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diff --git a/11091-0.txt b/11091-0.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..fc3a01b --- /dev/null +++ b/11091-0.txt @@ -0,0 +1,8704 @@ +*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 11091 *** + +POEMS + +BY + +JOHN L. STODDARD + +1913 + + + + +CONJUGI CARISSIMAE + + +PROEM + +They called him mad,--the poor, old man, +Whose white hair, worn and thin, +Fell o'er his shoulders, as he played +His cherished violin, +Forever drawing to and fro +O'er silent strings a loosened bow. + +At times on his pathetic face +A look of perfect rapture shone, +Intent on some celestial chords, +Discerned by him alone; +And sometimes he would smile and pause, +As if receiving loud applause. + +So, many a humble poet dreams +His songs will touch the human heart, +And full of hope his offering lays +Before the shrine of Art; +Poor dreamer, may he never know +That he too draws a silent bow! + + + + +CONTENTS + + + PROEM + MY PROMENADE SOLITAIRE + REINCARNATION + TO THE "RING NEBULA" + THE WAIF + THE SILVER HERONS + TO THE SPHINX + YOUTH AND AGE + SUNSET AT INTERLAKEN + UNDER THE STARS + CORSICA + TO THE VENUS OF MELOS + MORS LEONIS + A STORY OF THE SEA + OLD HYMN TUNES + BEFORE A STATUE OF BUDDHA + THE PILLARS OF HERCULES + FRIENDSHIP + TO MY DEAD DOG + TO-DAY + TO THE COUNTESS GUICCIOLI + THE DEATH OF ANTONINUS PIUS + THE BUTTERFLY + AFTER THE STORM + FALLEN + "AEQUANIMITAS" + DREAMLAND + ROME REVISITED + ON THE PALATINE + THE FAREWELL AT FONTAINEBLEAU + JAPAN--OLD AND NEW + THE UNFORGOTTEN HEROES + A WINTER'S DAY + ON THE PROMENADE + SOLITUDE + OUT OF THE RANKS + AUTONOMY + ORIENT TO OCCIDENT + THE CAPTIVE + WEARINESS + A MAY MONODY + MY LOST FRIENDS + TO SLEEP AND TO FORGET + IN SILENCE + AT THE VILLA OF FREDERICK III + IN A COLUMBARIUM + DISCOURAGEMENT + MÉSALLIANCE + IN A MODERN CITY + MY BORES + GRATITUDE + IN TENEBRIS + TWO MOTHERS + AT HOCHFINSTERMÜNZ + THE GIFT OF JUNO + THE AWAKENING + THE WINE OF LIFE + LIFE'S TRILOGY + MYSTERIES + STAR DRIFT + + +TYROLEAN + + OBERMAIS + CONTENTMENT + TO MERAN'S NORTHERN MOUNTAINS + AT SUNSET + POST NUBES LUX + THE HOME-COMING FROM ROME + MY GARDEN + THE MOUNTAINS OF MERAN + OSWALD, THE MINNESINGER + AFTER THE VINTAGE + THE PASSING MOON + AUTUMN IN MERAN + THE STATUE OF THE EMPRESS ELIZABETH + THE OUTCASTS + HEIMWEIL + MY LIBRARY + TOUT PASSE + + +BESIDE LAKE COMO + + THE FAUN + ISOLA COMACINA + THE OLD CARRIER + EVENING ON LAKE COMO + DELIO PATRI + ACQUA FREDDA + THE POSTERN GATE + UNDINE + JANUARY IN THE TREMEZZINA + THE WANDERER + SECLUSION + ONE MORE + UNDER THE PLANE TREE + "CONJUGI CARISSIMAE" + THE PAGAN PAST + RETIREMENT + IN NOVEMBER + THE CALL OF THE BLOOD + THE CASCADE + BIRD SLAUGHTER + THE IRON CROWN + CONTRASTS + IN MY PERGOLA + EVANESCENCE + LAKE COMO IN AUTUMN + TO THE PORTRAIT OF NAPOLEON + DAY AND NIGHT + PASSING AND PERMANENT + TRIPOLI + INFLUENCE + LEO + FAREWELL TO THE FAUN + WAKEFULNESS + VILLA PLINIANA + POINT BALBIANELLO + AT LENNO + + +PERSONALLY ADDRESSED + + LINES WRITTEN FOR A GOLDEN WEDDING + TO THE WALKING-STICK OF MY DEAD FRIEND + TO C. + TO MR. AND MRS. A.H.S. + To M.C. OF ATHENS + TO J.B. + TO M.P. + TO MISS MARY C. LOW + IN MEMORIAM. G.M.M. + TO HON. CHARLES M. DICKINSON + TO J.C.Y. + TO HON. JESSE HOLDOM + + +TRANSLATIONS + + THE KISS TO THE FLAG + EMILY'S GRAVE + SERENADE TO NINON + THE RED TYROLEAN EAGLE + ANDREAS HOFER + STREAM AND SEA + + * * * * * + + RACHEL + + + + +MY "PROMENADE SOLITAIRE" + +Up and down in my garden fair, +Under the trellis where grapes will bloom, +With the breath of violets in the air, +As pallid Winter for Spring makes room, +I walk and ponder, free from care, +In my beautiful Promenade Solitaire. + +Back and forth in the checkered shade +Traced by the lattice that holds the vine, +With the glory of snow-capped crests displayed +On the sapphire sky in a billowy line, +I stroll, and ask what can compare +With the charm of my Promenade Solitaire. + +To and fro 'neath the nascent green +Which clambers over its slender frame, +With white peaks lighting up the scene, +As snowfields glow with the sunset flame, +I saunter, halting here and there +For the view from my Promenade Solitaire. + +In and out through the silence sweet, +Plash of fountain and song of bird +Are the only sounds in my lov'd retreat +By which the air is ever stirred; +It is like a long-drawn aisle of prayer, +So hushed is my Promenade Solitaire. + +Onward rushes the world without, +But the breeze which over my garden steals +Brings from it merely a distant shout +Or the echo light of passing wheels; +In its din and drive I have now no share, +As I muse in my Promenade Solitaire. + +Am I dead to the world, that I thus disdain +Its moil and toil in the prime of life, +When perhaps a score of years remain +To win more gold in its selfish strife? +Am I foolish to choose the purer air +Of my glorious Promenade Solitaire? + +Ah no! From my mountain-girdled height +I watch the game of the world go on, +And note the course of the bitter fight, +And what is lost and what is won; +And I judge of it better here than there, +As I gaze from my Promenade Solitaire. + +It is ever the same old tale of greed, +Of robbing and killing the weaker race, +Of the word proved false by the cruel deed, +Of the slanderous tongue with the friendly face; +'Tis enough to make one's heart despair +Even here in my Promenade Solitaire. + +They cheer, and struggle, and beat the air +With many a stroke and thrust intense, +And urge each other to do and dare, +To gain some good they deem immense; +But they look like ants contending there +From the height of my Promenade Solitaire. + +Backward and forward they run and crawl, +Houses and treasures they heap up high, +Hither and thither their booty haul, ... +Then suddenly drop in their tracks and die! +For few are wise enough to repair +In time to a Promenade Solitaire. + +Meantime the Earth speeds on through space, +As the sun for a million years hath steered, +And, an eon hence, the entire race +Will have played its part and disappeared; +But what will the lifeless planet care, +As it follows its Promenade Solitaire? + + + + +REINCARNATION + +I know not how, I know not where, +But from my own heart's mystic lore +I feel that I have breathed this air, +And walked this earth before; + +And that in this, its latest form +My old-time spirit once more strives, +As it has fought through many a storm +In past, forgotten lives. + +Not inexperienced did my soul +This incarnation's threshold tread; +Not recordless has proved the scroll +It brought back from the dead. + +To certain, special lines of thought +My mind intuitively tends, +And old affinities have brought +Not new, but ancient friends. + +What thrilled me in a previous state +Rekindles here its ancient flame; +What I by instinct love and hate +I knew before I came; + +And lands, of which in youth I dreamed +And read, heart-moved, and longed to see, +When really visited, have seemed +Not strange but known to me. + +When Mozart, still a child, untaught, +Ran joyous to the silent keys, +And with inspired fingers wrought +Majestic harmonies, + +There fell upon his psychic ear +Faint echoes of a music known +Before his natal advent here, +In former lives outgrown. + +In many a dumb brute's wistful eyes +A dawning human soul aspires, +For thus from lower forms we rise,-- +Ourselves our spirits' sires. + +Full many a thought that thrills my breast +Is fruit resulting from a seed +Sown elsewhere,--on my soul impressed +By many an arduous deed; + +Full many a fetter which hath lamed +My struggling spirit's upward flight +Was once by that same spirit framed, +When further from the Light; + +With justice, therefore, comes the pain +That o'er the tortured world extends; +And hopeful is the lessening stain, +As each life-cycle ends. + +No changeless, endless states await +The good and evil souls set free; +Each grave is a successive gate +In immortality. + +Too long this mighty truth hath slept +Among the darkened souls of men,-- +"Ye cannot see God's face, except +Ye shall be born again." + +The God-like Christs and Buddhas yearn, +However high their spirits' stage, +For man's salvation to return, +As Saviour or as Sage. + +On our benighted, groping minds +Their noble precepts, star-like, shine; +Each soul, that wisely seeks them, finds +The truths that are divine. + +Misunderstood and vilified, +Their aims and motives scarcely known, +How many of these Saints have died, +Rejected by their own! + +Yet, though their followers miss the way, +In spite of precept and of prayer, +And lead unnumbered souls astray, +Committed to their care, + +Upon the lofty spirit-plane, +Where all lies open to their sight, +The Masters know that not in vain +They left the Hills of Light. + + + + +TO THE "RING NEBULA" + +O pallid spectre of the midnight skies, +Whose phantom features in the dome of Night +Elude the keenest gaze of wistful eyes, +Till amplest lenses aid the failing sight; +On heaven's blue sea the farthest isle of fire, +From thee, whose glories it would fain admire, +Must vision, baffled, in despair retire! + +What art thou, ghostly visitant of flame? +Wouldst thou 'neath closer scrutiny resolve +In myriad suns that constellations frame, +Around which life-blest satellites revolve, +Like those unnumbered orbs which nightly creep +In dim procession o'er the azure steep, +As white-winged caravans the desert sweep? + +Or art thou still an incandescent mass, +Acquiring form as hostile forces urge, +Through whose vast length continuous lightnings pass, +As to and fro its fiery billows surge? +Whose glowing atoms, whirled in ceaseless strife, +Where now chaotic anarchy is rife, +Shall yet become the fair abodes of life? + +We know not; for the faint, exhausted rays +Which hither on Light's winged coursers come +From fires which ages since first lit their blaze, +One instant gleam, then perish, spent and dumb; +How sad the thought that, howsoe'er we yearn +Of life on yonder glittering orbs to learn, +We read no message, and could none return! + +Yet this we know:--yon ring of spectral light, +Whose distance thrills the soul with solemn awe, +Can ne'er escape in its majestic might +The firm control of omnipresent law; +This mote descending to its bounden place, +Those suns whose radiance we can scarcely trace, +Alike obey the Power pervading space. + + + + +THE WAIF + +I sit in my luxurious chair; +Soft rugs caress my slippered feet; +Within, a balmy, summer air; +Without, a wintry storm of sleet. + +A favorite book is in my hands, +A thousand others line the walls; +Some souvenir of distant lands +In every nook the Past recalls. + +Upon a Turkish tabouret +In Dresden cups of peerless blue +Gleams on a pretty Cashmere tray +The fragrant Mocha's ebon hue. + +Two dainty hands prepare the draught, +While loving glances meet my own; +Two lips repeat (the coffee quaffed), +"To-night 'tis sweet to be alone." + +Hark! in the court my faithful hound +Breaks rudely on our tête-à-tête; +Too well I understand that sound! +A mendicant is at my gate. + +Admit him? Yes; for none shall say +That he who seeks in want my door +Is ever harshly turned away; +His plea is heard, if nothing more. + +I leave my comforts with a sigh, +And, passing to the outer hall, +Behold a wanderer doomed to die,-- +So ill, I look to see him fall. + +I know his story ere he speaks; +And listening to his labored breath, +I trace, with tears upon my cheeks, +His long and hopeless fight with death. + +A poor, storm-beaten, lonely waif, +Lured southward from a colder clime +By hope and that unfailing faith +That health will come again in time! + +Alas! too late; the dread disease +Hath fixed its roots too firmly there; +And now sick, friendless, at my knees, +He pours forth his heart-breaking prayer. + +What are his needs? Before all, food! +Hot soup, bread, wine, until at last +A sense of human brotherhood +Obliterates his cruel past; + +Yet not for long; for though well-fed, +With warmer garments than before, +He hath no place to lay his head, +On turning from my friendly door. + +I slip some silver in his hand, +('Twill purchase shelter for the night,) +Then, silent and remorseful, stand +To watch his bent form out of sight. + +On, on he goes through snow and sleet, +With nothing more of warmth and cheer! +From such a home to such a street! +Ah, should I not have kept him here? + +My room is no less bright and warm, +But all its charm and joy have fled; +That lonely figure in the storm +Leaves both our hearts uncomforted. + +For this is but one tiny wave +In life's vast, shoreless sea of woe,-- +One note in man's hoarse cry to save, +Resounding o'er its ebb and flow; + +I ask myself in blank dismay,-- +Ought I my little wealth to own? +Yet, should I give it all away, +'Twere but a drop to ocean thrown! + +Great God! if what I dimly see, +In this small section of mankind, +Of pain and want and misery, +Can thus bring anguish to my mind, + +How canst _Thou_ view the awful _whole_, +As our ensanguined planet rolls +From unknown source to unknown goal +Its freight of suffering human souls? + +Permitted pain!--the first and last +Of riddles that we strive to solve, +More poignant ever, and more vast, +As man's mentalities evolve, + +I hear thy victims' ceaseless wails, +I view the path my race hath trod, +And at the sight my spirit quails, +And cries in agony to God! + + + + +THE SILVER HERONS + +Within a home for captive beasts +Whose world had dwindled to a cage, +I noted in their mournful eyes +Such resignation, fear, and rage, +I longed at once to set them free, +And send them over land and sea +To live again in liberty. + +For them no more the mountain range, +The desert vast, the jungle's lair! +Their meaner fate through grated bars +To feel the public's hateful stare; +Poor prisoners! doomed henceforth to pace +With stinted strides a narrow space, +And, daily, gaping crowds to face. + +At length I stood before a cage, +Where, guarded by a loftier screen, +Were artificial rocks, and pools, +And strips of vegetation green; +There, perched upon some rocky mound, +Or crouching on the miry ground, +A flock of waterfowl I found. + +Storks, poised upon a single leg, +Stood dreaming of the eternal Nile,-- +The Mecca of their winter flight, +When lured by Egypt's sunny smile; +While ducks and geese, in gabbling mood, +Explored the muddy pond for food, +Attended by their noisy brood. + +Their keeper brought their evening meal; +And instantly on broad-webbed feet, +And stilt-like legs, and flapping wings, +The feathered bipeds rushed to greet, +With snaps and cluckings of delight, +The joyful, ever-welcome sight +Of supper at the approach of night. + +Yet all came not! Two stood apart, +With plumage like fresh-fallen snow,-- +Two "Silver Herons," of a race +As pure and fine as earth can show; +Amid the tumult that was rife, +These loathed the others' greedy strife, +And looked disgusted with their life. + +With closed eyes, shrinking from the mass, +They seemed, in thought, removed as far +From all their coarse environment +As sun is separate from star! +The very picture of disdain, +From all such gorging, it was plain, +They had determined to refrain. + +The keeper murmured with reproach,-- +"Those Silver Herons are too proud! +Why should they not partake of food +Together with the common crowd? +They eat a little from my hand, +But would prefer to starve, than stand +Besmeared by that uncleanly band. + +"A month hence, neither will be here; +For both will grieve themselves to death; +And when one falls, its mate expires +With scarcely an additional breath; +And, should there come another pair, +In their turn they the fate will share +Of those two herons standing there." + +Poor hapless birds! I see them yet, +Alone and starving in their pride,-- +Their glittering plumage still intact, +While standing bravely side by side; +And, although put to hunger's test, +Continuing mutely to protest +Against defilement with the rest. + +O Silver Herons, teach mankind +To cherish thus a stainless name! +To shun the vile, ignoble crowd, +Preferring death to smirch and shame! +A foul, unfriendly mob to brave, +And go, unspotted, to the grave, +Is not to _lose_ one's life, but _save_. + + + + +TO THE SPHINX + + O sleepless Sphinx! + Thy sadly patient eyes, +Forever gazing o'er the shifting sands, +Have watched Earth's countless dynasties arise, +Stalk forth like spectres waving gory hands, +Then fade away with scarce a lasting trace +To mark the secret of their dwelling place: + O sleepless Sphinx! + + O changeless Sphinx! + The very dawn of Time +Beheld thee sculptured from the living rock! +Still wears thy face its primal look sublime, +Surviving all the hoary ages' shock: +Still royal art thou in thy proud repose, +As when the sun on tuneful Memnon rose, + O changeless Sphinx! + + O voiceless Sphinx! + Thy solemn lips are dumb; +Time's awful secrets lie within thy breast; +Age follows age; revering pilgrims come +From every clime to urge the same request,-- +That thou wilt speak! Poor creatures of a day, +In calm disdain thou seest them die away: + O voiceless Sphinx! + + Majestic Sphinx! + Thou crouchest by a sea +Whose fawn-hued wavelets clasp thy buried feet: +Whose desert-surface, petrified like thee, +Gleams white with sails of many an Arab fleet: +Whose tawny billows, surging with the storm, +Break on thy flanks, and overleap thy form; + Majestic Sphinx! + + Eternal Sphinx! + The Pyramids are thine; +Their giant summits guard thee night and day, +On thee they look when stars in splendor shine, +Or while around their crests the sunbeams play: +Thine own coevals, who with thee remain +Colossal Genii of the boundless plain! + Eternal Sphinx! + + + + +YOUTH AND AGE + +"I will gain a fortune," the young man cried; +"For Gold by the world is deified; +Hence, whether the means be foul or fair, +I will make myself a millionaire, +My single talent shall grow to ten!" +But an old man smiled, and asked "And then?" + +"A peerless beauty," the young man said, +"Shall be the woman I choose to wed. +And men shall envy me my prize, +And women scan her with jealous eyes;" +And he looked annoyed, when once again +The old man smiled, and asked "And then?" + +"I will build," he answered, "a home so fine, +That kings in their castles shall covet mine; +The rarest pictures shall clothe its walls, +And statues stand in its stately halls; +It shall lack no luxury known to men;" +But still the old man asked "And then?" + +"I will play a role in Church or State +That all mankind shall acknowledge great; +I will win at last such brilliant fame, +That distant lands shall know my name, +For I can wield both sword and pen;" +But again the old man asked "And then?" + +"Is your heart a stone," the young man cried, +"Hath all ambition within you died, +That nothing seems to you worth while? +What mean you by that sphinx-like smile? +Of what are you secretly thinking, when +You utter those mournful words,--'And then?'" + +Gently the old man said "O