vain regret; + +And lead us far into Thy silent land, + That we may go +Like children out across the field o' dreams + Where poppies blow. + +So all Thy saints--and all Thy sinners too-- + Wilt Thou not keep, +Since not alone unto Thy well-beloved + Thou givest sleep? + + + + +NOVEMBER + +How like a hooded friar, bent and grey, +Whose pensive lips speak only when they pray +Doth sad November pass upon his way. + +Through forest aisles while the wind chanteth low-- +In God's cathedral where the great trees grow, +Now all day long he paceth to and fro. + +When shadows gather and the night-mists rise, +Up to the hills he lifts his sombre eyes +To where the last red rose of sunset lies. + +A little smile he weareth, wise and cold, +The smile of one to whom all things are old, +And life is weary, as a tale twice told. + +"Come see," he seems to say--"where joy has fled-- +The leaves that burned but yesterday so red +Have turned to ashes--and the flowers are dead. + +"The summer's green and gold hath taken flight, +October days have gone. Now bleached and white +Winter doth come with many a lonely night. + +"And though the people will not heed or stay, +But pass with careless laughter on their way, +Even I, with rain of tears, will wait and pray." + + + + +THE LILY-POND + +On this little pool where the sunbeams lie, +This tawny gold ring where the shadows die, +God doth enamel the blue of His sky. + +Through the scented dark when the night wind sighs, +He mirrors His stars where the ripples rise, +Till they glitter like prisoned fireflies. + +'Tis here that the beryl-green leaves uncurl, +And here the lilies uplift and unfurl +Their golden-lined goblets of carven pearl. + +When the grey of the eastern sky turns pink, +Through the silver sedge at the pond's low brink +The little lone field-mouse creeps down to drink. + +And creatures to whom only God is kind, +The loveless small things, the slow, and the blind, +Soft steal through the rushes, and comfort find. + +Oh, restless the river, restless the sea! +Where the great ships go, and the dead men be; +The lily-pond giveth but peace to me. + + + + +LILACS + +In lonely gardens deserted--unseen-- + Oh! lovely lilacs of purple and white, +You are dipping down through a mist of green; + For the morning sun's delight. +And the velvet bee, all belted with black, + Drinks deep of the wine which your flagons hold, +Clings close to your plumes while he fills his pack + With a load of burnished gold. + +You hide the fences with blossoms of snow, + And sweeten the shade of castle towers; +Over low, grey gables you brightly blow, + Like amethysts turned to flowers. +The tramp on the highway--ragged and bold-- + Wears you close to his heart with jaunty air; +You rest in my lady's girdle of gold, + And are held against her hair. + +In God's own acre your tender flowers, + Bend down to the grasses and seem to sigh +For those who count time no more by hours-- + Whose summers have all passed by-- +But at eventide the south wind will sing, + Like a gentle priest who chanteth a prayer; +And thy purple censers he'll set a-swing, + To perfume the twilight air. + + + + +APRIL + + April! April! April! + With a mist of green on the trees-- +And a scent of the warm brown broken earth + On every wandering breeze; +What, though thou be changeful, + Though thy gold turns to grey again, +There's a robin out yonder singing, + Singing in the rain. + + April! April! April! + 'Tis the Northland hath longed for thee, +She hath gazed toward the South with aching eyes + Full long and patiently. +Come now--tell us, sweeting, + Thou laggard so lovely and late, +Dost know there's no joy like the joy that comes + When hearts have learned to wait? + + + + +PAEANS + +Oh! I will hold fast to Joy! + I will not let him depart-- +He shall close his beautiful rainbow wings + And sing his song in my heart. + +And I will live with Delight! + I will know what the children know +When they dance along with the April wind + To find where the catkins grow! + +I will dream the old, old dreams, + And look for pixie and fay +In shadowy woods--and out on the hills-- + As we did but yesterday. + +Love I will keep in my soul-- + Ay! even by lock and key! +There is nothing to fear in all of the world + If Love will but stay with me. + +No, I will not let Faith go! + I will say with my latest breath-- +I know there's a new and radiant road + On the other side of