youth, +The words I have spoken veil a truth +Learned only through the lapse of years, +And first discerned through a mist of tears; +For youth is full of illusions fair +Which manhood sees dissolve in air. + +"Your millions will not make you blest, +They will rob you, instead, of peace and rest: +Your beautiful wife may be the prey +Of a treacherous friend or a skilled roué; +And the splendid palace that you crave +Will make you Society's gilded slave. + +"'Tis a weary road to political fame; +Its price you must often pay in shame; +And the world-known name for which you yearn +On a bulletin board or a funeral urn, +Is scarcely worth the toil and strife +Which poison the peaceful joys of life. + +"For be you ever so wise and good, +By some you will be misunderstood, +And fame will bring you envious foes +To spoil for you many a night's repose; +And alas! as your pathway upward tends, +You will find self-interest in your friends! + +"The loudest shout of the mob's applause +Will die out after a moment's pause; +And what is the greatest public praise +To one whose form in the earth decays? +The cruel world will always laugh +At the fulsome lie of an epitaph. + +"But Spring recks not of Winter's snow, +And you will not believe, I know, +That all those boons that tempt your powers, +If gained, will be like fragile flowers, +Whose freshness wilts in the fevered hand, +Like roses dropped on the desert sand. + +"And much of the work you deem sublime +Is like the grain of pink-hued lime +Which once was a coral insect's shell, +But now is a microscopic cell, +Entombed with countless billions more +In a lonely reef on an unknown shore!" + +"Alas!" said the youth,--and his eyes were wet,-- +"Is old age merely a vain regret, +The retrospect of wasted years, +Of false ideals and lost careers? +Advise me! What must I reject, +And what for my permanent good select?" + +"Belovd youth," the old man said, +"All is not vain, be comforted! +Seek not thine own, but others' joy; +Ring true, like gold without alloy; +Waste not thy time in asking Why, +Or Whence, or Whither when we die; + +"The actual world, the present hours +Will give enough to tax thy powers; +At no clear duty hesitate; +Serve well thy neighbor and the State; +So shalt thou add thy tiny form +To bind the reef that breasts the storm!" + + + + +SUNSET AT INTERLAKEN + + The sun is low; + Yon peak of snow +Is reddening 'neath the sunset glow; + The rosy light + Makes richly bright +The Jungfrau's veil of snowy white. + + From vales that sleep + Night's shadows creep +To take possession of the steep; + While, as they rise, + The western skies +Seem loath to leave so fair a prize. + + The light of day + Still loves to stay +And round that pearly summit play; + How fair a sight + That realm of light, +Contended for by Day and Night! + + Now fainter shines, + As Day declines, +The lustrous height which he resigns; + The shadows gain + Th' illumined plane; +The Jungfrau pales, as if in pain. + + When daylight dies, + The azure skies +Seem sparkling with a thousand eyes, + Which watch with grace + From depths of space +The sleeping Jungfrau's lovely face. + + And when the Light + Hath put to flight +Night's shadows from each Alpine height, + Along the skies + It quickly flies, +To kiss the Maiden's opening eyes. + + The timid flush + And rosy blush +Which then from brow to bosom rush, + Are pure and fair + Beyond compare, +Resplendent in the crystal air. + + And thus alway + By night and day +Her varying suitors homage pay; + And tinged with rose, + Or white with snows, +The same fair, radiant form she shows. + + + + +UNDER THE STARS + +The breath of summer stirs the trees, +A thousand roses round me bloom, +Whose saffron petals give the breeze +A wealth of exquisite perfume, +As, climbing high, with tendrils bold, +They clothe the walls with cups of gold. + +No sound disturbs the silence sweet, +The weary birds have sunk to rest; +For where the snow and sunset meet +The light is fading in the west, +And now the carking cares of day +Slip lightly from my heart away. + +The emptiness of social strife, +The pettiness of human souls, +The cheap frivolities of life, +The keen pursuit of paltry goals,-- +How small they seem beneath the dome +That shelters my Tyrolean home! + +A shining mote, our tiny earth +No furrow leaves in shoreless space! +What is one brief existence worth, +Which disappears, and leaves no trace? +That silent, star-strewn vault survives +The dawns and dusks of countless lives. + +Why grieve, dear heart? Oblivion deep +Will soon enshroud both friend and foe, +And those who laugh and those who weep +Must join the hosts of long ago, +Whose transient hours of smiles and tears +Make up earth's wilderness of years. + +The sunset's glowing embers die, +The snow-peaks lose their crimson hue, +Through deepening shades the ruddy sky +Burns slowly down to darkest blue, +Wherein a million worlds of light +Announce the coming of the night. + +I gaze, and slowly my despair +At human wretchedness and crime +Gives place to hopes and visions fair,-- +So much may be evolved by time! +So much may yet men's souls surprise +Beneath the splendor of God's skies! + +Some day, somewhere, in realms afar +His light may make all problems plain, +And justice on some happier star +May recompense this planet's pain, +And earth's bleak Golgothas of woe +Grow lovely in life's afterglow. + + + + +CORSICA + +In Bordighera's groves of palm +I linger at the close of day, +And watch, beyond the ocean's calm, +A range of mountains far away. + +Their snowy summits, white and cold, +Flush crimson like a tinted shell, +As sinks the sun in clouds of gold +Behind the peaks of Esterel. + +No unsubstantial shapes are they,-- +The offspring of the mist and sea; +No splendid vision of Cathay, +Recalled in dreamful revery; + +Their solid bastions,--towering high +Though rooted in earth's primal plan,-- +Proclaim to every passer by +The cradle of the Corsican. + +What martial soul there found rebirth, +When on those cliffs, then scarcely known, +There once more visited the earth +The spirit called Napoleon? + +Three islands, like the sister Fates, +His life-thread wove upon their loom +From fair Ajaccio's silvered gates +To Saint Helena's mournful tomb;-- + +The first, his birthplace; whence appeared +His baleful star with lurid glow; +Next, Elba, where the world still feared +The fugitive from Fontainebleau; + +Last, England's lonely prison-block, +Grim fragment 'neath a tropic sky, +Where, like Prometheus on his rock, +The captive Caesar came to die, + +O Corsica, sublimely wild +And riven by the winds and waves, +Thy fame is deathless from thy child, +Whose glory filled a million graves. + + + + +TO THE VENUS OF MELOS + +O goddess of that Grecian isle + Whose shores the blue Aegean laves, +Whose cliffs repeat with answering smile + Their features in its sun-kissed waves! + +An exile from thy native place, + We view thee in a northern clime; +Yet mark on thy majestic face + A glory still undimmed by Time. + +Through those calm lips, proud goddess, speak! + Portray to us thy gorgeous fane, +Where Melian lovers thronged to seek + Thine aid, Love's paradise to gain; + +And where, as in the saffron east, + Day's jewelled gates were open flung, +With stately pomp the attendant priest + Drew back the veil before thee hung; + +And when the daring kiss of morn, + Empurpling, made thy charms more fair, +Sweet strains from unseen minstrels borne + Awoke from dreams the perfumed air. + +Vouchsafe at last our minds to free + From doubts pertaining to thy charms,-- +The meaning of thy bended knee, + The secret of thy vanished arms. + +Wast thou in truth conjoined with Mars? + Did thy fair hands his shield embrace, +The surface of whose golden bars + Grew lovely from thy mirrored face? + +Or was it some bright scroll of fame + Thus poised on thine extended knee, +Upon which thou didst trace the name + Of that fierce god so dear to thee? + +Whate'er thou hadst, no mere delight + Was thine the glittering prize to hold; +Not thine the form that met thy sight, + Replying from the burnished gold; + +Unmindful what thy hands retained, + Thy gaze is fixed beyond, above; +Some dearer object held enchained + The goddess of immortal love. + +We mark the motion of thine eyes, + And smile; for, heldst thou shield or scroll, +A tender love-glance we surprise, + That tells the secret of thy soul. + + + + +MORS LEONIS + +When o'er the agèd lion steals +The instinct of approaching death, +Whose numbing grasp he vaguely feels +In trembling limbs and labored breath, +He shuns the garish light of day, +And leaving mate and whelps at play, +In mournful silence creeps away. + +From bush to bush, by devious trails, +He drags himself from hill to hill, +And, as his old strength slowly fails, +Drinks long at many a mountain rill, +Until he gains, with stifled moan, +A height, to hated man unknown, +Where he may die, at least alone. + +Relaxing now his mighty claws, +He lies, half shrouded by his mane, +His grand head resting on his paws, +And heeding little save his pain, +As o'er his eyes, so sad and deep, +The film of death begins to creep,-- +The prelude to eternal sleep. + +As Caesar, reeling 'neath the stroke +And dagger-thrust of many a friend, +Drew o'er his face his Roman cloak, +To meet, unseen, his tragic end, +So hath this desert-monarch tried +With noble dignity to hide +From others how and where he died. + +And now his spirit is serene; +For here no stranger can intrude +To view this last, pathetic scene, +Or mar its sombre solitude; +Prone on the lonely mountain crest, +Confronting the resplendent west, +The dying lion sinks to rest. + +Proud king of beasts! thy death should teach +Mankind the cheapness of display; +More eloquent than human speech, +Thy grand example shows the way +To pass from life, unheard, unseen, +And with composed, majestic mien +Death's awful sacredness to screen. + +Nay, more! thou didst select a place +Where, unobserved, thy form could rest, +Till Mother Earth with fond embrace +Should hide it in her ample breast; +Like Moses in lone Nebo's land, +Thou hast been sepulchred in sand, +Unseen by eye, untouched by hand. + +No pompous tomb shall ever rise +Above thy lonely, sun-bleached frame; +No epitaph of well-turned lies +Shall be inscribed beneath thy name; +No bells for thee a dirge shall ring, +No choir beside thy grave shall sing, +Yet hast thou perished like a king! + + + + +A STORY OF THE SEA + +Were you ever told the legend old +Of the birth of storms at sea? +You should hear the tale in a Channel gale, +As happened once to me, +On a fearful night off Fastnet Light, +With Ireland on our lee. + +In the good old days, which poets praise +As the best that man hath seen, +The storm-king's hand might smite the land, +But the sea remained serene; +Blow east, blow west, its sun-kissed breast +Kept ever its tranquil sheen. + +Not a single trace came o'er its face +Of the storms that raged elsewhere; +No misty screen e'er crept between +The sun and its image there; +And its depths at night were gemmed with light +By stars in the crystal air. + +The fisherman laughed in his little craft, +If a landsman felt alarm, +For never did gale a ship assail, +Or a sailor suffer harm; +There was nothing to fear, for the skies were clear, +And the ocean always calm. + +But on the shore, where more and more +The human race increased, +There were cold and heat, and snow and sleet, +And troubles never ceased; +For wind and rain beat down the grain, +And the plague slew man and beast. + +And even worse was the moral curse, +That came like a deadly blight +Through men who seized whate'er they pleased, +On the plea that might makes right, +Till the fatal seed of selfish greed +Made life a bitter fight. + +Hence many sighed, as they watched the tide +Glide out to the sunset sea, +And longed to go with its gentle flow +To where they hoped might be +A realm of peace, where sorrows cease, +And souls from pain are free. + +At last they said,--"We were better dead, +Than endure this anguish more; +Let us seek relief from care and grief +Far out from the storm-swept shore; +The sea can bring no sadder thing +Than the life we lived before." + +So a ship was framed, which they fondly named +"The Peace of the Human Mind," +And the weary band soon left the land +And its ceaseless strife behind; +But unattained the goal remained +They had so longed to find. + +For the souls that came were quite the same +As they were before they sailed; +And, as pride and hate did not abate, +The hope of the voyagers failed; +And, facing alone the great Unknown, +The bravest spirits quailed. + +Meanwhile the ship began to dip, +And labored to and fro, +For the sea, though fair, could no more bear +This load of human woe; +And at last the boat, with all afloat, +Sank helplessly below. + +Down, down it swirled to the nether world; +While up from the riven main +Came the gurgling sound of those who drowned, +As the vortex closed again; +The sea surged back to its wonted track; +Once more 'twas a sun-lit plain! + +But soon men saw, with deepening awe, +That sea grow white with spray; +Its brilliant hue was changed from blue +To a deathlike, leaden gray; +And a sullen roar approached the shore +Whence the ship had sailed away. + +Huge waves rolled in with frightful din, +And spat out hissing foam, +And smote the sand along the strand, +And swept off many a home; +And lightnings flashed and thunder crashed +From heaven's ink-black dome. + +"Alas!" they cried, "that our brothers died +In the depths of the sea of peace; +They have brought unrest to its quiet breast, +Which nevermore shall cease; +For the peace it lost we must pay the cost; +And behold! our woes increase!" + +In truth, since then how many men +Have learned that the mighty deep +Can heave and swell to a seething hell, +When storms its surface sweep! +For its calm hath fled, and countless dead +Are the spoils it loves to heap. + +But at its best, when it lies at rest +On a cloudless summer day, +And, tiger-like, forbears to strike, +But, sated, basks at play, +One seems to hear, with the psychic ear, +Its murmuring wavelets say,-- + +"No real relief from care and grief +Is found o'er distant waves; +The men who sail to find it, fail, +And sink to lonely graves; +In the firm control of man's own soul +Is alone the peace he craves." + + + + +OLD HYMN-TUNES + +Dear, old-time tunes of prayer and praise, +Heard first beside my mother's knee, +Your music on my spirit lays +A spell from which I should be free, +If lapse of time gave liberty. + +I listen, and the crowded years +Fade, dream-like, from my life, and lo! +I find my eyelids wet with tears,-- +So much I loved, so well I know +Those plaintive airs of long ago! + +They tell me of my vanished youth, +Of faith in what so flawless seemed, +Before the painful quest of truth +Had proved how much I then esteemed +Was other than I fondly dreamed! + +They make my childhood live again; +And life's fair dawn grows once more bright, +While listening to the sweet refrain, +Sung in the Sabbath's waning light,-- +"Glory to Thee, my God, this night!" + +My mother's voice, so pure and strong, +My father's flute of silvery tone, +The little household's strength of song, +The childish treble of my own,-- +I hear them once more, but ... alone! + +Sweet obligato to some hymn +Whose words those vanished tones recall, +Float o'er me, when earth's scenes grow dim, +And life's last, lingering echoes fall, +Till silence settles over all! + + + + +BEFORE A STATUE OF BUDDHA + +O Buddha, of the mystic smile +And downcast, dreamful eyes, +To whom unnumbered sacred shrines +And gilded statues rise, + +Whose fanes are filled with worshippers, +Whose hallowed name is sung +By myriads of the human race +In every Eastern tongue, + +What means thy sweet serenity? +Our planet, as it rolls, +Sweeps through the starry universe +A mass of burdened souls, + +Still agonized and pitiful, +Despite the countless years +That man has spent in wandering +Through paths of blood and tears! + +O Lord of love and sympathy +For all created life, +How canst thou view thus placidly +The world's incessant strife, + +The misery and massacre +Of war's destructive train, +The martyrdom of animals, +The tragedy of pain, + +The infamous brutalities +To helpless children shown, +The pathos of whose joyless lives +Might melt a heart of stone? + +Preeminently merciful, +Does not thy spirit long +To guard from inhumanity +The weak against the strong? + +Thou biddest us deal tenderly +With every breathing-thing,-- +The horse that drags the heavy load, +The bird upon the wing, + +The flocks along the riverside, +The cattle on the lea, +And every living denizen +Of earth and air and sea; + +Yet daily in the shambles +A sea of blood is spilled, +And man is nourished chiefly +From beasts that he has killed! + +And hunters still find happiness +In seeing, red with wounds, +A sobbing deer, with liquid eyes, +Dragged down by yelping hounds! + +What is the real significance +Of thine unchanging smile? +Hast thou the secret consciousness +That grief is not worth while? + +That sorrow is the consequence +Of former lives of sin,-- +The spur that goads us on and up +A nobler life to win? + +That pain is as impermanent +As shadows on the hills, +And that Nirvana's blessedness +Will cure all mortal ills? + +But agony is agony, +And small is the relief +If, measured with eternity, +Life's anguish be but brief. + +To hearts that break with misery, +To every tortured frame +The present pain is paramount, +Nirvana but a name. + +Moreover, why should former lives +Bequeath their weight of woe, +If with it comes no memory +To guide us, as we go? + +If o'er the dark, prenatal void +No mental bridge be cast, +No thread, however frail, to link +The present to the past? + +Still silent and dispassionate! +Ah, would that I might find +The key to the serenity +That fills thy lofty mind! + +Thou hast a joy we do not feel, +A light we cannot see; +Injustice, sin, and wretchedness +No longer sadden thee; + +No doubt to thy sublimer gaze +Life's mystery grows plain, +As finally full recompense +Atones for earthly pain. + + + + +THE PILLARS OF HERCULES + +Here ends at last the Inland Sea! +Still seems its outlet, as of yore, +The anteroom of Mystery, +As, through its westward-facing door, +I see the vast Atlantic lie +In splendor 'neath a sunset sky. + +Above its distant, glittering rim +Streams o'er the waves a flood of gold, +To gild the mountains, bare and grim, +Which guard this exit, as of old,-- +The sombre sentries of two seas, +The Pillars reared by Hercules;-- + +Gibraltar,--on the northern shore, +By conquering Moors once proudly trod,-- +And, to the south a league or more, +Huge Abyla, the "Mount of God", +Whence burdened Atlas watched with ease +The Gardens of Hesperides. + +How many slow-paced centuries passed, +Before brave sailors dared to creep +Beyond the gloom these monsters cast, +And venture on the unknown deep, +At last resolving to defy +The "God-established" termini! + +Yet no fierce gods opposed their path; +No lurid bolt or arrow sped +To crush them with celestial wrath, +And number them among the dead; +The dreadful Pillars proved as tame +As other rocks of lesser fame. + +Hence, when before them stretched the sea, +Majestic, limitless and clear, +A rapturous sense of being free +Dispelled all vestiges of fear +The longed-for ocean to explore +From pole to pole, from shore to shore. + +Thus all men learn the God they dread +Is kinder than they had supposed, +And that, not God, but Man hath said,-- +"The door to freedom must be closed!" +Once past that door, with broadened view, +They find Him better than they knew. + +Meanwhile, along the sunlit strait +My ship glides toward the saffron west, +Beyond the old Phenician gate +To ocean's gently heaving breast, +Whence, on the ever-freshening breeze, +There greet my spirit words like these;-- + +Sail bravely on! the morning light +Shall find thee far beyond the land; +Gibraltar's battlemented height +And Afric's tawny hills of sand +Shall soon completely sink from view +Beneath the ocean's belt of blue. + +Sail on! nor heed the shadows vast +Of fabled Powers, whose fear enslaves! +Their spectral shapes shall sink at last +Below the night's abandoned waves; +Rest not confined by shoals and bars; +Steer oceanward by God's fixed stars! + + + + +FRIENDSHIP + +'Tis not in the bitterest woes of life +That the love of friends, as a rule, grows cold; +Still less does it melt in the heat of strife, +Or die from the canker of borrowed gold; + +For pity comes when they see us grieved, +Or forced to lie on a couch of pain, +And a hasty word is soon retrieved, +And the loan of money may leave no stain. + +'Tis oftenest lost through the deadly blight +Of Society's pestilential air, +Which blackens the robe of purest white, +And fouls what once was sweet and fair. + +An envious woman's whispered word, +A slander born of a cruel smile, +The repetition of something heard, +The imputation of something vile, + +Or possibly even a fancied slight +For a feast declined, or a call delayed, +Or jealousy caused by petty spite, +Or the wish for a higher social grade,-- + +'Tis one, or all of these combined, +That saps the love of our dearest friends, +And slowly poisons heart and mind, +Till the joy of generous friendship ends. + +Last night they were in a cordial mood, +To-day they suddenly seem estranged! +Shall we, then, grieve and sadly brood +O'er the unknown cause that has made them changed? + +Ask once, that they make the matter clear, +But ask no more, if the lesson fail; +Let changelings go, however dear, +And shed no tears for a love so frail. + +Be not the slave of a friend's migraine, +Nor let him play, now hot, now cold; +The master of thyself remain, +And the key of thine inmost heart withhold! + +For they who weep and sue and plead, +Are used and dropped, like a worn-out glove, +And the friends with "moods" are the friends who need +To learn that they are not worth our love. + + + + +TO MY DEAD DOG + + All is noiseless; + Cold and voiceless +Lies the form I've oft caressed; +Heedless now of blame or praises, +'Neath the sunshine and the daisies +Dear, old Leo lies at rest. + + Eager greeting, + Joy at meeting, +Watching for my step to come, +Grief at briefest separation, +Sorrow without affectation,-- +These are over,--he is dumb! + + Loyal ever, + Treacherous never, +Lifelong love he well expressed; +Ah! may we deserve like praises +When beneath the sun-kissed daisies +We, like Leo, lie at rest! + + + + +TO-DAY + +"The sun will set at day's decline"; + Qu'importe? +Quaff off meanwhile life's sparkling wine! +Of what avail are mournful fears, +Foreboding sighs and idle tears, +They hinder not the hurrying years; + Buvons! + +"This fleeting hour will soon be past"; + Qu'importe? +Enrich its moments while they last! +To-day is ours; be ours its joy! +Let not to-morrow's cares annoy! +Enough the present to employ; + Vivons! + +"These pleasures will not come again"; + Qu'importe? +Enjoy their keenest transport then! +If but of these we are secure, +Be of their sweetness doubly sure, +That long their memory may endure! + Rions! + +"With time love's ardor always cools"; + Qu'importe? +Leave that lugubrious chant to fools! +Must doubt destroy our present bliss? +Shall we through fear love's rapture miss, +Or lose the honey of its kiss? + Aimons! + +"The sun will set at day's decline"; + Qu'importe? +Will not the eternal stars still shine? +So even in life's darkest night +A thousand quenchless suns are bright,-- +Blest souvenirs of past delight; + Allons! + + + + +TO THE COUNTESS GUICCIOLI, AFTER READING HER "RECOLLECTIONS OF LORD BYRON" + +Like one who, homeward bound from distant lands, +Describes strange climes and visions passing fair, +Yet deftly hides from others' eyes and hands +A private casket filled with treasures rare, +So, favored Countess, all that thou dost say +Is nothing to thy secrets left unsaid; +Thy printed souvenirs are but the spray +Above the depths of ocean's briny bed. +For, oh! how often must thy mind retrace +Soft phrases whispered in the Tuscan tongue, +Love's changes sweeping o'er his mobile face, +And kisses sweeter far than he had sung; +The gleam of passion in his glorious eyes, +The hours of inspiration when he wrote, +Recalled to Earth in sudden, sweet surprise +At feeling thy white arms about his throat; +To have been loved by Byron! Not in youth +When ardent senses tempt to reckless choice, +But in maturer years, when keen-eyed Truth +Reveals the folly of the siren's voice. +Last love is best, and this thou didst enjoy; +Thy happy fate to see no rival claim +A share in what was thine without alloy; +How must the remnant of thy life seem tame! +Yet this thy recompense,--that thou dost keep +Thy friend and lover safe from every change; +For, loyal to thy love, he fell asleep, +And life it is, not death, that can estrange. + + + + +THE DEATH OF ANTONINUS PIUS + +Through the marble gates of Ostia, +Where the Tiber meets the sea, +And a hundred Roman galleys +Strain their leashes to be free, +Streams a flood of sunset glory +From the classic sea of old, +Till Rome's seven hills stand gleaming, +And the Tiber turns to gold. + +Why, indifferent to this splendor, +Do the people throng the streets? +What is everyone demanding +Of the stranger whom he meets? +They have heard alas! the rumor +That, ere dawn regilds the sky, +All the world may be in mourning, +For the Emperor must die. + +Search, O Romans, through the annals +Of the rulers of your race, +From the zenith of their glory +To their ultimate disgrace,-- +And as earth's most perfect master, +And the noblest of your line, +You will yield your greatest homage +To this dying Antonine. + +For he holds a Caesar's sceptre +In a loving father's hand, +And his heart and soul are given +To the welfare of his land; +Through his justice every nation +Hath beheld its warfare cease, +And he leaves to his successor +Rome's gigantic world at peace. + +Hence these nations now are waiting +In an anguish of suspense, +For their future is as doubtful, +As their love for him intense; +By the Nile and on the Danube, +From the Tagus to the Rhine, +There is mourning among millions +For the man they deem divine. + +Now the sunset glow is fading, +And the evening shadows creep +O'er the ashen face of Caesar, +As he lies in seeming sleep; +But he slumbers not; for, faithful +To his duties, small and great, +He is not alone the sovereign, +But the servant of the State. + +Unrebuked, then, his Centurion, +As the sun-god sinks from sight, +Makes his wonted way to Caesar +For the password of the night; +And great Antonine, though conscious +That ere dawn his soul must pass, +As his last, imperial watchword, +Utters "Aequanimitas!" + +O thou noblest of the Caesars, +Whose transcendent virtues shine, +Like a glorious constellation, +O'er the blood-stained Palatine, +When the latest sands are running +From my life's exhausted glass, +May I have thy calm and courage, +And thine Aequanimitas! + + + + +THE BUTTERFLY + +I watched to-day a butterfly, +With gorgeous wings of golden sheen, +Flit lightly 'neath a sapphire sky +Amid the springtime's tender green;-- + +A creature so divinely fair, +So frail, so wraithlike to the sight, +I feared to see it melt in air, +As clouds dissolve in morning light. + +With sudden swoop, a brutal boy +Caught in his cap its fans of gold, +And forced them down with savage joy +Upon the path's defiling mould; + +Then cautiously, the ground well scanned, +He clutched his darkened, helpless prey, +And, pinched within his grimy hand, +Withdrew it to the light of day. + +Alas! its fragile bloom was gone, +Its gracile frame was sorely hurt, +Its silken pinions drooped forlorn, +Disfigured by the dust and dirt; + +Its life, a moment since so gay, +So joyous in its dainty flight, +Was slowly ebbing now away,-- +Its too-brief day eclipsed by night. + +Meantime, the vandal, face aflame, +Surveyed it dying in his grasp, +Yet knew no grief nor sense of shame +In watching for its final gasp. + +At last its sails of gold and brown, +Of texture fine and colors rare, +Came, death-struck, slowly fluttering down, +No more to cleave the sunlit air; + +One happy, harmless being less, +To bid us dream the world is sweet! +Gone like a gleam of happiness, +A glimpse of rapture ... incomplete! + +Yet who shall say this creature fair +In God's sight had a smaller worth +Than that dull lout who watched it there, +And in its death found cause for mirth? + +For what, in truth, are we who claim +An endless life beyond the grave, +But insects of a larger frame, +Whose souls may be too small to save? + +Since far-off times, when Cave Men fought +Like famished brutes for bloody food, +And through unnumbered centuries sought +To rear their naked, whelp-like brood, + +How many million men have died, +From pole to pole through every clime,-- +An awful, never-ending tide +Swept deathward on the shores of Time! + +Like insects swarming in the sun, +They flutter, struggle, mate, and die, +And, with their life-work scarce begun, +Are struck down like the butterfly; + +A million more, a million less, +What matters it? The Earth rolls on, +Unmindful of mankind's distress, +Or if the race be here, or gone. + +Thus rolled our globe ere man appeared, +And thus will roll, with wrinkled crust, +Deserted, lifeless, old, and seared, +When man shall have returned to dust. + +And IT at last shall also die! +Hence, measured by the eternal scale, +It ranks but as the butterfly,-- +A world, ephemeral, fair and frail. + +Man, insect, earth, or distant star,-- +They differ only in degree; +Their transient lives, or near or far, +Are moments in eternity! + +Yet somehow to my spirit clings +The faith that man survives the sod, +For this poor insect's broken wings +Have raised my thoughts from earth to God. + + + + +AFTER THE STORM + +The duel of the warring clouds +Hath ended with the day; +Their scintillant, electric blades +Have ceased their fearful play; +The pent up fury of their hate +Hath found at last release, +And o'er the tempest-stricken earth +Broods now the hush of peace. + +The passing of the hurricane +Hath swept the sultry skies; +The clearness of the atmosphere +Brings jubilant surprise; +The mountain peaks are glorified +With freshly-fallen snow, +And, stealing o'er their coronets, +Appears the sunset glow. + +An hour since, a torrid heat +Oppressed the languid frame; +The wind was as the khamseen's breath, +The solar touch seemed flame; +But now the air rejuvenates, +The breeze refreshment brings, +The lustrous leaves drop diamonds, +The lark with rapture sings. + +Fear not, dear heart! life's darkest storms +Shall likewise end in light; +Behind the blackest thundercloud +The sun shines clear and bright; +Once more celestial heights shall wear +Their sheen of spotless snow, +And on the bravely steadfast soul +The smile of God shall glow. + + + + +FALLEN + +My country! by our fathers reared +As champion of the world's opprest; +Whose moral force the tyrant feared; +Whose flag all struggling freemen cheered; +In clutching at an empire's crest +Thou too art fallen like the rest. + +Not in thy numbers, wealth or might, +Proud mistress of a continent! +For rival nations, at the sight +Of thy resources, view with fright +Thy progress without precedent; +Not there is seen thy swift descent. + +Reread the story of thy birth! +Recall the years in conflict spent +To prove to a despairing earth +That every Government of worth +Is really based on free consent; +Then view with shame thy present bent! + +Thou hadst a place unique, sublime; +In many a land beyond the sea +The victims of despotic crime +In thee, the latest born of Time, +Beheld a land from tyrants free, +The sacred Ark of Liberty. + +But now the Old World's lust for lands +Infects thee too; the dread disease +Hath left its plague-spots on thy hands; +Thy monster area still expands; +For, blind to history's Nemesis, +Thou too wouldst alien races seize. + +Condemning with profound disdain +All other nations' heartless greed, +How couldst thou buy from humbled Spain +A people struggling to attain +A freedom suited to their need? +Why stultify thy boasted creed? + +Thine aid to them thou mightst have given, +As France her aid once gave to thee; +With them thy sons might well have striven, +And their blood-rusted fetters riven; +But why, in Heaven's name, should we +Shoot men aspiring to be free? + +I tread the fields where thousands sleep,-- +The blood-soaked fields that freed the slave; +What precious memories still they keep +For hearts that mourn and eyes that weep! +Yet for the lives those heroes gave +What have we that they died to save? + +A Union? Yes; outstretched in might +From snow to palm, from sea to sea; +But pledged to use its strength aright, +And evermore to keep alight +The torch of human liberty: +Is this the Union that we see? + +Where history's Martyr dared to break +The power that held a race in chains, +I see the ghastly lynching-stake, +Where brutal mobs their vengeance take, +And, since no law their course restrains, +Gloat o'er their writhing victim's pains. + +Race hatred,--born of groundless fears +And narrow prejudice of caste--, +Now greets the cultured black with sneers +And, barring him from high careers, +Breaks, like a mad iconoclast, +The nation's idols of the past. + +No more can we with steadfast eyes +Protest, when tortured races moan +With hands uplifted toward the skies; +Their tyrants answer with surprise +And new-born insolence of tone,-- +"These are our lynchings; cure your own!" + +Yet hope remains! A path retraced +Is nobler than persistent wrong; +A fault confessed is half effaced; +That land alone can be disgraced +Which is not just, however strong, +Toward those to whom its "spoils" belong. + +My country! Would to God that praise +Might leave my lips, instead of blame! +So near the parting of the ways, +Subjected to the eager gaze +Of millions, jealous of thy fame, +Retrace the path that ends in shame! + + + + +"AEQUANIMITAS" + +Watchword sublime of Rome's imperial sage, +Tersest of synonyms for self-control, +Paramount precept of the Stoic's age, +Noblest of mottoes for the lofty soul,-- +Would thou wert writ in characters of light, +At every turn to greet my reverent gaze, +And bid me face life's evils, calm, upright, +Unspoiled alike by calumny or praise! +With all our science we are slaves of Fate; +What is to come we know not, cannot know; +Grief, suffering, death,--all touch us soon or late, +The master question, how to meet the blow. +Grant me, ye Gods, through life a steadfast eye, +And then, with equanimity, to die! + + + + +DREAMLAND + +I woke from dreams of rare delight +And visions of a joyous land, +Where loved ones, long since lost to sight, +Walked blithely with me, hand in hand: + +Where every brow was free from care, +And Youth's sublime ideals shone +Like planets in an Alpine air, +And death's sad mystery was known. + +I woke,--and like a bird that waits, +Uncertain where to wend its flight, +My spirit lingered at the gates, +Which close upon that realm of light; + +Till, slowly, all around grew clear, +And once again the light of day +Convinced me that I still was here, +Though all my dreams had passed away. + +Once more I faced a world of Pain! +Of quivering nerves and sure decay, +Of helpless brutes, by millions, slain +To feed mankind a single day! + +Of shivering children, scarred with blows, +Of hunted bird and tortured beast, +Of War, whose hideous programme shows +Its means of homicide increased. + +The same old world of greed and hate, +Of selfish act and paltry aim, +Of private fraud and venal State, +Of deeds and doers steeped in shame! + +What marvel if the spirit shrinks +From plunging in that turbid stream? +Or if, on waking thus, one thinks +That life was better in his dream? + +Sweet, peaceful dreamland! I await +The favored hour, to pass again +Within thine asphodelian gate, +Beyond the miseries of men; + +To find old pleasures, long since gone, +Perchance as vivid as of yore, +Or else to sleep,--life's curtains drawn,-- +And reawaken ... nevermore. + + + + +ROME REVISITED + +O sovereign Rome, still mistress of the heart, +As of the world in thy majestic prime, +Grand in thy ruins, peerless in thine art, +Rich in the memories of a past sublime, + +Is thine the fault or mine that thou art changed, +And that I tread the new Tiberian shore +Convinced, alas! that we are now estranged, +And that for me thy charm exists no more? + +I have grown older, but am not blasé, +My hair has whitened, but my heart is young, +Still thrills my pulse the tomb-girt Appian Way, +Still stirs my soul the ancient Latin tongue. + +Whence then this transformation, that pervades +Rome's very air, and leaves its blighting trace +Alike upon the Pincio's colonnades +And on the Mausoleum's rugged face? + +The fault, dear Rome, is neither thine nor mine, +But that of vandals nurtured on thy breast, +Who, mad as "modern citizens" to shine, +Have fashioned thee like cities of the west. + +Thy time-worn face, and figure deeply bowed +By countless sufferings for two thousand years, +Whose proper garment seemed to be a shroud, +Commanding reverence, sympathy and tears, + +Are now bedecked with tawdry gems of paste; +Parisian robes thy withered limbs conceal; +Thy wrinkled cheeks are rouged; in vulgar taste +A modern watch-fob holds the Caesar's seal! + +Where once imperial Triumphs proudly passed, +Electric cars roll thundering through thy streets; +In Raphael's groves the automobile's blast +Expels the Muses from their calm retreats. + +Through sinuous miles of shops with worldly wares +Bewildered pilgrims reach St. Peter's shrine; +Some modern stamp each old piazza, bears; +And freed from weeds, thy burnished ruins shine! + +Near Hadrian's massive bridge of sculptured stone, +The Tiber surges 'neath an iron frame, +Across whose ugly beams the tramcars groan, +And brand the river