Death. + + + + +THE HARP + +Across the wind-swept spaces of the sky +The harp of all the world is hung on high, +And through its shining strings the swallows fly. + +The little silver fingers of the rain +Oft touch it softly to a low refrain, +That all day long comes o'er and o'er again. + +And when the storms of God above it roll, +The mighty wind awakes its sleeping soul +To songs of wild delight or bitter dole. + +And through the quiet night, as faint and far +As melody down-drifted from a star, +Trembles strange music where those harp-strings are. + +But only flying words of joy and woe, +Caught from the restless earth-bound souls below, +Over the vibrant wires ebb and flow. + +And in the cities that men call their own, +And in the unnamed places, waste and lone, +This harp forever sounds Life's undertone. + + + + +GULLS + +When the mist drives past and the wind blows high, + And the harbour lights are dim-- +See where they circle, and dip and fly, +The grey free-lances of wind and sky, + To the water's distant rim! + +Like spirits possessed of a fierce delight, + A courage that cannot fail, +They face the breakers--they face the night-- +The mad storm-horses are silvery white, + They ride through the bitter gale! + +They seem like the souls of the long, long lost, + Who breasted the ocean-main-- +Vikings whose vessels were tempest-tossed, +Voyagers who sailed, whatever the cost, + And never came home again. + +Or stranger and wilder fancy--it seems + As I hear their wind-torn cry, +No birds fly there through the sun's last gleams, +But the wraiths of hopes--the ghosts of dreams + That the old sea-gods saw die. + +When the mist drives past and the wind blows high, + And the harbour lights are dim-- +See where they circle, and dip and fly, +The grey free-lances of wind and sky, + To the far horizon's rim. + + + + +THE SHEPHERD WIND + +When hills and plains are powdered white, + And bitter cold the north wind blows, +Upon my window in the night + A fairy-garden grows. + +Here poppies that no hand hath sown + Bloom white as foam upon the sea, +And elfin bells to earth unknown + Hold frost-bound melody. + +And here are blossoms like to stars + Tangled in nets of silver lace-- +My very breath their beauty mars, + Or stirs them from their place. + +Perchance the echoes of old songs + Found here a resting place at last +With drifting perfume that belongs + To roses of the past. + +Or all the moonbeams that were lost + On summer nights the world forgets +May here be prisoned by the frost + With souls of violets. + +The wind doth shepherd many things-- + And when the nights are long and cold, +Who knows how strange a flock he brings + All safely to the fold. + + + + +THE TEMPLE + +Enter the temple beautiful! The house not made with hands! +Rain-washed and green, wind-swept and clean, + Beneath the blue it stands, +And no cathedral anywhere +Seemeth so holy or so fair. + +It hath no heavy gabled roof, no door with lock and key, +No window-bars shut out the stars, + The aisles are wide and free-- +Here through the night each altar-light +Is but a moon-beam, silver-white. + +Silently as the temple grew at Solomon's command, +Still as things seem within a dream + This rose from out the land: +And all the pillars, grey and high, +Lifted their arches to the sky. + +Here is the perfume of the leaves, the incense of the pines-- +The magic scent that hath been pent + Within the tangled vines: +No censor filled with spices rare +E'er swung such sweetness on the air. + +And all the golden gloom of it holdeth no haunting fear, +For it is blessed, and giveth rest + To those who enter here-- +Here in the evening--who can know +But God Himself walks to and fro! + +And music past all mastering within the chancel rings; +None could desire a sweeter choir + Than this--that soars and sings, +Till far the scented shadows creep-- +And quiet darkness bringeth sleep. + + + + +REQUEST + +(To E. M.) + +Sing me a song--a song to ease old sorrows, + And dull the edge of care-- +A song of Hope to ring through all the morrows + That be my share. + +Unlock the doors where joy hath been in hiding, + Though barred they be and strong, +And send black grief far down the wind a-riding-- + Sing me a song. + +Sing thou thy sky-lark song of sweetest daring, + And April ecstasy, +That I may follow it and go a-faring + To Arcady. + +Charm sleep from out the shadows with thy singing, + And when the