with a bar of shame. + +Gods of Olympus, can ye not restore +To outraged Rome her dignity of old? +'Twere better Jove and Juno to adore +Than in their stead to worship only Gold! + +Thy glorious statues, cruelly defaced, +Thy crumbling shrines, thy marbles burnt to lime, +The lone Campagna's fever-stricken waste, +Where lizards bask on columns once sublime,-- + +The Flavian Amphitheatre's gaping wounds, +The Baths of Caracalla's roofless walls, +The Forum's multitude of ruined mounds, +The royal Palatine's abandoned halls,-- + +All these indeed create a hopeless pain, +When fancy strives to reconstruct the whole, +Yet pathos, wakened by a wreck-strewn plain, +Inspires at least nobility of soul. + +But where a Syndic's greed hath left its trail +The picturesque and beautiful take flight; +The Past's inspiring influences fail, +As stars are hidden by electric light. + +Yet protests meet derision and disdain; +The fatal madness spreads from land to land; +Peace, Art, and Beauty everywhere are slain +By greedy Traffic's hard, rapacious hand. + +We laugh at lessons taught by others' fate, +We see no ending to our prosperous day; +Forgetting that, in turn, each ancient State +Hath passed through bud and flower to decay. + +Behold the retrogression of those lands +Whence painting, sculpture and the drama sprung; +See starved Trinacria's outstretched, empty hands, +And all the classic shores by Homer sung! + +In what have we surpassed them? We are taught +Their art, their ethics, and their rythmic speech; +Both Greece and Asia still control our thought, +Their grandest works still far beyond our reach. + +The breathless transfer of men, thoughts, and things, +Improved designs for vaster fratricide,-- +Are these the leading gifts this century brings, +The twentieth, too, since Christ was crucified? + +Yet thoughts that most have influenced mankind +Were not sent broadcast with the lightning's speed; +Nor do the works of Plato lag behind +The myriad books and papers that we read! + +And thou, Italia, that for ages played +A role whose majesty can ne'er be told, +Hast thou, like all the rest, thy trust betrayed, +Adored the New, and sacrificed the Old? + +Wilt thou for fashion make thy Past forlorn? +Waste precious substance upon useless ships? +Transport to Africa thine eldest born, +And let gaunt hunger blanch thy peasants' lips? + +Make poorly paid officials banded knaves? +Drive starving sons by thousands from thy shore, +Or let them rot in Abyssinian graves, +And hide the cancer festering at thy core? + +If so, 'tis certain thou must dearly pay +For playing thus the war-lord's pompous part, +And thou shalt feel at no far-distant day +The people's dagger driven through thy heart. + +Fain would I find some peaceful Pagan shrine +Unspoiled as yet by vandals of to-day, +Around whose shafts the sweet, wild roses twine, +And on whose marble walls the sunbeams play; + +There would I dream of days when life was sweet +With poetry, art, and myths devoid of dread, +When all the Gods in harmony could meet, +And no eternal torment vexed the dead. + +Our vaunted age is one of feverish haste, +Of racial hatred and of loathsome cant, +Of gross corruption and of tawdry taste, +Of monster fortunes, with a world in want. + +I am not of it, and I will not be! +Its social strife and slavery I despise; +Gone is its shore; I sail the open sea +O'er tranquil waters and 'neath cloudless skies! + + + + +ON THE PALATINE + +I tread the vast deserted stage +Whereon the Caesars lived and died; +The relics of Rome's golden age +Lie strewn about me far and wide, +Mementoes of an empire's pride, +The homes of men once deified. + +What are they now? Stupendous piles +Of mouldering corridors and walls, +On which alike the sunshine smiles +And cold the rain of winter falls; +A wilderness of roofless halls +Whose tragic history appalls! + +Below me, like an opened grave, +The Forum's excavations lie, +Where column, arch and architrave +In solemn grandeur greet the eye, +Still guarding 'neath Italia's sky +The glory that can never die. + +And here, above me and around, +In part still shrouded by the soil, +A stony chaos strews the ground, +Where patient students delve and toil +To bring to light Time's buried spoil, +And History's tangled threads uncoil. + +Halt! where thou standest Rome was born! +These stones by Romulus were placed, +When, on that far-off April morn, +Two snow-white bulls the furrow traced +For Rome's first wall, which, firmly based, +Two thousand years have not effaced. + +From these rude blocks how vast the bound +To that huge, labyrinthine mass +Through which the secret pathways wound, +Where emperors, if alarmed, could pass; +Yet even there could find, alas! +The poignard or the poisoned glass. + +What ghastly crimes these rooms recall! +Here Nero watched his brother drain +The fatal draught, then lifeless fall; +Here, too, Caligula was slain, +When, shrieking, with disordered brain, +He pleaded for his life in vain. + +At every turn some pallid ghost +With haggard features seems to rise +To join the long-drawn, murdered host +That moves with sad, averted eyes, +Like victims to a sacrifice, +To where the Via Sacra lies. + +Behold the mighty Judgment Hall, +Where Nero with indifferent air +Remarked the pleading of St. Paul, +Nor dreamed the man before him there +Would soon be read and reverenced where +The Roman empire had no share! + +Where are they all,--those men of pride +Whose palace was the Palatine, +From Romulus the fratricide +To Hadrian, and Constantine, +The last of all the western line +Of Caesars who were deemed divine? + +And all the millions who were swayed +By those who dwelt upon this hill, +And who in humble awe obeyed +The dictates of their sovereign will,-- +Are they self-conscious beings still, +Or are their minds and bodies ... Nil? + +I watch our planet's god decline +Behind the tomb-girt Appian Way; +The old, imperial Palatine +Grows purple 'neath the sun's last ray; +Shades of the Caesars, if ye may, +The mystery of death portray! + +Are there in truth Elysian Fields? +And is there life beyond the grave? +Or are the years that Nature yields +Confined this side the Stygian wave? +For those who more existence crave +Is there a Power to help and save? + +Alas! no answer; on their hill +The murdered Caesars make no sign; +Their myriad subjects, too, are still,-- +Mute as the voiceless Palatine; +Yet overhead the fixed stars shine, +And bid us trust in the Divine! + + + + +THE FAREWELL OF THE OLD GUARD AT FONTAINEBLEAU, 1814 + +Stately court of Fontainebleau, +Nine and ninety years ago +On thy spacious esplanade, +Ranged in formal dress parade, +Stood the Emperor's grenadiers +With their bronzed cheeks wet with tears, +Waiting once again to show +Love for him at Fontainebleau. + +Noon had struck above the square, +When adown the Horse Shoe stair +In his well-known coat of gray, +Worn on many a hard-fought day, +Came the man adored by all +As their "Little Corporal," +Forced by Europe now to go +Far from royal Fontainebleau. + +In the ranks a sudden stir +Swelled to shouts of Vive l'Empereur; +Then deep silence reigned, save where +On the peaceful summer air +Choking sobs, but half suppressed, +Came from many a faithful breast +At the overwhelming blow +Dealt them here at Fontainebleau. + +Could the rumor, then, be true? +Would he say to them adieu? +Would their idol and their pride, +He whom they had deified, +Leave his royal grenadiers, +Veteran troops of twenty years? +Hark! he speaks in accents low +To his Guard at Fontainebleau:-- + +"Comrades, brothers, we must part"; +(How his lov'd tones thrilled each heart!) +"It were wrong to you and France, +Did I once more say 'Advance'; +On the ruins of my State +I at last must abdicate, +And with you no more can know +Happy days at Fontainebleau. + +"Valiant soldiers of my Guard, +Thus to part is doubly hard; +Did you silence Prussian guns, +March beneath Italian suns, +Enter Moscow and Madrid, +Fight beside the Pyramid, +And survive grim Russia's snow,-- +Thus to yield at Fontainebleau? + +"Heroes of great wars, farewell! +You have heard my empire's knell, +Yet no hostile world's decree +Can estrange your hearts from me; +Exiled to a tiny isle, +Through your tears you well may smile +At the realm my foes bestow,-- +Elba ... after Fontainebleau! + +"Now of all who once were true +I can count alone on you; +Would that each might take the place +Of the eagle I embrace! +Let the tears which on it fall +Move the souls of one and all! +Never have I loved you so +As to-day at Fontainebleau." + +Hushed his voice; a moment more, +At the passing carriage door +Gleamed Napoleon's mournful eyes,-- +Smouldering flames of sacrifice; +Then his pallid, classic face +Vanished ghostlike into space, +And a dreary sense of woe +Settled over Fontainebleau. + +Dead are now those grenadiers; +Quelled are Europe's anxious fears; +By the Seine the Emperor sleeps; +France her watch beside him keeps; +But the lonely Horse Shoe stair +Still preserves its sombre air, +For the light of long ago +Falls no more on Fontainebleau. + + + + +JAPAN,--OLD AND NEW + +The son of a Japanese lord am I,-- +A Prince of the olden time; +My hair is white, though black as night +In my youth and early prime; +And again and again I ask myself, +As the past I sadly scan, +Are we better or worse? Was it blessing or curse +That foreigners brought Japan? + +It is barely two score years and ten +Since the epoch-making day +When a foreign fleet, through the summer heat, +Came sailing up our bay; +Still ring in my ears my father's words, +As we watched it breast the waves,-- +"If strangers land on Nippon's strand, +We may one day be their slaves." + +But the strangers landed, and asked for trade +And a permanent "Open Door," +And we deemed it best to grant the West +A foothold on our shore; +Their slaves in truth we have not become, +Yet who can fail to find +That Japan obeys in a thousand ways +The will of the western mind? + +We sent our sons across the seas +To learn from the Western Powers +Their modes of life and their modes of strife, +And have made them largely ours; +But before all else have we learned from them +That our first great aim, must be +To possess a fleet that can defeat +All rivals on the sea. + +Hence, all that the West hath yet devised +For the slaughter of men en masse +We have copied or bought, and have stopped at naught +To make our fleet "first class"; +And lest this might not quite suffice, +Should an enemy come in sight, +We have made each man throughout Japan +A soldier trained to fight! + +But alas for the change that hath been wrought +In the millions in our fields! +For the costly ships take from their lips +The food that the harvest yields; +They were always poor, but their load was light, +Compared with their load to-day, +For thousands of hands that worked the lands +Are drafted now away. + +And sad are the scenes in the sphere of Art +In which we had won such fame; +The fingers left are not so deft +As they were when the strangers came; +For then we toiled for Beauty's sake, +And by time were we never paid; +But now we have sold our art for gold +And the western market's trade. + +I never look at the goods now sent,-- +So worthless do they seem,-- +Without a sigh for the standard high +Which prevailed in the old regime; +When even the hilt of a Daimio's sword +Was a work of months or years, +And the highest reward for a triumph scored +Was praise from the artist's peers. + +No, the soul of my people is not the same; +It was formerly sweet and kind, +And happiness reigned in hearts restrained +By an unspoiled, gentle mind; +But now the lusts of the outer world +For power, and lands, and gold, +Our sons deprave, till they madly crave +What others have and hold. + +We have borrowed many things from the West, +But one have we left alone; +Of its Christian creed we had no need, +And have thus far kept our own; +For each of its numerous sects affirms +That it has the only way, +And that all the rest should be suppressed, +For they lead mankind astray. + +But worse than the claims of rival sects +And the war of clashing creeds, +Is the gulf,--heaven-wide! which we descried +Between their words and deeds; +For He whose sacred name they bear +Was known as the Prince of Peace, +And what He taught, in practice wrought, +Would cause all wars to cease. + +They say with truth that we used to fight +For our Lords on sea and coast, +But our soldiers then were as one to ten, +Not a permanent armored host! +Nor do we claim to obey the God +They worship in the West; +But, since they do, is it not true +That they mock at His first behest? + +His words were "Love your enemies!" +And never a hostile act +To friend or foe should Christians show, +By whomsoever attacked; +But they are really the best prepared +To attack and to resist; +And the Kaiser who prays is the Kaiser who says,-- +"Go! Strike with the mailed fist!" + +We look abroad, and everywhere +The spirit of Christ is dead; +Men call Him Lord, but they draw the sword +In defiance of what He said; +And the haughty, white-skinned Christian race +Hates men of a different hue, +And robs and slays in a thousand ways, +With excuses ever new. + +In the North and South, in the East and West +In vain do the natives plead; +By the Congo's waves are countless graves, +Where the Paleface gluts his greed; +And China's fate looms dark and grim, +As its people note the means +That Christians take, when gold's at stake, +From the Rand to the Philippines. + +We have had to choose between the rule +Of the Sermon on the Mount +And the brutal fact that nations act +With an eye to their bank-account! +And we see that the only way to shun +The clutch of the Western Powers +Is to learn to kill with Christian skill, +And to make their weapons ours. + +For we will not, like the others, bend +Our necks to the white man's yoke; +And poor Japan, to her latest man, +Will answer stroke with stroke; +So I watch to-night a solemn sight +On the breast of the moonlit bay, +As our gallant host for a hostile coast +Prepares to sail away. + +It is life or death for my native land, +And I fear I may never see +Those ships again, with their noble men, +Return from victory; +And well I know in my heart of hearts, +As the past I sadly scan, +That we are worse, and it was a curse +That foreigners brought Japan. + +1904. + + + + +THE UNFORGOTTEN HEROES + +[The great temple at Miyagi in Japan was recently the scene +of grand funeral observances for the horses slain in the late war +with Russia, the Buddhist priests reading prayers and conducting +services of a most solemn character.] + + +Hark! how the Orient's bells are proclaiming + Obsequies strange to the shrines of the west-- +Services Christendom's cruelties shaming-- + Taught by the merciful, Buddha the blest. + +Peace on Manchuria's plains has descended; + Tall waves the grass where the chivalrous bled; +Murder and massacre finally ended, + Sadly the living remember their dead. + +Requiem masses and prayers without number + Plead for the souls of the Muscovite brave, +While of the Japanese, wrapt in death's slumber, + Tender memorials honor each grave. + +But in Gautama's compassionate teaching + Love is not limited merely to man; +Kindness to animals formed in his preaching + No less a part of his merciful plan. + +Hence by the Buddhists, in counting the corses + Heaping with horror the death-trampled plain, +Not unremembered are thousands of horses, + Left unattended to die with the slain. + +What did war seem to these poor, driven cattle? + What was their part in the horrible fray +Save to be shot in the fury of battle, + Or from exhaustion to fall by the way? + +Dragging huge guns over rocks and through mire, + Trembling with weakness, yet straining each nerve, +Fated at last in despair to expire, + Uncomprehending, yet willing to serve! + +Nothing to them were the hopes of a nation; + "Czar" and "Mikado" were meaningless sounds; +None of the patriot's deep inspiration + Softened the agony caused by their wounds. + +Not for these martyrs the skill of physician, + Ether for anguish or lint for a wound; +Theirs but to lie in their crippled condition, + Thirsting and starving on shelterless ground. + +Hail to these quadrupeds, dead without glory! + Honor to him who their valor reveres! +Spare to these heroes, unmentioned in story, + Something of sympathy, something of tears. + + + + +A WINTER'S DAY + +Into my garden sweet and fair +Brightly the sun at noonday shines, +Melting the frost from the wintry air, +Warming the trellis of leafless vines. + +Basking there in the genial heat, +South of my sheltering vineyard wall, +Strolling, I dream in my lov'd retreat,-- +The smile of the sun-god over all. + +Far too early a shadow dark, +Cast by the neighboring mountain's crest, +Stealthily creeps across the park, +Bringing a chill from the sombre west. + +Little by little my sunlit space +Shrinks to a narrowing path of light; +Further and further with dread I trace +The sure advance of approaching night. + +Soon will arrive its twilight pall; +Then, as the potent change is felt, +The fountain's drops will cease to fall +And feathery films refuse to melt. + +But still in the solar warmth I wait, +The hand of my lov'd one clasped in mine; +Is that a tear? It is growing late, +And she asks how long the sun will shine. + + + + +ON THE PROMENADE + +O joyous idler in the sun, +In pity slacken here thy pace! +A lad, whose course is nearly run, +Is watching thee with wistful face. + +The glow of health upon thy cheek, +The youthful ardor in thy gait, +Appear to him, so frail and weak, +The bitter irony of Fate. + +Thou art to him the vision fair +Of all he once had hoped to be; +What wonder, then, that in despair +His longing glances follow thee? + +Let not the gulf too deep appear +Between thy fortune and his own! +Thou didst not see that falling tear, +Nor hear his low, half-stifled moan. + +The pang of age compared with youth, +Or hunger with the spendthrift's wealth, +Gnaws not with such a cruel tooth +As that of pain confronting health. + +Yet must the strong ship breast the wave, +The wreck lie rotting on the shore; +O hopes that perish in the grave! +O youthful dreams that come no more! + + + + +SOLITUDE + +Had I but lived when music-loving Pan +Still played his flute amid the whispering reeds, +When through Arcadian groves the dryads ran, +And--symbolizing well man's earlier creeds-- +A host of sculptured forms, divinely fair, +Portrayed the gods, and led men's thoughts to prayer, + +I would have sought some beautiful retreat, +Remote from cities and the din of men,-- +Some tranquil shore where lake and forest meet +By limpid stream or flower-lit, sylvan glen, +And would have reared, where none could e'er intrude, +A shrine to thee, O precious Solitude! + +How hath a heedless world neglected thee, +Thou coy divinity, too shy and proud +To sue for followers from those who see +Attraction merely in the strenuous crowd! +For only those can know thee, as