light turns grey, +Leave me bright dreams until the dawn comes bringing + The rose-edged day. + +The wind of March taught thee his springtime madness, + And then in undertone +Whispered the wonder-secret of his gladness + To thee alone. + +And thou hast learned from little brook and river + Their tender melody-- +The notes that set the thrush's throat a-quiver + Are known to thee. + +Sing me a song--a song to ease old sorrows, + And dull the edge of care-- +A song of Hope, to ring through all the morrows + That be my share. + + + + +A SONG + +0 heart of mine--if I were but a swallow-- + A thing so fearless, swift of flight, and free-- +On wings unwearied I would find and follow + Some path that led to thee! + +Were I a rose out in the garden growing + My sweetness I would give the vagrant breeze +For he, perchance, might meet thee all unknowing-- + Yet bring thee memories. + + + + +THE TOAST + +A toast to thee, 0 dear old year, + While the last moments fly, +A toast to thy sweet memory-- + We'll lift the glasses high, +And bid to thee a fond farewell + As thou art passing by! + +A toast to those who reaped success + In this good year of grace; +A toast to every one of them-- + Come! Give the victors place! +Come, wish them well with right good will-- + The winners in the race! + +And one toast more! To those who failed + Wherever they may be;-- +With faces white they fought the fight, + But missed the victory; +So here's to them--the ones who strove-- + On land and on the sea! + +Fair dreams to thee, 0 grey old year, + Thy working time is done, +And gone for thee the silver moon, + And golden noon-day sun; +Yet sad old year--and glad old year-- + We'll know no better one. + + + + +THE SEA-SHELL + +Oh, fairy palace of pink and pearl +Frescoed with filigree silver-white, + Down in the silence beneath the sea + God by Himself must have fashioned thee +Just for His own delight! + +But no!--For a dumb and shapeless thing +Stirring in darkness its little hour, + Thy walls were built with infinite care, + Thou sea-scented home, so fine and fair, +Perfect--and like a flower! + + + + +AT DAWN + +Turn to thy window in the silver hour + That day comes stepping down the hills of night, +Infolded as the leaves infold a flower + By all her rose-leaf robes of misty light. + +Then, like a joy born out of blackest sorrow, + The miracle of morning seems to say, +"There is no night without its dear to-morrow, + No lonely dark that does not find the day." + + + + +THE WHISTLER + +Throughout the sunny day he whistled on his way-- + Oh high and low, and gay and sweet, + The melody rang down the street, +Till all the weary, old, and grey, +Smiled at their work, or stopped to say, + "Now God be thanked that youth is fair, + And light of heart, and free from care." + +What time the wind blew high, he whistled and went by-- + Then clarion clear on every side + The song was scattered far and wide; +Like birds above a storm that fly +The silver notes soared to the sky, + "O soul, whose courage does not fail + But with a song can meet the gale." + +And when the rain fell fast, he whistled as he passed-- + A little tune the whole world knew, + A song of love, of love most true; +On through the mist it came at last +To one by sorrow overcast, + "Dear Christ," she said, "by night and day + They serve who praise, as well as pray." + +Though the great world was white, he whistled in the night-- + The sky was spangled all with gold, + The bitter wind was keen and cold, +Yet, gay musician, out of sight, +You still put wintry thoughts to flight, + For summer follows where you fare, + 0 Whistler, so debonair. + +And when the fog hung grey, he whistled on his way-- + The little children in his train + With rosy lips caught up the strain. +Then I, to hear what he might say, +Followed with them, that sombre day. + "Is it for joy of life," quoth I, + "Good sir, you go awhistling by?" +He smiled, and sighed, and shook his head, + "I cheer my own sad heart," he said. + + + + +COMMON-WEALTH + +Give thanks, my soul, for the things that are free! +The blue of the sky, the shade of a tree, +And the unowned leagues of the shining sea. + +Be grateful, my heart, for everyman's gold; +By road-way and river and hill unfold +Sun-coloured blossoms that never are sold. + +For the little joys sometimes say a grace; +The scent of a rose, the frost's fairy lace, +Or the sound of the rain in a quiet place. + +Be