thou art, +Who wisely seek and study thee ... apart. + +No rapt enthusiast, or mystic sage, +No Asian founder of a faith divine, +No bard, or writer of inspired page +Hath ever failed to worship at thy shrine, +O Nourisher of steadfast self-control, +Of noble thoughts, of loftiness of soul! + +Yet no continuous homage dost thou crave, +No anchorite's seclusion wouldst thou ask, +Thou lov'st no misanthrope or sullen slave, +But only those who, faithful to life's task, +Must yet at times look upward from the clod, +And seek through thee acquaintanceship with God. + + + + +OUT OF THE RANKS + +From the bitter fight I have made my way +To the peaceful crest of a lonely hill, +But the noise and heat of the deadly fray +And the smart of wounds are with me still. + +No recreant I to a noble cause, +Nor traitor base to a leader bold; +'Twas a fight where he won most applause +Who captured most of his neighbor's gold; + +Where the wounded crawled away to die, +Or, hopeless, ate their bread with tears, +And the only cries that rent the sky +Were the shouts of frenzied financiers. + +Alas for the prematurely gray, +Who struggle there through joyless lives +To win the means of more display +For thankless children, thoughtless wives! + +Alas for those whose spirits yearn +For leisure, books, and sunlit fields, +Who yet can never pause to learn +The joy that a life of culture yields! + +Still sway the mad crowds to and fro! +I hear their groans and panting breath, +The hideous impacts, blow on blow, +The moans of those who are crushed to death! + +None stoop to lift up those who fall; +A thousand leap for a vacant place, +Thrust weaker thousands to the wall, +And trample many an upturned face! + +But I, however the fight may go, +Have turned my back on the sordid fray, +To face the tranquil sunset-glow, +And hope for the dawn of a better day. + + + + +AUTONOMY + +Stand forth, my soul, and take thine own! +Though all should blame thee, have no fear! +Self-poised and steadfast, dare alone +Thy self-elected course to steer. + +Before thee lies the open sea; +Beyond it is the wished-for shore; +The route that seemeth best to thee +Select, and hesitate no more! + +For he who lives the timorous slave +Of social plaudits or disdain, +Drags feebly to a nameless grave +A craven's ever-lengthening chain. + +Are thy plans noble, just, and fair? +Pursue them bravely to the end, +Nor pause to question or to care +What says thy foe, or what thy friend. + +Succeed, and thou shalt surely find +That those who longed to see thee fail, +And, lingering hopelessly behind, +Spat venom on thine upward trail, + +Shall run to reach thee on thy path, +To grasp thy hand and say "'Twas well"; +Or, distant, gnaw their lips in wrath, +Their envious hearts a living hell. + +Forever, flint-like, set thy face +Against the loss of self-control; +Compel the world to keep its place; +Be thou the captain of thy soul! + + + + +ORIENT TO OCCIDENT, 1906 + +You thought me sunk in lethargy, too deeply drugged with sleep +To notice how your armored fleets kept creeping o'er the deep, +Too indolent to organize, too feeble to resist, +Too timid to return the blow of Europe's mailèd fist; +And Asia's conquest seemed to you a matter of such ease +That all your kings knew perfectly the part which each would seize. +Of such a "sluggish, inert mass" why should you be afraid? +You wanted ports and provinces for purposes of trade, +And monster "spheres of influence", whose wealth could be controlled +And plundered by your Governments to fill their vaults with gold; +Hence, since it seemed so probable that none of us would fight, +Why should you even hesitate to prove that Might makes Right? + +And yet perhaps it had been well, before you formed your plan, +To study Asia's history from Persia to Japan; +For though the sleeping Orient, like grain before the blast, +May bow its head, it rights itself when once the storm is past. +How often has the Occident invaded our domains +And boasted of its victories! Yet of them what remains? +Seems India exceptional? Fools, judge not by a day! +The horologe of centuries moves slowly in Cathay. +The brilliant son of Macedon saw, crushed and pale with fear, +The vanquished East from Babylon to Egypt and Cashmere; +But though the conquered Orient lay helpless, as his slave, +Of Alexander's influence how much survived his grave? +Of Rome's prodigious armaments, to Asian conquests led, +Where is there now a souvenir save relics of the dead? +And of the vast Crusading hosts, which in their madness rose +And hurled themselves repeatedly upon their Moslem foes,-- +What is to-day the net result? A thousand years have passed, +But none of all their vaunted gains proved great enough to last; +The Saviour's tomb, Jerusalem, and all the sacred lands +Connected with the Christian faith are still in Asian hands! + +We needed rude awakening to rouse us from our sloth; +It came among our northern isles, whose heroes, nothing loth, +Unbarred their ports to modern fleets, their ancient life forswore, +And learned from greedy foreigners the Christians' art of war. +Behold! the world in fifty years is breathless with surprise, +And Europe's greatest Government has sought us for allies! +That little section of our mass aroused itself, and lo! +Your largest Occidental Power has reeled beneath the blow; +And while our living troops receive men's rapturous acclaim, +Our fallen heroes have attained the Pantheon of fame. +Yet think not we deceive ourselves; you praise, but really dread +The valour of the Orient, if this awakening spread; +Behind this movement of the East you think you hear the low, +Long murmur of the Asians,--"The foreigner must go"! +What wonder that we hate you all? You look on us to-day +As lions look on antelopes,--their heaven-appointed prey; +You know you have no lawful right to lands that you possess; +You gained them all through violence, or lying and finesse; +Your cursed opium alone, despite our prayers and tears, +Has ruined millions of our race for more than two score years, +And when we rose indignantly to right that bitter wrong, +Your heavy guns bombarded us, and you annexed ... Hong Kong! +You force yourselves on us, and ask concessions, favors, mines, +Protection for your mission schools, and grants of railway lines, +But when we cross the seas to you, an entry you refuse, +And curse, illtreat, and harry us with loathing and abuse. +Japan has shown the only way of keeping for our own +The fertile fields which rightfully belong to us alone; +We do not wish to arm ourselves, and fighting we abhor, +But self-protection forces us to learn and practise war. + +Hence, if assailed, we shall not shun a struggle with the West; +Not bent on conquest, like yourselves, but, rising to the test +Of "Asia for the Asians", defend our threatened farms +By sending to encounter you a million men in arms. +You think yourselves invincible? Learn something from Japan, +The fever of whose chivalry now spreads from man to man, +Encouraging the Orient to hasten on the day +When all enlightened Asians shall cry "Enough! Away! +Go exploit helpless Africa, where you have shamed the beast, +But understand, your cruel day is over in the East!" +You still have many things to learn, base worshippers of gold; +When you were wild barbarians, our Governments were old! +Your self-conceit and arrogance we therefore laugh to scorn; +We had our laws millenniums before your courts were born. +You talk by electricity, you ride on wings of steam, +You thunder with machinery,--and these you proudly deem +The grandest triumphs of the race, forgetting that mere speed +In transference of men and things is less than one great deed. + +You treat us condescendingly, as if our gifts were small, +But do you think Almighty God has dowered you with all? +Earth's greatest continent is ours; her highest mountains rise +In unapproached sublimity beneath our starry skies; +Ours, too, the cradle of the race; and at our Buddha's shrine +Unequalled numbers of mankind adore him as divine. +How dare you speak of Asian thought with pity or a sneer, +When practically all you know originated here? +What had you been, if our ideals, in art and faith expressed, +Had not come down through Greece and Rome to civilize your West? +The great religions of the world are all of Asian birth, +And thence went forth resistlessly to dominate the earth. +Of six we granted one to you; and you profess its creeds, +But what a sorry travesty you make of it in deeds! +The Christ taught love to enemies; His followers to-day +Have trained the whole male Christian world their fellow men to slay! +The very Bible that you prize was writ by Asian hands; +Your prophets, saints, and patriarchs were all of Eastern lands; +The Son of God, as you believe, was born a humble Jew; +The Virgin Mother equally no other parents knew; +Yet you have robbed and tortured Jews, and murdered them at will +Through eighteen Christian centuries,--are killing thousands still! + +The "Star of Empire," as you claim, has "westward" made its way; +But what if now in Eastern skies it heralds a new day? +You fondly dreamed its brilliant course had ended there with you, +But on it moves, old lands to greet, and belt the globe anew! +Its kindling rays revivify our nations, which have slept +While round the world our influence through you has slowly crept. +The coming century's great deeds lie not at Europe's doors; +A grander stage awaits mankind,--the vast Pacific's shores; +And we not only skirt that sea from Tokyo to Saigon, +Our coastline fronts the western world from Syria to Ceylon! +Again shall we supply to you the part of life you need; +Again your slaves of strenuous toil shall live at slower speed; +Once more, as pilgrims to a shrine, your chiefs shall come to me, +And learn of my philosophy, as children at my knee. +You cannot cut me from your past, nor cancel what you owe +For all my sages gave to you two thousand years ago; +For after twenty centuries you think, and speak, and pray +Still much as I instructed you in Syria and Cathay. +Keep you, then, the material, I hold the mental, realm; +For you the ship's machinery, for me the guiding helm! + + + + +THE CAPTIVE + +I opened the cage of my pet canary; +Timid, it faltered a moment there, +Then, at my call, became less wary, +And blithely sprang to the buoyant air. + +Brief was its dream of freedom's rapture; +A window barred its sunward flight; +It beat its wings in fear of capture, +But found no way to the world of light. + +Out in the park two birds were mating, +Building together their tiny nest; +Keenly the captive watched them, waiting, +Pressing the glass with its throbbing breast. + +Leaving at length the window-casing, +Lighting by chance on a neighboring shelf, +It stood before a mirror, facing +The pretty form of its own sweet self. + +Falling in love with its own reflection, +Thinking it always another bird, +Bravely it tried to win affection, +Warbling tones I had never heard. + +Hopeless alas! its tender wooing, +Vainly it trilled its sweetest note, +Coldly received was its ardent sueing, +Silent the mirrored songster's throat. + +Wearied at last, it flew off sadly, +Back to the cage's open door, +Back to the home it left so gladly +Only a little hour before. + +Dead are the lovers so fondly mated! +Gone is their nest; it was blown away! +But safe in the narrow cage it hated +The captive sings on its perch to-day. + + + + +WEARINESS + +Snowy sails, silvery sails, +Gleaming in the sun, +Leaving scores of jewelled trails +In the course you run, + +On your white wings bear away +All my care and pain; +I would for at least to-day +Be a child again. + +Just to thrill with youthful fire, +Kindling heart and brain, +Just to know the old desire +Lofty heights to gain; + +Just to hold the simple faith +Into which I grew, +When my God was not a wraith, +And all men were true! + +Shadowed sails, clouded sails, +Life hath made me know +That you leave no jewelled trails, +Proudly though you go; + +Drops that floods of diamonds seem +Are but dazzling spray, +Fleeting as a happy dream, +Swift to fade away. + +Distant sails, waning sails, +Waft me to some shore +Where corroding care prevails +Never, nevermore! + +Where the flotsam of the deep +Finds its wanderings cease, +And the shipwrecked sink to sleep +On the strand of peace. + + + + +A MAY MONODY + +Beside my opened window pane, +Each morning in this month of May +A blackbird sings in dulcet strain +Two liquid notes, which seem to say + "Come again! Come again!" + +Alike in sunshine and in rain, +Now loud and clear, now soft and low, +He warbles forth the same refrain, +Which haunts me with its hint of woe,-- + "Come again! Come again!" + +What bird, whose absence gives him pain, +Doth he thus tenderly recall? +What longed-for joy would he regain +By those two words which rise and fall,-- + "Come again! Come again!" + +Sometimes, when I too long have lain +And listened to his plaintive air, +An impulse I cannot restrain +Hath moved me too to breathe that prayer,-- + "Come again! Come again!" + +O vanished youth, when faith was plain, +When hopes were high, and manhood's years +Showed dazzling summits to attain; +O days, ere eyes grew dim with tears,-- + "Come again! Come again!" + +O friends, whose memory leaves no stain, +O dearly loved and early lost! +Do you your love for me retain +Beyond the silent sea you crossed? + "Come again! Come again!" + +Alas! sweet bird, all life moves on; +The seed becomes the ripened grain, +And what is past is gone, is gone! +Cease calling, therefore,--'tis in vain--, + "Come again! Come again!" + + + + +MY LOST FRIENDS + +One by one they have slipped from Earth, +And vanished into the depths of space, +And I, beside my lonely hearth, +Find none to take their place. + +Never a word of fond farewell +Fell from their lips ere they were gone; +Never a hint since then to tell +If after night came dawn! + +Latest of all to thus depart, +Still is thy hand-clasp warm in mine; +Wilt thou not tell me where thou art? +Canst thou impart no sign? + +Wild are the winds above thy grave; +Cold is the form I loved so well; +But what to thee are storms that rave, +Or the snow that last night fell? + +Out in the awful void of night, +Numberless suns and planets roll; +Has one of all those isles of light +Received thy homeless soul? + +Mute is the sky as an empty tomb; +Trackless the path, and all unknown; +What means this journey through its gloom, +Which each must make alone? + +Vain is the task; I strive no more +To learn the secret of their fate; +Till sounds for me the muffled oar, +I can but hope and wait. + +But well I know they have gone from me +Into the silent depths of space, +Across a vast, uncharted sea, +Whose shores I cannot trace. + + + + +TO SLEEP AND TO FORGET + +To sleep and to forget,--O blessèd guerdon! +The day is waning, and the night draws near; +My failing heart grows weary of its burden; +Why should I therefore hesitate or fear + To sleep and to forget? + +Though bright my skies with transient gleams of gladness, +And sweet the breath of many a summer sea, +Yet, under all, a haunting note of sadness +Forever lures me in its minor key + To sleep and to forget. + +Of petty souls whose joy is defamation, +Of malice, envy, cruelty, and greed +Each day supplies its sickening revelation, +And makes imperative my spirit's need + To sleep and to forget. + +Let others bravely plan for death's to-morrow, +And crave fresh progress toward a higher goal! +Appalled by Earth's long tragedy of sorrow, +I humbly ask one favor for my soul, + When this life's sun is set,-- + To sleep and to forget. + + + + +IN SILENCE + +She sees our faces bright and gay, +Our moving lips, our laughing eyes, +But scarce a word of what we say +Can pass the zone that round her lies;-- + +A zone of stillness,--strange, profound, +Invisible to mortal eye, +Upon whose verge the waves of sound +In muffled murmurs break and die. + +Across that silent void she strains +To catch at least some wingèd word, +And, though she fails, still smiles and feigns +The poor pretence of having heard. + +That smile! Its pathos wrings the heart +Of many a friend, who yet conceals +The tears that from his eyelids start, +The grief and pity that he feels. + +And she, aware of our distress, +And sadly conscious of her own, +Still bravely speaks, nor dares confess +That our real meaning is unknown. + +What rapture, when the closing door +Shuts out the world and gives release, +And on her quivering nerves once more +Descends the benison of peace! + +No longer forced to dimly read +Men's meanings from their lips and looks, +Her greatest joy, her only need +The sweet companionship of books! + +Do we thus ever fully know +The boon of leaving far behind +The world's dull tales of crime and woe, +The gossip of its vacant mind? + +What if her loss be really gain, +That zone of silence a defence, +A compensation for her pain, +A quickening of her psychic sense? + +Perhaps when fall at last away +The chains which bind her spirit here, +A voice divine will gently say +In tones which reach alone her ear,-- + +"While others in that world of sin +Heard evil things, to thee unknown, +Apart from that defiling din +Thy spirit grew, in strength, alone. + +"They must through other lives return +To slowly earn thy strength of soul; +Through suffering only couldst thou learn +The virtue that hath made thee whole." + + + + +AT THE VILLA OF THE EMPEROR FREDERICK III AT SAN REMO + +San Remo's palms in beauty stand + Beside the storied sea, +Where azure band and golden sand + Are wedded ceaselessly; +For from the deep, which seems to sleep, + The slow waves, long and low, +Their journeys done, break one by one + In rhythmic ebb and flow. + +Before me lies a fair retreat, + Whose every breath brings balm +From plants replete with odors sweet + And many a fronded palm; +Hence at its gate I, spellbound, wait + To feast my gladdened eyes +On buds that wake and flowers that make + A perfumed paradise. + +Alas, that love could not avail + To guard this sweet repose! +That strength should fail, and life prove frail + And fleeting as the rose! +So fair! and yet, who can forget + The heir to Prussia's throne, +Who here fought death with labored breath, + And faced the great Unknown? + +O Spirit of the Fatherland, + O love that changeth not, +Thy filial hand hath made this strand + A consecrated spot; +For on the wall, where roses fall, + Bronze words recall his fate,-- +A sceptre won ... when life was done, + An empire gained ... too late! + +"Halt, wanderer from a German shore!" + (Thus runs the sad refrain,) +"Here dwelt thine Emperor, here he bore + With fortitude his pain; +Hear'st thou the lone, low monotone + Of billows tempest-tossed? +In that long roll the German soul + Still mourns for him she lost." + +San Remo's stately palms still rise + Beside the storied shore; +But he now lies 'neath northern skies, + At peace forevermore, +In that calm, deep, untroubled sleep, + Whose secret none may