glad of what cannot be bought or beguiled; +The trust of the tameless, the fearless, the wild, +The song of a bird and the faith of a child. + +For prairie and mountain, windswept and high, +For betiding beauty of earth and sky-- +Say a benediction e'er you pass by. + +Give thanks, my soul, for the things that are free! +The joy of life and the spring's ecstasy, +The dreams that have been and the dreams that will be. + + + + +DON CUPID + +Oh! little pink and white god of love, + With your tender smiling mouth, +And eyes as blue as the blue above, + Afar in the sunny south. + +No army e'er laid so many low + Or wounded so many hearts, +No mighty gunner e'er wrought such woe + As you with your feathered darts. + + + + +HEAVEN + +Not with the haloed saints would Heaven be + For such as I; +Who have not reached to their serenity + So sweet and high. + +Not with the martyrs washed by holy flame + Could I find place, +For they are victors who through glory came + To see God's face. + +Not with the perfect souls that enter there + Could mine abide, +For clouded eyes from eyes all cloudless fair + 'Twere best to hide. + +And not for me the wondrous streets of gold + Or crystal sea-- +I only know the brown earth, worn and old, + Where sinners be. + +Unless I found those who to me belong, + My dear and own, +I, in the vastness of that shining throng, + Would be alone. + +God guide us to some sun-blessed little star, + We ask not where, +Nor whether it be near or it be far, + So Love is there. + + + + +SIR HENRY IRVING + + "Thou trumpet made for Shakespeare's lips to blow!" + + +No more for thee the music and the lights, + Thy magic may no more win smile nor frown; +For thee, 0 dear interpreter of dreams, + The curtain hath rung down. + +No more the sea of faces, turned to thine, + Swayed by impassioned word and breathless pause; +No more the triumph of thine art--no more + The thunder of applause. + +No more for thee the maddening, mystic bells, + The haunting horror--and the falling snow; +No more of Shylock's fury, and no more + The Prince of Denmark's woe. + +Not once again the fret of heart and soul, + The loneliness and passion of King Lear; +No more bewilderment and broken words + Of wild despair and fear. + +And never wilt thou conjure from the past + The dread and bitter field of Waterloo; +Thy trembling hands will never pluck again + Its roses or its rue. + +Thou art no longer player to the court; + No longer red-robed cardinal or king; +To-day thou art thyself--the Well-Beloved-- + Bereft of crown and ring. + +Thy feet have found the path that Shakespeare found, + Life's lonely exit of such far renown; +For thee, 0 dear interpreter of dreams, + The curtain hath rung down. + + October, 1905. + + + + +JEAN DE BREBOEUF + +Jean de Breboeuf, a priest of the Jesuit Order, came to Canada +as a missionary to the Indians about the year 1625. He belonged +to an old and honourable French family that had given many sons +to the army, and was a man of great physical strength, one who +possessed an iron will, that was yet combined with sweetness +and gentleness of temper. + +He lived with the Indians for many years, and spoke the dialects +of different tribes, though his mission was chiefly to the Hurons. +By them he was much beloved. + +At the time of the uprising of the Iroquois in 1649, there was a +massacre of the Hurons at the little mission village of St. Louis +upon the shores of Georgian Bay. There Jean de Breboeuf, refusing +to leave his people, met death by torture at the hands of the +conquering Iroquois. Lalement, his friend, a priest of the same +order, was also martyred by these Indians upon the same day, +March 16th, 1649. + + +As Jean de Breboeuf told his rosary + At sundown in his cell, there came a call!-- +Clear as a bell rung on a ship at sea, + Breaking the beauty of tranquillity-- +Down from the heart of Heaven it seemed to fall: + +"Hail, Jean de Breboeuf! Lift thee to thy feet! + Not, for thy sins, by prayer shalt thou atone; +Thou wert not made for peace so deeply sweet, + Thine be the midnight cold, the noonday heat, +The journey through the wilderness, alone. + +"Too well thou lovest France--her very air + Is wine against thy lips--and all her weeds +Are in thine eyes as flowers. She is fair + In all her moods to thee--and even there, +See! thou dost dream of her above thy beads. + +"Rouse thee from out thy dreams! Awake! Awake! + Thou priest who cometh of a martial line!-- +Thou hast its strength, thy will no man can break: + Go forth unarmed, the law of love to take +Into a lonely land, that yet is Mine." + +Then straightway fell the monk upon his face + Trembling with awe throughout his mighty frame. +"I hear Thee, Lord!" he cried. "Give me Thy grace, + That I may follow thee to any place, +And speak to any people--in Thy name." + +The vine-leaf shadows darkened in the cell-- + And barefoot friars passed the close-shut door; +At vespers rang the monastery bell, + Yet still he lay, unheeding, where he fell, +Cross of black outstretched upon the floor. + +* * * * * + +Northward into the silence, night and day, + Through the unknown, with faith that did not fail, +Into the lands beneath the redman's sway, + The priest called Jean de Breboeuf took his way, +Led by the Polestar and the far-blazed trail. + +He bore the sacred wine cups, and a bell + Of beaten bronze, whose tongue should warn or bless; +As had been done in France, so he as well + Would ring a marriage chime or funeral knell +For his lone flock, out in the wilderness. + +And like a phantom ever at his side + Pointing each hour to paths he scarce could see, +By wood and waterway, went one still guide, + Who drifted with the shades, when daylight died, +Into the deep of night, and mystery. + +But when they reached the place of many pines, + God's country, that no white man yet had named-- +They beached their birch canoe 'neath swinging vines, + For here, the Indian read by many signs, +Lay the wild land the tribe of Huron claimed. + +Then like down-dropping pearls the rounded years, + One after one, slipped off the thread of Time, +And Jean de Breboeuf laboured--oft with fears + Safe-hidden, oftener still with smiles and tears, +Among the people of this northern clime. + +The forest children had become a part + Of his own life--always he spoke their tongue, +He dwelt within their tents--with all his heart + He learned their ancient woodcraft, and each art +Their race had practised when the world was young. + +He gave a simple truth and faithfulness + To men of silence and of subtle ways; +He shared with them long hunger and distress-- + When they had little, he himself had less, +Through all the dark and lonely winter days. + +High in the vast cathedral of the trees + He hung the bell of bronze; there in God's name +He taught the law of Love; there on his knees + In the sun-dappled gloom, midst birds and bees, +He lifted up the cross, with words of name. + +But evil days were come. The arrowhead + Was dipped in poison, and de Breboeuf saw +The painted faces and the swift-slain dead,-- + The deep, unhealing wound--the rent of red +Made by the weapon of the Iroquois. + +Closed in the village with its palisade, + Guarded by many a mighty Huron brave, +The women and the little children stayed, + Lest forest fire or sweeping midnight raid +Make all their hunting ground a common grave. + +It was at daybreak that they heard the cry: + "The Iroquois!--The Iroquois! They come! +Fly to the hidden forest places! Fly!-- + To linger in the village is to die-- +Steal through the river grasses--and be dumb!" + +Swiftly the women and the children fled, + But with the braves de Breboeuf stayed behind. +"Go!" cried the chief, "good father--we be dead!" + Yet soft he answered as he shook his head: +"I stay with thee--and with thy old and blind." + +When the red sun came creeping up the sky + Grey death had reaped the harvest hate had sown; +The Jesuit heard no longer curse or sigh-- + His prayers were said for those about to die-- +He faced the living Iroquois alone. + +They bound him fast beneath the forest green, + And when was come the shadowy edge of night-- +Nay--ask not what the horned owl hath seen, + Nor what the moon doth know--white and serene +The soul of Jean de Breboeuf took its flight. + + + + +IN EGYPT + + It was the Angel Azrael the Lord God sent below + At midnight, into every house in Egypt, long ago-- + 0 long, and long ago. + + +All day the wife of Pharaoh had paced the palace hall + Or the long white pillared court that was open to the sky; +A passion of wild restlessness ensnared her in its thrall + While she fought a fear within her--a thing that would not die. + +She had sent away her maidens--their weeping vexed her ears-- + Their pallid faces filled her with impatient pitying scorn;-- +But she kept one time-worn