know, +While, one by one,--their courses run,-- + The long waves ebb and flow. + + + + +IN A COLUMBARIUM + +The autumn sun still bravely streams +Along the tomb-girt Appian Way, +And warms the heart of one who dreams +Of all its splendor on the day +When Scipio triumphed, bringing home +The spoils of Africa to Rome. + +On this same road the conqueror came, +Called "Africanus, the Divine" +By thousands who adored his fame, +And proudly watched the endless line +Of Punic captives in his train, +And trophies, won on Zama's plain. + +To-day the vast Campagna rolls +In stately grandeur to the sea, +But where are now the countless souls +Whose dwelling-place this used to be, +When all its space to Ostia's gate +Lay peopled and inviolate? + +Ask of the Claudian arches gray +Which stride toward Rome in broken lines; +Ask of the lizards at their play +On relics of the Antonines; +Ask of the fever-blighted shore, +Where Roman galleys ride no more! + +Yet some poor traces still remain +Of those who here have lived and died; +For underneath this solemn plain +The Christian catacombs still hide,-- +A city of sepulchral gloom, +The martyrs' labyrinthine tomb. + +Moreover, in this classic soil, +Where sleeps so much of ancient Rome, +A simple peasant at his toil +Discovered 'neath the upturned loam +The spot to which I now have come,-- +A Roman Columbarium. + +Down through its modern, open door +A flood of mellow sunshine falls +In golden waves from roof to floor, +Revealing in its moss-grown walls +The "dove-cotes", where one still discerns +The fragments of old funeral urns. + +One vacant niche, whose ampler space +Betokens special love and care, +Contained no doubt a sculptured face +Above the hallowed ashes there; +While, just beneath, faint letters spell +A faithful woman's fond farewell. + +How often on love's wingèd feet +She doubtless sought this dear recess, +To deck with floral offerings sweet +Her sepulchre of happiness, +Whose script, despite two thousand years, +Preserves the memory of her tears! + +Rome's annals hint not of the name +Of him whose dust lay treasured here, +But could the fleeting breath of fame +Have made him to her heart more dear? +A word of tenderness outweighs +In woman's soul a world of praise. + +What though, remote from pomp and state, +At Caesar's court he could not shine? +Less blest had surely been his fate +Upon the lustful Palatine! +And mutual love, wherever viewed, +Is life's supreme beatitude. + +Alas! the urn no longer stands +Within the little alcove dim; +Gone also are the faithful hands +That hung sweet roses on its rim; +And vanished even is the bust +Which watched above the sacred dust. + +Yet still its words of love survive +The shocks and tragedies of time, +And bid our drooping hearts revive, +Inculcating the faith sublime +That, while the urn in ruin lies, +Love soars immortal to the skies. + + + + +DISCOURAGEMENT + +"Forward, comrades, ever forward"! +Shout the leaders in the fight; +"Scale the ramparts! Plant the standard +On the citadel of light! + +"Break the chains of superstition! +Crush corruption! Free the slave! +Plant the flowers of love and mercy +On the past's ensanguined grave! + +"Toward the strongholds of oppression +Lead again the hope forlorn! +See! the night is disappearing; +Lo! the coming of the morn"! + +Bravely said; yet men have spoken +Just as bravely long ago, +When the hair had raven blackness +Which is now as white as snow; + +And alas! how many thousands +Have responded to that call, +Whose forgotten corpses moulder +By the still beleaguered wall! + +Forms have changed and words have altered, +But the things remain the same; +Still doth man enslave his brother,-- +Always master, save in name. + +Still are God's dumb creatures tortured, +Racial hatreds never cease, +And man's greatest self-delusion +Is the shibboleth of "Peace." + +Hence, while youth, with hope and courage, +Loudly vents its noble rage; +Age, profoundly disillusioned, +Sad and silent leaves the stage. + +Round the classic Inland Ocean, +Where the Roman world held sway, +Storied shores are iridescent +With the splendor of decay; + +Persia, Syria, Egypt, Athens, +Proud Byzantium, Carthage, Spain,-- +In their mournful desolation +Hear the old sea's sad refrain:-- + +"Rising, falling, waxing, waning, +Men and nations come and go; +Reaching glory, then declining, +As the ebb succeeds the flow. + +"All florescence is but fleeting: +Each in turn enjoys its day, +Hath its seed-time, bud and flower, +And as surely fades away. + +"Growth, maturity, decadence,-- +Form mankind's unchanging role, +And the dead past's sombre ruins +Are prophetic of the whole." + +"Nay," you cry in bitter protest, +"Shall man have no perfect end, +No millennial culmination, +Toward which all the ages tend? + +"Must all races prove decadent? +Shall not one produce in time +Perfect types of men and women +In a world devoid of crime?" + +Scan the lurid past, and tell us +On what ground you base your hopes! +Does an endless line of failures +Warrant brighter horoscopes? + +Hath not every race and nation +Sunk from grandeur to decay? +What shall save us, then, from ruin? +Are we better men than they? + +"Great inventors", say you? Granted; +Such material gifts are ours; +Every age hath some distinction, +Every race its special powers. + +But the progress is not lasting, +And the special powers decline; +Man's advance is never constant +In one grand, unbroken line. + +Nor is ground, once lost, recovered; +Greece and Rome are not replaced! +All the sites of pagan learning +Still lie desolate and waste. + +What know we,--except in physics--, +That the ancients did not know? +Are we wiser than the sages +Of two thousand years ago? + +More devout than Hebrew prophets? +More upright than Antonine? +More accomplished than the Grecians, +Or than Buddha more divine? + +And if such men could not hinder +Fate's resistless rise and fall, +How can we expect exemption +From the common lot of all? + +Let us frankly face the prospect +That man's progress here may fail; +That the race may never triumph, +But again descend the scale, + +Till the last surviving savage +To his glacial cave retires, +And earth's tragic drama closes, +As humanity expires! + +And why not? All weaker species +To the stronger yield their place; +May the same law not be needed +Through the boundless realms of space? + +By whatever beings peopled, +Worlds that fail to meet the test +May like fruitless blossoms perish; +God will winnow out the best. + +Would you know our planet's value? +View the star-strewn dome of night! +In that shoreless sea of splendor +What is one faint wave of light? + +Worlds by millions are revolving +Through that vast, unfathomed main; +Should our tiny orb make shipwreck, +Worlds by millions would remain; + +Where perchance a real advancement +May prevail from pole to pole, +Without losses, without lapses, +Toward a final, perfect goal. + +This at least can not be doubted,-- +That our globe will one day roll +Cold and lifeless thro' its orbit, +Like a corpse without its soul. + +Will mankind have reached perfection +Ere that epoch has begun, +Or grown bestial, as the heat-waves +Issue feebly from the sun? + +None may know. Through blood-stained cycles +We have thus far made our way: +Of the unknown depths beneath us +We are nothing but the spray. + + + + +MÉSALLIANCE + +With gentle manners, winsome face, +And forehead fit to wear a crown, +How brilliant might have been her place, +Had she not mated with a clown,-- + +A Caliban of modern date, +Ill-dressed, ill-shapen, ill at ease, +With halting speech and awkward gait, +And manners certain to displease! + +What secret motive could have led +This charming girl her life to stain +By condescending thus to wed +A husband whom she must disdain? + +Far worthier men had vainly sought +To win her for herself alone; +What potent spell could Love have wrought +To draw her to a tactless drone? + +A palace she might well have graced. +And led its functions like a queen; +Instead, her life has run to waste, +The wraith of what it might have been. + +For boorishness hath brought its blight; +Her rare accomplishments are marred, +And every path, with promise bright, +By stupid tyranny is barred. + +Yet still she bravely moves through life, +Ignoring her pathetic fall;-- +A loveless, broken-hearted wife; +Alas, the pity of it all! + + + + +IN A MODERN CITY + +Dreary fog and drizzling sleet, +And a lamp-lit track of slime; +Phantoms dim in the misty street, +Vanishing, streaked with grime; +Overhead in a spurious night, +Formed by the vapors dun, +Wraith-like globes of haloed light, +Mocking the hidden sun;-- + +Children, shod in sodden shoes, +(That is a sight that hurts;) +Women, furrowing filthy ooze +In thin, bedraggled skirts; +Horses, lashed with cruel zest, +Ploughing the fumid fog; +Hark! ... a car, with no arrest, +Killing a howling dog;-- + +Clanging trams, with haggard men +Forcing their way within,-- +Some compressed in a steaming-pen, +Others soaked to the skin; +Smoke and soot in the murky sky, +Death in the tainted air, +Each aware, were he to die, +None in the crowd would care;-- + +Here and there a carriage fine, +Cleaving the reeking mass; +Scowling faces, ranged in line, +Watching the rich man pass; +Envy's gleam in many an eye, +Hate in many a threat; +Why should he be warm and dry, +And they be cold and wet? + +Pictures these of the "Passing Show," +Scenes in a world gone wrong, +Wretched weaklings, born to woe, +Crushed by the brutal strong! +Breaking hearts that crave release, +Slaves to a ceaseless strife! ... +I will go back to sylvan peace +And a sight of the Source of Life. + + + + +MY BORES + +I take their hands with placid smile +And words which social rules enforce, +Though sadly conscious all the while +Of something very like remorse, +Because beneath the mask I wear +I really wish they were not there. + +Their visits I at heart resent; +The half-read volume haunts my thought; +The urgent note remains unsent; +The verse, unfinished, comes to naught; +And all because, on some pretence, +They waste their time at my expense. + +Yet no grim misanthrope am I, +Who fears, distrusts, and hates his race; +I merely wish them to pass by, +And seek some other lounging-place; +For, frankly, I should love them more +A little further from my door. + +In vain I make no answering calls; +They blandly smile and come again! +Nay, even bring within my walls +More curious strangers in their train, +"Who wished so much your home to see!" +Why do they never think of me? + +The few I want I can invite; +Hence why should others thus intrude? +How dare they give themselves the right, +Unasked, to spoil my solitude? +And why presume I care to know +More triflers in their world of show? + +Their idle life, on pleasure bent, +Their mania for some silly game, +Their hours in stupid gossip spent,-- +Would give me self-contempt and shame; +Between us is no common ground +On which a comradeship to found. + +A word or two upon the street +Suffice me with the most of men; +Beyond a greeting, when we meet. +I care not if we speak again; +My books and Nature's charming face +Such human consorts well replace. + +Not all, indeed; for who but yearns +To call some kindred heart his own? +Some friend to whom he fondly turns, +And with whom he is still alone, +Since each, while absolutely free, +Respects the other's privacy. + +To such his pent-up love o'erflows; +With such his soul's seclusion ends; +For each the other's nature knows, +And every motive comprehends; +So perfectly do both agree, +So close their bond of sympathy! + +But those who come to wear away +With me the time they deem a bore, +And blithely rob me of a day +Which God Himself cannot restore-- +From such, at risk of being rude, +I will preserve my solitude. + +Their vapid visits I refuse; +Their forced attachment I decline; +I surely have the right to choose +The friends, whose lives shall blend with mine; +My bark shall gain the open sea +With but the few I love and me. + + + + +GRATITUDE + +The sun is on the mountain crest, +The sky without a cloud, +The moon is slipping down the west, +The robin's song is loud; +White blossoms crown the apple trees, +The dew is on the thorn, +The scent of roses fills the breeze,-- +Thank God, another morn! + +The sunset embers smoulder low, +The moon climbs o'er the hill, +The peaks have caught the alpenglow, +The robin's song is still; +The hush of peace is on the earth, +With stars the sky grows bright, +The fire is kindled on my hearth,-- +Thank God, another night! + + + + +IN TENEBRIS + +All the lights have been extinguished +In my closely-curtained room, +Nothing now can be distinguished +In the all-pervading gloom; +And through darkness, so alluring, +I would float away to sleep, +Like a boat that slips its mooring, +And moves gently toward the deep. + +How delightful this seclusion +From the garish light of day,-- +All its turmoil and confusion +Pushed, a little while, away! +Neither men nor things shall try me +Till to-morrow brings its light; +Let my cares go drifting by me! +I'll not think of them to-night. + +Social cant and empty phrases, +Base returns for kindness shown, +Envy's serpent-smile, and praises +Which convey, for bread, a stone,-- +What a joy to have rejected +All such griefs, of evil born! +What a boon to feel protected +From their advent until morn! + +Moon and stars, without, are gleaming +Over snow-capped peaks sublime, +But to-night I'll give to dreaming, +Nor esteem it wasted time; +Nay, through darkness, so alluring, +I will float away to sleep, +Like a boat that slips its mooring, +And moves gently toward the deep. + + + + +TWO MOTHERS + +One night two lonely women met +Beside a storm-swept bay; +With tears their mournful eyes were wet, +Their pale lips salt with spray; +They passed; then turned, as though each yearned +Some friendly word to say. + +"Poor soul", cried one, "hast thou no fear +To walk this haunted strand? +What hopeless sorrow brings thee here, +Where dead men drift to land? +I too have grief beyond relief; +Speak! I can understand." + +"I mourn a son", the other said; +"That ocean is his grave; +My heart will not be comforted, +It breaks with every wave; +Would I might sleep in yonder deep +With him I could not save! + +"The wind was raging, as to-night; +Straight on these rocks it blew; +I watched until the dawning light +Disclosed the wreck to view; +From where we stand I saw his hand +Wave me a last adieu! + +"He deemed the boat too frail to bear +Another living freight; +'Push off'! he said with tranquil air, +'Go first, and I will wait;' +But all the while, despite his smile, +He knew 'twould be too late. + +"That heartless crew shall nevermore +God's absolution find! +They watched, like cravens, from the shore +The man they left behind +Go down before the breakers' roar, +The surges and the wind! + +"Hence, when such maddened tempests rave, +I cannot rest at home, +For then the billows deck his grave +With flowers of snow-white foam; +And here I pray till break of day +Beneath night's starless dome." + +A silence fell; then, faint and low, +The other, weeping, said; +"My heavier woe thou needst not know; +Within his ocean bed +On thy son's name there rests no shame; +Would God that mine were dead!" + + + + +AT HOCHFINSTERMÜNZ + +Once more between its walls of pines +I see the long ravine expand +To where the ice-world's crystal lines +Define the realm of Switzerland. + +Once more, a thousand feet below, +I watch the river's silver sheen, +As, foaming in its fettered flow, +It rushes from the Engadine. + +Forever young, forever old, +This gorge, where stream with forest blends, +These glittering peaks, these glaciers cold,-- +Are all to me familiar friends. + +I know, alas, their towering forms +Of unresponsive rocks and snow +Are heartless as their wintry storms, +And heed not if I come or go; + +Yet none the less I love to trace +Their stainless crests along the sky, +And, as I greet each well-known face, +Each seems in turn to make reply. + +So potent is the subtle spell +That clothes such masses with a mind; +So strong the instincts which impel +Their lover answering love to find! + +What if in truth there really be +A soul within them to adore; +Some half-revealed Divinity, +Whose presence haunts us evermore? + +Some Power, to read our hearts, and know +How this wild beauty moves our tears; +Some God that, as our spirits grow, +Shall be discerned in after years? + +Instinctively did earlier man +See fauns and dryads in the trees, +And find in universal Pan +The soul of Nature's mysteries. + +All is divine,--the bird that sings, +The flowers that bloom, the waves that roll; +One Spirit quickens men and things, +And stirs alike the sun and soul. + +Great Nature's God! however styled, +I love thee, and upon thy breast +Would gladly lie,--a grateful child, +And, dying, trust thee for the rest. + + + + +THE GIFT OF JUNO + +Already 'neath the morning star +The shrine, by Juno's favor blest, +Had flashed its whiteness from afar, +Resplendent on a mountain's crest, +Along whose base the ocean rolled +A flood of sapphire, flecked with gold. + +In twilight still the shore remained; +But, toiling upward through the night, +A wistful mother had just gained +The summit of the sacred height, +Where Juno's far-famed statue stood,-- +Palladium of motherhood. + +At her approach the bolts were drawn, +And inward swung the temple gate, +Revealing in the light of dawn +The marble form immaculate, +The effigy of heaven's queen, +Sublime, beneficent, serene. + +Slow-moving and with fluttering heart, +The youthful matron onward passed +To where that masterpiece of art +Repaid her arduous toil at last; +As, gazing through a mist of tears, +She realized here the dream of years. + +Beside her, one on either hand, +Two little children stood in fear, +Unable yet to understand +The reason of their coming here; +Both beautiful in form and face, +True types of the Hellenic race. + +No fairer pilgrims ever came +Within the temple's stately door; +No sweeter picture could it frame +Than that upon its marble floor, +When, in the hush of dawning day, +The lovely trio knelt to pray. + +"Immortal goddess, not in vain +Do mothers lift their souls to thee; +Their love, their hopes, their fears, their pain +Thy heart can feel, thine eyes can see; +Deign, therefore, my sweet babes to bless, +O Juno, fount of tenderness! + +"To thy divine, all-seeing eyes +The course of every life is clear; +I pray thee, note what future lies +Before these helpless children here; +Then, of the gifts by thee possessed, +Give them but one; choose thou the best!" + +She paused, and waited for reply, +While solemn stillness filled the shrine; +Heard something like a gentle sigh, +Or passing of a breath divine; +Then saw their eyes, like petals, close +In death's sweet, statue-like repose. + +Repose, unbroken evermore! +The world of suffering still unknown! +Escaping through that peaceful door +From every ill life might have