woman, who long had outgrown fears, + The old brown nurse who held her son the day that he was born. + +The mighty gods had failed her--the river-gods and the sun, + And the little gods of brass and stone--who stared but made no sign, +So she pled with them no longer, her prayers were said and done, + And now she neither bowed her head, or knelt at any shrine. + +Her hair was blown upon the wind like wreathes of golden flame, + And the sea-blue of her eyes cast blue shadows on her face, +For she was not of Egypt--but unto the king she came + A captive--yet a princess--from a northern sea-bound place. + +She watched the fiery wheel roll down behind the level land, + One small hand curled above her eyes, and one above her heart, +But when the ruby afterglow crept up and stained the sand + She turned and gazed toward Goshen, where Israel dwelt apart. + +* * * * * + +Nine plagues had wasted Egypt with their tortures grim and slow; + The earth was desolated, and scarred by hail and fire; +Still even yet her Lord refused to let his bondsmen go + To worship in the wilderness, the God of their desire. + +The yellow Nile had turned to blood before her watching eyes-- + It was branded into memory--a haunting death-strewn sight;-- +The very dust upon the street the rod had made to rise + In a living moving horror, of atoms, leprous-white. + +The frogs had come as things bewitched; an army without fear + They had broken through the rushes their upward way to take; +And each one followed steadily a voice no man could hear-- + While poisoned wind and pestilence came swiftly in their wake. + +Then oh, the little flies that swarmed from out the earth and air! + And the murrain of the camels, and cattle in the field! +She prayed the king for love of her to hear the people's prayer + And send the slaves far hither;--but for love he would not yield. + +His face was like the carven face upon the basalt door;-- + Her beauty could not charm him, her voice had lost its power; +So she wrapped a veil about her and entreated him no more + But sat alone and watched, from out her window in the tower. + +She saw the Hebrew leader with uncovered silvery hair + Come with the priest at daybreak to the outer palace gate, +And the rod of woe and wonder they carried with them there,-- + Yet Pharaoh bid them enter--for he dared not bid them wait. + +But naught prevailed, for sore disease had scourged the low and high, + And the hail of God had fallen and crushed the growing grain, +And a fire no hand had kindled in searing wrath swept by-- + Such fire as none had seen before--as none would see again. + +Then came the pirate locusts, with a sea-song free and bold;-- + The spent and broken people lacked the strength to force them back, +But watched them take the last green blades that never would be gold-- + And shut their doors against the foe that turned the meadows black. + +Then Pharaoh wavered--more--he called the Hebrews in his haste + Imploring respite--pleading his repentance bitterly-- +For there was death on every side, and all the land was waste;-- + So the western wind of God blew the locusts out to sea. + +Yet not enough. Once more the king denied his given word; + He dared the wrath of Heaven, and he made his heart as steel; +Then all the lights of God went out, and no man even stirred-- + But stayed companioned by his fear, in darkness he could feel. + +So had each dreadful day gone by, each slow departing night, + And the queen stood now at sunset alone with grief and shame, +When one came running towards her through the failing crimson light, + A little lad, with Egypt's eyes--but hair like golden flame. + +"Thou has been long, Beloved!" she cried, and frowned all tenderly, + "Indeed I have not seen thee since the burning noon took wing." +"Mother of mine," he answered, "I have been where I should be + These burdened times of Egypt--beside my Lord the King. + +"'Twill take the country many days to gain its old time peace, + But thou shalt suffer nothing;--I, myself, will care for thee +And see that naught doth harm thee--until all these troubles cease;-- + These sad and magic doings that no man can solve," said he. + +"Ay! That thou wilt," she said. "But tell me, how doth fare the king? + Doth he relent? Or is his face forbidding--dark and cold?-- +Or hath he sent thee hither but some word of me to bring + As he cannot leave the council, and now the day grows old?" + +He shook his head. "I came because I longed to see thee so;-- + And Pharaoh reads the chart of stars while time goes creeping by, +Or he sits in weary silence--or paceth to and fro. + Since he banished the magicians, all fear him--all save I. + +"Put on thy golden girdle with the mighty emerald clasp + And thy lotus broidered robe. Braid thy hair all cunningly, +And wear the winged head-dress with the turquois jewelled asp-- + Then come and coax him from his gloom.--Thou only canst," said he. + +"Wise counsellor!" she smiled; "Nay, but too wise for thy short years, + I will unto the king;--and such great issues are at stake +This time I dare not fail. I must go queenly--without tears + Or humble supplications--but as one no woe can break. + +"Stay thou with thy old nurse, Beloved--she sitteth in the hall-- + And she will tell thee wondrous tales, to win from thee a smile, +Then take thy supper by her side, and when deep night doth fall, + Go to the tower, whence I'll come, but in a little while." + +Arrayed in her most lovely robes she took her stately way + By courtiers unattended, through the palace vast and still. +Her beauty was a thing to hold all bitterness at bay, + To move the hearts of men, and bend their spirits to her will! + +She passed beneath the rose red lights that hung from roof and door, + And by unseeing gods, where curled an incense, blue and sweet; +As one who walks in sleep she crossed the cool mosaic floor, + That echoed to the music of her little sandalled feet. + +She reached the council chamber and there entered silently;-- + But though the bowing wise men had been reeds the wind could sway +Would have noted them as little. She only seemed to see + One face, inscrutable and dark, toward which she took her way. + +The king sat still as Fate. "Most High," she said, "I come for truth + Of this new threat of vengeance. There is horror in the air;-- +The Ethiopian runner hath brought word to me in sooth + Blood is sprinkled on the door-posts of the Hebrews everywhere!" + +"There are rumours--so he sayeth--of an Angel who will slay + The first-born sons of Egypt--should these bondsmen not depart. +Thy people weep in anguish--I myself must hear thee say-- + The Hebrew leader threatens no such danger to my heart-- + +"He is my heart--my inner heart;--0 straight he is and strong! + To me he meaneth Egypt--Egypt meaneth but my son-- +So I would take him swiftly toward the land where I belong + To return to thee in safety when these troubles all are done." + +"The streets are filled with mourners;--every day more tears are shed; + The embalmers have grown weary--they will not work for gold-- +And everywhere the eye doth see processions of the dead, + Till they seem but mocking phantoms, we watch unmoved and cold." + +"Thou wilt not let the Hebrews go--I read it in thine eyes-- + There are no gods in Egypt--there is nothing but thy Will-- +That sets itself against some force that yet in Strength will rise + But to silence all thine answers and bid thy voice be still." + +Then Pharaoh leaned down toward her: "0 most beautiful!" he said, + "There is not a man who liveth dare say so to my face; +And truly were there such a one 'twere better he were dead, + For dead men suffer nothing.--Yet I pray thee of thy grace + +"Have patience now to hear me. 'Tis as the Ethiope heard. + They threatened all the first-born;--but the tower is brass and stone; +There my son shall stay to-night, guarded well, I give thee word.-- + Where armies could not enter--can one angel pass alone? + +"Thinkst thou that I am one to be affrighted by the dark? + A weakling to be played upon--a coward or a fool? +Nay!--I defy the Israelites!--Their weapons miss their mark, + They have roused my utmost anger: it taketh long to cool. + +"But thou!" he said; "but thou! Methinks had they but threatened thee + I should perchance have known the very quality of fear;-- +Thou thing of perfect loveliness! Content mine eyes will be + Though in the land of Egypt is no blossom for a year. + +"But thou art queen, and thou art free;--free now to go or stay, + I would not bind thee to my side--not by one golden hair.-- +Leave thou this land of peril e'er the breaking of the day, + Or give thy life to my dark life--and bear what it doth bear." + +Then blanched her face to whiteness of the lilies on her gown, + And low she bowed as lilies bow in drift of wind and rain; +"My Lord," she said, "I have no will except to lay it down + At thy desire. As I have done, so will I do again. + +"Thou art my king; my son is thine. It is not mine to say + That I will bear him hence.