shown. +Heart-broken mother, cease to weep! +The best was given them,--dreamless sleep. + + + + +THE AWAKENING + +Let me sleep on! I would not waken yet, +Or leave too soon the peaceful realm of dreams! +There, lulled by placid Lethe, I forget +The tumult raging on Earth's roaring streams; +Doubt not that, later, I shall surely meet +With steadfast soul Day's ceaseless, sordid strife, +But now I crave again that strangely sweet + Oblivion of life;-- + +That tranquil sleep, whose cooling shadow stills +The throbbing forehead and the fevered brain, +Which soothes to rest all sense of present ills, +Of poignant sorrow and persistent pain; +O gift divine, O boon beyond compare, +God's benediction at the evening's close, +The antidote of grief, the cure of care, + The kingdom of repose! + +Too late ... the spell is broken ... I awake; +How swift the rush of memory's turning tide, +Whose ruthless waves the will's frail barriers break, +And flood the cells where consciousness would hide! +Alas, how mad and fierce the world appears! +How dark and ominous the future seems! +I rise to face them ... yet recall through tears + The quiet land of dreams. + + + + +THE WINE OF LIFE + +Earthen jar of quaint design, +Fragile clay and slender mould, +I shall soon have drained the wine +Which you still contrive to hold,-- +Wine that sixty years ago +Seemed about to overflow. + +Few the draughts that now remain, +And I husband them with care, +For naught ever comes again +That is once exhausted there, +And the emptied jar is cast +To the scrap-heap of the past. + +Oh, the wine we rashly waste +When held brimming to the lip! +What a difference in its taste +When we drink it sip by sip, +As a miser counts his gold +On a hearth that leaves him cold! + +But why should we feel distress +If the jar be far from filled? +Though its contents may be less, +Yet its essence is distilled, +And the best wine always clears +With the passing of the years. + +Fermentation is for youth, +But serenity for age; +For a knowledge of the truth +Men have always sought the Sage, +And though youth may live with zest, +'Tis in age that one lives best. + + + + +LIFE'S TRILOGY + +_Youth_ dreams of all the years shall hold,-- +Of poems writ, of battles won, +Of statues made, of love, of gold, +And honors, added one by one; +How sweet the song of Hope, if sung, + When life is young! + +_Man's_ dreams are stern and few indeed; +His youthful aims he finds despised, +For in a world of strife and greed +Ideals must be sacrificed; +Alas, there is so little time + In manhood's prime! + +_Age_ dreams of what the years have brought,-- +The blots upon life's tear-dimmed scroll, +The brave attempts that came to naught, +The unsolved problems of the soul; +How sadly is the tale retold, + When life is old! + +_Youth, Manhood, Age,_--the fatal Three! +Illusion, Struggle, and Regret! +So hath it been, so shall it be, +And to what end? We know not yet; +Still sweeps the mighty life-flood on, + Now here, now gone! + +Seed, bud, florescence, and decay +In nature, races, nations, men;-- +Nay, Earth itself shall fail one day +To feed its freezing brood! What then? +Successive cycles, vast and small,-- + Can these be all? + +Do all these swirls of suns and souls, +Of spirit keen and senseless stone, +Speed on to no appointed goals, +Like sand along the desert blown,-- +Forever born from out the void, + To be destroyed?-- + +Nay, Reason, shocked at anarchy, +Demands an author and an aim, +Seeks ever for the master-key +To solve the mystery,--Whence came +This starlit sea of Evermore, + Without a shore? + +And whence comes Life,--that occult Force, +So rich in its prolific range, +So frail and swift to run its course, +Yet deathless in protean change? +Must we not hope that Death will clear + The darkness here? + +Such hopes appear of little worth +When, peering through our planet's bars, +We picture this, our tiny Earth, +Amid that wilderness of stars! +Yet in those sun-strewn depths of space + It hath its place. + +Its rhythmic motion, tuned to time, +Its awful rush, yet sure return, +Make even our dim orb sublime, +And we at last the truth discern,-- +With God is neither small nor great, + Nor soon, nor late. + +Unconscious actors,--it may be +That here we painfully rehearse, +In parts, whose plots we do not see, +Some drama of the universe,-- +Advanced, as nobler grow our souls, + To loftier roles. + + + + +MYSTERIES + +Bound to the earth in its headlong flight, +Whence and whither we do not know, +Cleaving the awful void of night +With frost above and fire below, +What is the goal toward which we fly? +What does it mean to live and die? + +Under our feet a trembling shell, +Pierced by a hundred lurid rents! +Lower still a molten hell, +Seen through its lava-belching vents! +And men, within its blighting breath, +Are charred, like leaves, to a shrivelled death. + +Thin is the rind on which we tread; +It shakes, and a thousand lives are lost; +The sea engulfs unnumbered dead; +Each second scores of souls are tossed +Into the stream that sweeps them on ... +Whither? Who knows where they are gone? + +Over the earth-crust millions crawl, +Fight for a little gold and grain, +Then in a few years leave it all, +Nevermore to be seen again! +When will the tragic tale be told? +And what of Man when the earth grows cold? + +Poised on the planet's rim we stand, +Peering aghast into boundless space; +Infinite depths on every hand, +Never again in the self-same place; +Dragged by the sun itself away +On toward a point in the Milky Way. + +Not without companions we; +Here and there gleam other fires,-- +Burning ships on a shoreless sea; +Now and again a flame expires, +One last, quivering shaft of light, +Shot through a billion leagues of night. + +There in its last volcanic throes +A dying world perhaps dissolves; +Further still, where the sun-mist glows, +A mighty, new-born sun evolves; +Ceaseless change in an endless sky! +What does it mean to live and die? + + + + +STAR DRIFT + +The glaring sun hath ceased to shine; +The solemn stars invade the sky; +Again the welcome night is mine, +Wherein to view the worlds on high; +The night! when heaven bares its face, +And man with reverent soul can trace +The awful mysteries of space. + +Too long the shadeless solar blaze +Hath forced my vision toward the sod; +'Tis night alone that helps us raise +Our thoughts from littleness to God, +And by its darkness sets us free +To gaze across what seems to be +The portal of Eternity. + +I watch the stellar hosts ascend +Their devious paths in slow array, +And note the place where millions blend +To form the fabled Milky Way,--- +That zone of radiant suns, whose light +Hath needed centuries of flight +To reach our little earth to-night, + +Through lenses scanned, its golden haze +Resolves itself to points that glow +In one stupendous, brilliant maze +Of countless orbs, that come and go +On pathways we may never learn, +However long their light may burn, +However ardently we yearn. + +Apparently so densely strewn, +But oh! what gulfs those suns divide! +As each pursues its course alone +Beyond an interval as wide +As that which yawns between our own +And any of those star-seeds sown +In astral gardens, still unknown. + +Sometimes from that resplendent sheen +A new light gleams across the void, +And, awe-struck, we conceive the scene +Of two vast solar orbs destroyed; +By fearful impact changed again, +Unnumbered miles beyond our ken, +To leagues of blazing hydrogen. + +Before such marvels, what are we +To plume ourselves in foolish pride? +Within that dim immensity +How many suns and earths have died! +The tiny mote on which we stand, +However fair and finely planned, +Is nothing but a grain of sand. + +To-day, as through the ages gone, +By law impelled, by law restrained, +Suns, planets, systems,--all sweep on +Toward bourns still dark and unexplained; +Some bright with youth, some dull with age, +Their varied colors well presage +Their distance from the final stage. + +For all are doomed at last to die! +On heaven's blue sea each isle of fire, +Of all that now enchant the eye, +Must finally in gloom expire; +Though all may still roll on, unseen, +As blackened cinders, while between +Dark, lifeless planets intervene. + +And then? The mind sinks back in dread! +Such burnt-out worlds may well appal, +If they must still continue dead, +And universal night end all; +But, one by one, as speed shall fail, +Each may some rival mass assail, +Till nebulas again prevail. + +But not for long! A refluent spurge +Shall that destructive course reverse, +And cause those sun-mists to converge +To mould another universe; +Again shall constellations rise, +And suns and planets light the skies, +And man regain his paradise. + +For thus with rhythmic sweep sublime +Swings Chaos on to Cosmos; then +In ages, measureless by time, +Rolls Cosmos back to mist again, +In one stupendous ebb and flow, +As aeons come and aeons go, +With all their freight of weal and woe. + +Hard, cruel, hopeless? It may be. +We know too little to decide; +Yet hope that o'er that starlit sea +Some steadfast, God-directed tide +Will one day bear us to a shore, +Where we shall find our lost once more, +And what was here unknown, adore. + + + + +TYROLEAN + + +OBERMAIS + + Obermais! Obermais! + Charming bit of Paradise, +Where the palm and snow are blended, +Where life's joys seem never ended, +Where the purl of limpid streams +Haunts the traveller's deepest dreams; +Girt by miles of terraced vines, +Birthplace of the purest wines, +Sheltered by imposing mountains, +Musical from countless fountains, +Bathed in sunshine, bright with flowers, +Studded with old Roman towers, +Castles, convents, shrines and walls, +Whose strange history enthralls,-- +Jewel of fair South Tyrol, +Thou hast won my heart and soul! + + + + +CONTENTMENT + +Urge me no more! The mid-day toil is ended, +And shadows lengthen from the radiant west; +The glowing sun, with sumptuous clouds attended, + Sinks to its rest. + +I too would rest; an Indian-Summer beauty +Gilds my life's autumn in a charming vale; +No further quest of gold or fame seems duty; + Their splendors pale + +Tempt me no more! In vain are spread before me +New plans of battle and rare hopes of gain; +The sweeter airs of love and peace blow o'er me; + I will remain. + +Gone is the glamour of the heartless city; +Hateful its traffic and its ceaseless roar; +Slaves of its tyranny, you have my pity; + Urge me no more! + +Girdled by mountains, in a land of story, +Nestles the high-walled garden of my home; +Here, book in hand, I feast myself on glory, + Nor wish to roam. + +Each dawn brings rose-hued snow-peaks to my vision; +Each eve's enchanting pageant thrills my soul; +Day after day I find yet more elysian + Fair South Tyrol. + +Urge me no more! The riches of Golconda +Could not allure me to the old-time task; +Here, till the curtain falls, to live and ponder + Is all I ask. + + + + +TO MERAN'S NORTHERN MOUNTAINS + +Breathe on my soul your everlasting calm, +Majestic mountains, passionless and cold! +Give to my spirit, drooping 'neath the palm, +The rugged strength your changeless summits hold! + +So thin the azure veil that floats between +My tropic flowers and your arctic snows, +That one swift glance reveals to me the sheen +Of your white bastions and my blossoming rose. + +Yet, though so near, my feet have never pressed +Your silvered ramparts, etched along the sky: +Untrodden crystal crowns each spotless crest; +On virgin snows the sunset colors die. + +So near, yet unattainable! Ye seem +Like awful deities, at whose command +Man's evanescent life,--a fretful stream, +One instant murmurs and is lost in sand. + +Splendid in sunshine, steadfast under storms, +Facing the fiercest tempests with disdain, +The blackest clouds that shroud your giant forms, +Leave on your glittering panoply no stain. + +The setting sun will turn your gray to gold, +The dawn will find your icy foreheads bare, +And all your glacial armor, as of old, +Will shine resplendent in the upper air. + +So from my life may all dark clouds depart! +So may I come unscathed from Fate's worst blows! +Yet with your strength, O Mountains, let my heart +Retain, as well, the sweetness of the rose. + + + + +AT SUNSET + +Belov'd Meran, supremely fair! +With joy I greet thy peaks anew, +And quaff again the crystal air +That fills thy snow-rimmed bowl of blue. + +Once more through miles of trellised vines +The purple bloom of vintage glows; +Once more amid my palms and pines +I breathe the perfume of the rose. + +Once more, as snow-crests far and wide +Flush crimson in the Alpine glow, +I sit and muse at eventide +On Roman days of long ago. + +Across the valley, steeped in light, +Uplifted toward the western skies, +And flanked by many a snow-crowned height, +The stately "Roman Terrace" lies; + +Whose fair expanse hath been a stage +Where actors for two thousand years +Have played, by turns, in every age +Their varying roles of smiles and tears. + +Still through its mighty Vintschgau door +The sunset streams in floods of gold; +Still winding o'er its emerald floor, +The river sparkles as of old. + +I watch the distant torrent leap +From ledge to ledge, yet hear no sound; +A ghostly path it seems, whose deep, +Swift channel cleaves enchanted ground. + +Beside its waves, whose glittering spray +Begems the gorge its flood hath worn, +Rome's conquering legions made their way +A score of years ere Christ was born. + +On yonder mound where frowns the wood, +And curves the road with steep incline, +A temple to Diana stood +Before the age of Antonine. + +Near Schloss Tyrol's dismantled frame +I see the ancient watchtower stand, +Whence Caesar's guards with smoke or flame +Flashed signals into Switzerland. + +And, nearer yet, Forst's stately walls +Loom grandly from the darkening moor, +Where still a dungeon-keep recalls +The last Tyrolean Troubadour. + +Belov'd Meran! the splendid dower +That Nature gave to South Tyrol +Cannot alone explain thy power +To captivate both mind and soul; + +I love thy sunshine, fruits and flowers, +I love thy mountain-peaks sublime, +But, best of all, thine agèd towers,-- +The ivied protégés of Time. + +Thus favored, while my sun of life +Moves calmly toward a cloudless west, +I crave no more the New World's strife +And ceaseless turmoil of unrest; + +Content, within my garden walls, +To let the Present's uproar cease, +While on my tranquil spirit falls +The Past's sweet benison of peace. + + + + +POST NUBES LUX + +Sink, sullen rear-guard of the storm, +Behind the Laugen's snowy crest! +Already Rotheck's lordly form +Stands spotless in the radiant west; +Blow, winter wind, and clarify +Our crystal air, our sapphire sky! + +Shine, Sun God! Give us life once more! +Too long have clouds concealed thy face; +Give to Meran the look she wore, +When to her beauty, light, and grace +I gladly yielded heart and soul, +And made my home in fair Tyrol! + +Stupendous source of life and light! +As in thy warmth my pulses thrill, +Before thy glory and thy might +I feel myself a Pagan still, +And in my spirit's inmost shrine +I half adore thee as divine. + + + + +THE HOME-COMING FROM ROME + +Make haste! There is but one more turning! +The horses cannot go too fast, +So eagerly our hearts are yearning +To see the longed-for home at last! + +Here is the shrine, the lamp still burning, +Beside the vineyard's massive wall; +And see, to welcome our returning, +The banners on the flagstaffs tall! + +Before the gate, our servants, wearing +Their brightest smiles, together stand, +In quaint, Tyrolean style preparing +To kiss respectfully the hand. + +Now, too, the dogs perceive their master, +And rush to meet our carriage wheels; +The loyal Leo first and faster, +The dackels close upon his heels! + +How wild the joy, how loud the chorus +Our old, familiar tones excite! +Dear, faithful creatures that adore us, +How genuine their keen delight! + +The door is passed, the hall is entered! +How true it is, where'er we roam, +That here alone our hearts are centered, +That no place hath the charm of Home! + +Here smile the pictures ranged above us; +Here stand our books, the best of friends; +Here those we love and those who love us +Are happy that our absence ends. + +We prize the intellectual treasures +On History's famous sites amassed; +And precious are the varied pleasures +From Art's great glories of the past; + +But well we know, when once more seated +Within these rooms with volumes lined, +That,--now the journey is completed--, +The best of Rome is in the mind. + + + + +MY GARDEN + +Sweet garden, wreathed in fruits and flowers, +And domed by blue Tyrolean skies, +Within thy rose-encircled bowers, +Secluded from all curious eyes, +I find a peaceful paradise. + +Without, the world's fierce strife and yearning +In floods of passion ebb and flow; +Within, as in a shrine, is burning,-- +Reflecting fires of long ago,-- +A stormy life's calm afterglow. + +How sumptuous is the golden splendor +Thy yellow roses give my walls! +Like yonder glow, so sweet and tender, +That o'er the snow at sunset falls, +And by its spell the soul enthralls. + +How swiftly pass the happy hours +Beside thy palms, beneath thy pines, +As through the fountain's crystal showers +I watch the sunlight gild thy vines +Against the snow-peaks' silvered lines! + +I lean upon my loggia's railing +And view the vineyard's saffron sheen,-- +Its amber leaves in glory veiling +The purpling grapes, that hang between +Its long arcades of gold and green. + +And at the sight my heart is beating +With rapture hitherto unknown, +As with delight I keep repeating +In love's triumphant undertone,-- +"All this is mine, my very own"! + +Then with a chill, like that which steals +Across the vale at set of sun, +A solemn thought the truth reveals,-- +How transient is the prize thus won! +How short a time my lease can run! + +Before I thought this garden fair +And from its beauty rapture drew, +How many others breathed its air, +And, glorying in its matchless view, +Had plucked its roses wet with dew! + +Where now my vines and violets grow, +And fill the breeze with odors sweet, +Two thousand years and more ago +Some Roman had his loved retreat, +And watched the sun and snow-peak meet. + +Rome fell; but, Maia still remaining, +Both Goth and Frank the slope desired, +Through two millenniums still retaining +The longing for what all admired, +The love which ownership inspired. + +I sometimes fancy that I see +Those masters of an earlier age,-- +A ghostly line preceding me +Across this corner of life's stage,-- +The Pagan, Christian, bard and sage. + +Each one in turn called thee his own, +And deemed thee his submissive slave; +But, when a few short years had flown, +Of all thy wealth what could he save? +At most thou gavest him a grave! + +Ephemeral creatures of a day, +We move like insects on thy soil, +And wear our little lives away +In fleeting pleasures or in toil; +But naught our destiny can foil. + +A few more Springs thy buds shall