--Yet gropes my soul unto a light; +The quarrel is 'twixt Heaven and thee alone--so I will stay + With him I love within the tower throughout this fateful night." + +"And if the Angel cometh through the walls of stone and brass-- + And if he toucheth Egypt's son, to seal his gentle breath, +Then will we know that God is God, He who hath right to pass + Our little doors, for He Himself is Lord of Life and Death." + +O when the desert blossomed like a mystic silver rose, + And the moon shone on the palace, deep guarded to the gate, +And softly touched the lowly homes fast barred against their foes, + And lit the faces hewn of stone, that seemed to watch and wait-- + +There came a cry--a rending cry--upon the quivering air, + The sudden wild lamenting of a nation in its pain, +For the first-born sons of Egypt, the young, the strong, the fair-- + Had fallen into dreamless sleep--and would not wake again. + +And within the palace tower the little prince slept well, + His head upon his mother's heart, that knew no more alarms; +For at the midnight hour--0 most sweet and strange to tell-- + She too slept deeply as the child close folded in her arms. + +Hard through the city rode the king, unarmed, unhelmeted, + Toward the land he loaned his bondsmen, the country kept in peace; +He swayed upon his saddle, and he looked as looked the dead-- + The people stared and wondered though their weeping did not cease. + +On did he ride to Goshen, and he called "Arise! Arise! + Thou leader of the Israelites, 'tis I who bid you go! +Take thou these people hence, before the sun hath lit the skies;-- + Get thee beyond the border of this land of death and woe!" + +Across the plains of Egypt through the shadows of the night + Came the sound as of an army moving onward steadily, +And their leader read his way by the stars' eternal light + While all the legions followed on their journey to the sea. + +The moon that shineth overhead once saw these mysteries-- + And then the world was young, that hath these many years been old; +If Egypt drank her bitter cup down even to the lees + Who careth now? 'Tis but an ancient tale that hath been told. + + + Yet still we hear the footsteps--as he goeth to and fro-- + Of Azrael, the Angel, that the Lord God sent below, + To Egypt--long ago. + + + + +A SONG OF POPPIES + +I love red poppies! Imperial red poppies! + Sun-worshippers are they; +Gladly as trees live through a hundred summers + They live one little day. + +I love red poppies! Impassioned scarlet poppies! + Ever their strange perfume +Seems like an essence brewed by fairy people + From an immortal bloom. + +I love red poppies! Red, silken, swaying poppies! + Deep in their hearts they keep +A magic cure for woe--a draught of Lethe-- + A lotus-gift of sleep. + +I love red poppies! Soft silver-stemmed, red poppies, + That from the rain and sun +Gather a balm to heal some earth-born sorrow, + When their glad day is done. + + + + +A PAGAN PRAYER + +Lord of all Life! When my hours are done, + Take me and make me anew-- +And give me back to the earth and the sun, + And the sky's unlimited blue. + +The nightingale sings in an ecstasy + To the moonlit April night, +But my songs are locked in the heart of me, + Like birds that may not take flight. + +The little purple-winged swallows that fly + Through waves of the upper air, +Have a sweeter liberty, Lord, than I, + Who may not follow them there. + +Pavilions of sunshine--tents of the rain, + For these, the wild and the free; +And for us walled garden and window-pane, + And bolt and staple and key. + +We are worn with wisdom that never brings + Peace to the world and its woe-- +For a space with Thy joyous lesser things, + Teach me the faith I would know. + + + + +A LOVE SONG + +Oh haste, my Sweet! Impatient now I wait, +The crescent moon swings low, it groweth late, +A night bird sings, of Life, and Love, and Fate! + +Oh haste, my Sweet! Youth and its gladness goes, +Joy hath one summer time, like to the rose, +Love only lives through all the winter snows. + +Then haste, my Sweet! These hours are all our own, +And see! A rose leaf on the night breeze blown! +For thee I wait--for thee I wait alone! + +*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 10750 *** |