quicken, +A few more Summers bring thy bloom, +A few more Autumn suns shall thicken +The clusters ripening in thy gloom,-- +When I for strangers must make room! + +When other eyes shall see the vision +Of Rotheck's pyramid of snow, +And watch the roseate hues elysian +Creep over it at evening's glow, +As o'er its crest the sun sinks low. + +Another then will pluck the flowers +Whose seeds my loving hand hath sown; +Another, through the mid-day hours, +Will hear the honey bee's dull drone +Where other roses shall have blown. + +These mountains then will still be lifting +Their ice-crowned summits to the sky; +The fleecy clouds will still be drifting +Above their peaks and pastures high; +But they will heed not where I lie. + +Even thou wilt never miss thy master! +Thy vines and flowers will bloom the same, +The season's round will move no faster, +No bud will quench its torch of flame, +And naught will change here but a name. + +Yet all who shall with joy succeed me +In their turn must thy charms resign, +When, as to all who now precede me, +Death shall have made the fatal sign +To join the ever-lengthening line. + +We "owners," then, are but thy tenants +Despite our purchase and our pride; +To thee what is our transient presence? +Thou carest not if we abide +Among thy roses, or have died. + +Hence, let me drain in fullest measure +Thy cup of pure Tyrolean wine! +To-day at least I hold thy treasure; +To-day with truth I call thee mine; +To-morrow's sun may never shine. + + + + +THE MOUNTAINS OF MERAN AT SUNRISE + +Like snow-white tents, their tapering forms + Indent the western sky: +The jewelled gifts of countless storms + Upon their summits lie. + +The sinking moon, with fading scars, + Hath touched their frosty spires; +Around them pale the wearied stars, + Like waning bivouac fires. + +Stray cloudlets, reddening one by one, + Like rose leaves half unfurled, +Announce the coming of the sun + To an awakening world. + +The chief peak now hath caught the glow, + And, soft, o'er sloping walls +And buttresses of dazzling snow, + The flood of splendor falls; + +While miles of tender pink and gold + Incrust the blue of space, +And bands of amethyst enfold + Each mountain's massive base. + +Gone are the tents that pierced the skies; + But in their place, more fair, +Transfigured flowers of Paradise + Bloom in the crystal air. + + + + +OSWALD, THE MINNESINGER + +A Legend of Schloss Forst, near Meran + + +PROLOGUE + +Oswald von Wolkenstein, the Last of the Minnesingers, loved a beautiful +woman, named Sabina, who proved faithless to him, thereby causing the +poet great mental suffering. He avenged his wrongs by writing poems on +her coquetry and cruelty. Years later, Sabina, who had never forgiven +him his satirical verses, became the favorite of the Tyrolese prince, +"Frederick, of the Empty Purse", who also hated Oswald for opposing his +political plans. Accordingly, Sabina plotted with her lover to induce +the poet to come to her under a pretence of renewing their former love. +To effect this, she wrote him a letter expressing her undying affection +for him, and begging him to meet her near Meran. The plot was +successful, and Oswald fell completely into their power. By Frederick's +orders he was at once imprisoned in the dungeon of Schloss Forst, and +subjected to tortures which crippled him for the rest of his life. + +"Oswald von Wolkenstein! + Last of a gifted line, +Years have gone by since we parted in hate; + What have they taught to me? + This, that all's naught to me + Save what you brought to me,-- + Love and love's fate. + Can you that love forget? + Know that I love you yet! + If you my passion share, + Linger no longer there; + Fearless to do and dare, + Come, ere too late! + + "Near the old Roman Road + Up which the legions strode, +Where the first vine-covered terraces rise, + Stands a grim fortress tall, + Which, like a mountain wall, + Though scarred by many a ball, + Capture defies! + 'Forst' is the name it bears; + Brilliant the fame it wears; + Thither,--our trysting place--, + Ride at your swiftest pace; + Come to my fond embrace! + My love your prize!" + + Who could such words suspect? + Who could that call reject? +Surely not Wolkenstein, ardent of soul! + Gone is the pain of years; + Vanished his jealous fears; + Smiles have replaced his tears; + Lost self-control; + Slave to his passion's past, + Vows to the winds are cast; + Faithless, she holds him still; + Absent, she sways his will; + Traitress, with subtle skill + Plays she her role. + + Where Etsch and Eisack meet, + Mingling their waters fleet, +Opens the valley that leads to Meran; + As its red cliffs divide, + Castles on either side + (Each a strong chieftain's pride) + Threaten his plan; + Yet, where the shadows sleep + Under each dungeon keep, + Up through the land of wine, + Blest with both palm and pine, + Oswald von Wolkenstein + Rides to Terlan. + + Here falls his gallant horse, + Killed by his headlong course; +Is it a warning to halt and retreat? + Yet who, when passion pleads, + Ever such warning heeds? + What though a dozen steeds + Drop at his feet? + Hence, while the peasants stare, + Buys he their swiftest mare; + And, as the pavement rings + With the bright gold he flings, + He to the saddle springs, + Never so fleet! + + Now, lover, pause for breath! + Folly may here mean death! +Yon gleam the lights of the capital's towers; + Here let thy pace be slow; + Frederick, thy crafty foe, + Plots there to lay thee low, + Fearing thy powers; + He of the "empty purse", + Stung by thy biting verse, + Using a woman's hate, + Offers a tempting bait; + Both thy approach await, + Counting the hours! + + Dark is the starless night; + Only one feeble light +Burns at the grating surmounting the door; + Has his advance been heard? + Was that a whispered word? + What in that shadow stirred? + Shall he explore? + Fie! when a prize so fair + Doubtless awaits him there, + Shall he now hesitate + Here, at Forst's very gate, + Fearing to test his fate? + No, nevermore! + + Hark! 'tis a gruff command, + Loosing an ambushed band; +Seizing, they drag him, disarmed, to the court; + Brightly the torches flare, + Flinging a ruddy glare + On a proud, mocking pair, + Watching the sport; + God, can this thing be true? + _She_ with this hostile crew! + "Faithless and shameless one, + Thou hast my life undone"! + "Poet, thy race is run", + Is her retort. + + Barred is the iron door! + On the damp dungeon floor +Oswald the Troubadour, gifted and strong, + Lies in a loathsome cave, + Dark as a living grave, + No one to care or save, + Silenced his song; + And while they leave him there, + Crushed by profound despair, + Princelet and paramour, + Knowing their prey secure, + Feeling their vengeance sure, + Laugh loud and long. + + Who can in words relate + Oswald's unhappy fate, +Left to these monsters, whose hate was ablaze? + Both on revenge were bent; + He for a menace sent, + She for the merriment + Caused by his lays. + "Dungeon and torture-rack, + These shall now pay thee back! + Minstrel and poet rare, + Rave in thy mad despair, + And in that fetid lair + Finish thy days!" + + Vainly he pleads with her; + No prayer succeeds with her; +Useless the joys of their past to rehearse; + For to increase his woe, + Frederick, his jealous foe, + Shares in this cruel show,-- + Fit for God's curse; + Shameless and treacherous, + Heartless and lecherous, + Sabine with fiendish glee, + Deaf to his every plea, + Watches his agony, + Quoting his verse! + + Broken at last his chain! + Ended the poet's pain! +Freed by a ransom (his relatives' dole), + Humbled by grief and shame, + Injured in name and fame, + Drags he his crippled frame + Back through Tyrol. + Then, in a plaintive song + Chanting his grievous wrong, + Oswald von Wolkenstein, + Last of his gifted line, + Dies in Schloss Hauenstein; + God rest his soul! + + + + +AFTER THE VINTAGE + +How can my vineyard's charm be told, +As it basks in the autumn haze? +The Frost King's touch, so light and cold, +Like that of the Persian king of old, +Hath turned its roof from green to gold, +Till the hillside seems ablaze. + +Threading its maze of arbors fair +Under its saffron bowers, +I watch, in the crisp, November air, +Through vine-framed openings here and there +The ivied walls of castles rare +And ruined Roman towers. + +Sapphire blue is the cloudless sky, +White are the mountain walls, +Rainbow-hued are the tints that lie +Lavishly spread on the forests high, +Where leaves by millions flame and die, +As the chill of Autumn falls. + +Over the slopes in sun and shade +The terraced vines descend, +Like stately steps of a broad cascade, +Or an amphitheatre's seats, arrayed +In folds of sumptuous, gold brocade, +Where red and amber blend. + +I love to see, from the rising sun +Each terrace gain its crown, +When the splendid dawn hath just begun, +From the crest of the mountain it hath won, +To gild the vine-rows one by one, +As the mellow glow creeps down. + +And when the day's receding light +Deserts the vale below, +I trace its noiseless, upward flight +Through darkening zones of foliage bright, +Till all the world is lost in night +Save pyramids of snow. + + + + +THE PASSING MOON + +In my loggia bright I watch to-night +The full moon sailing by; +From a crystal creek in a glaciered peak +It slipped to the open sky, +And now rides free in a clear, blue sea, +With not an island nigh. + +Through pearly haze its light displays +Each buttressed mountain side, +And softly shines through stately pines +Where feudal castles hide, +And every height grows dazzling white +In the foam of a silver tide. + +From the eastern side of the valley wide +To its snow-capped western rim +It will hold its way, till the dawning day +Shall have made its disk grow dim; +Then, leaving the blue, will drop from view +Behind the mountain's brim. + +Whence did it climb on its path sublime, +Ere it left that icy height? +And where will it go, when yonder snow +Is reached in the morning light? +Will its face elsewhere be just as fair, +When here it is lost to sight? + +Why should I ask? 'Tis a fruitless task; +Enough that its splendor falls +On me to-night in my loggia bright, +Till the scene my soul enthralls; +'Tis a long time yet, ere the moon will set +Behind those glittering walls. + +And even when it sinks again +Below that stainless crest, +It will seem at last to have safely passed +To a haven of peace and rest, +Like a happy soul that hath reached its goal +In the kingdom of the blest. + +I also know not where I go, +Nor whence I came, or why, +Nor can I guess what happiness +Or strange, new world may lie +Beyond the vale through which I sail, +Beneath another sky; + +But as the moon, which all too soon +Sinks down the west for me, +To other eyes appears to rise +And glide on fair and free, +So the frail boat in which I float, +Though tempest-worn it be, +May cross life's brink, and seem to sink, +Yet sail another sea. + + + + +AUTUMN IN MERAN + +The vintage time is gone, but not its glory; +The grapes are garnered from their leafy gloom; +Yet miles of vineyards, story crowning story, +Cover the hillsides with a golden bloom. + +The vine-clad terraces descend the mountains +Like cascades rippling with resplendent gold; +Steeped in the sun, and fed by sweet-voiced fountains, +Tyrolean slopes a paradise unfold. + +Above the vines the mountain sides are blending +The oaks' and maples' multicolored glow, +In variegated zones their hues ascending +From radiant roses to eternal snow. + +Now here, now there, through brilliant foliage peeping, +A ruined castle seeks its walls to hide,-- +High on some lonely crag in silence sleeping, +Left centuries since by history's ebbing tide. + +In sparkling foam the beryl-colored river +Laughs in the sunshine between tinted walls; +While on the cliffs the scarlet creepers shiver, +Chilled by the breeze, as sunset's shadow falls. + +Still in the valley Summer reigns victorious, +Though Winter's silvery sheen creeps slowly down; +Land of the vine and snow, at all times glorious, +In Autumn wearest thou thy fairest crown. + + + + +THE STATUE OF THE EMPRESS ELIZABETH. MERAN + +She is seated by the river +In a robe of spotless white, +With her lovely face illumined +By the evening's tender light; +But her eyes are full of sadness, +As if weary of the day, +And her gaze is toward the ocean, +While the river glides away. + +At her feet are beds of flowers, +Overhead are stately trees +Whose protecting branches murmur +With the passing of the breeze; +Though her hand retains a volume, +From its page her glances stray, +For her thoughts are with the ocean, +As the river flows away. + +As I view her chastened features, +I can feel the rising tears +At the thought of all her anguish +Through a martyrdom of years; +For her joys were writ in water,-- +Too impermanent to stay, +And were swept toward sorrow's ocean, +Ere her youth had passed away. + +She was captured in the morning +Of her childhood's careless age, +And imprisoned in a palace +Like a linnet in a cage; +And its gilded bars confined her +To a Court's prescribed display, +Which her simple nature hated, +As the slow years crept away. + +Thus her heart grew always sadder, +Till her sorrows, one by one, +Reached at last their tragic climax +In the murder of her son; +And this broken-hearted woman, +As a madman's victim, lay +By Geneva's placid waters, +While her life-blood ebbed away! + +Hence her marble face seems troubled, +As she gazes down the stream, +Like an angel who hath wakened +From a fearful, earth-born dream; +She is waiting for the sunset +Of her tempest-darkened day, +But her soul is with the ocean, +Where all rivers wend their way. + + + + +THE OUTCASTS + +The smile of God was in the air; +Enwreathed in veils of silvery hue, +The valley lay, divinely fair, +Beneath a cloudless vault of blue; +And singing, like a bird set free, +The river hurried to the sea. + +Through Alpine ether, crystal clear, +The genial sun of South Tyrol +Diffused its blessèd warmth and cheer, +Enriching body, mind and soul, +While music floated o'er the stream, +And made such beauty seem a dream. + +Enraptured with the sun's caress +And windless warmth 'mid peaks of snow, +In careless quest of happiness +The gay world sauntered to and fro, +Or, seated on the well-kept strand, +Enjoyed the music of the band. + +Upon a bench, remote from those +Whose dress betokened rank or wealth, +Sat two poor waifs, whose weary pose +Betrayed a fruitless search for health,-- +An agèd couple, near their end, +United, yet without a friend. + +But still they bravely tried to smile, +--So warm the sun, so fair the scene!-- +They could be happy yet a while, +Ere death's cold shadow crept between; +And music's softly rhythmic flow +Recalled their youth of long ago. + +"Begone!" a watchman's voice exclaimed; +"Your rustic garb is much too poor; +How comes it, you are not ashamed +In such a place to play the boor? +From company like this withdraw! +Obey the mandate of the law!" + +The startled strangers meekly rose +And moved away with downcast eyes, +Too wonted to such cruel blows +To manifest the least surprise; +Too humbled to inquire why; +Too timid to attempt reply. + +Poor outcasts from that joyous stage +Where well-dressed hundreds strolled at ease, +With faltering steps, and bowed with age, +They vanished slowly 'neath the trees; +But neither scanned the other's face, +For fear a falling tear to trace. + +Farewell, sweet, music-laden air, +And sunshine on the sheltered strand! +I follow where that outcast pair +Are walking sadly, hand in hand; +For me your vaunted charm hath fled, +While they remain uncomforted. + + + + +HEIMWEH + +I dwell in a region of valleys fair, +Of stately forests and mountains bold, +Of churches filled with treasures rare, +And storied castles centuries old; +But now and then, when the sun sinks low, +And the vesper bell is softly rung, +I think of the days of long ago, +And yearn for the land where I was young. + +I live where the sun shines bright and warm +On feathery palms and terraced vines, +Yet oft I sigh for a boreal storm +And the sough of the wind through northern pines; +And though my ear hath wonted grown +To the accents strange of an alien tongue, +No speech hath half so sweet a tone +As the language learned when I was young. + +I live in a land where men are kind, +And friends increase, as the years roll on, +Yet of them all not one I find +So dear as those of the days now gone; +And so I think, as the sun sinks low, +And the curfew bell of my life is rung, +I shall turn to my home of long ago, +And die in the land where I was young. + + + + +MY LIBRARY + +Shrine of my mind, my Library! +Each morn I greet thee with delight, +When, soul-refreshed, I bring to thee +The benediction of the night; +Encompassed by thy sheltering walls, +'Mid books whose interest enthralls, +Life's shadow from my spirit falls. + +Behold! above the wooded height +The sun-god's glittering disk appears, +And at a bound its flood of light +The intervening valley clears; +Enveloped in its noiseless tide, +Each castle on the mountain side +Stands forth in splendor, glorified. + +How welcome are the yellow waves +That through the eastern windows pour +And, with a warmth my nature craves, +Transmute to gold the polished floor! +Then mount to gild my desk, my chair, +And e'en the spotless paper there, +Which soon my written thought must bear. + +In serried ranks around me rise +Two thousand tried and trusty friends; +Instructive, famous, witty, wise, +Each gladly his assistance lends +To suit, at will, my varying mood; +But none that aid will e'er intrude, +Or break, unsought, my solitude. + +Some speak of problems of the soul,-- +Profound, insoluble, sublime; +Some tell of Law's supreme control; +And some retrace through distant time +The evolution of mankind, +And in its ever-broadening mind +A hope for future triumphs find. + +A few the noble deeds rehearse +Of heroes famed in peace or war; +While many in inspiring verse +Show heights to which the soul may soar; +But all with serious thoughts are filled, +And some hold truths, from life distilled, +Whose power my heart hath often thrilled. + +By such companions cheered and blest, +How vapid seems the listless throng +Of those who, tortured by unrest, +Find life too dull and days too long, +And idly frittering time away, +As scandal-mongers, rend and slay +The friends they dined with yesterday! + +My Library! to thee I turn, +As turns the needle toward the pole, +And feel my heart within me yearn +For all thou offerest to the soul; +Why should I join in feverish haste +The crowd for which I have no taste, +The precious boon of life to waste? + +Yet not as an austere recluse,-- +Still less as one who hates mankind--, +Do I thy peaceful precincts choose; +But as a student, who can find +No joys in Vanity's gay Fair +That for an instant can compare +With those thou askest me to share. + +Moreover, welcome as the sun +Are friends whose love I prize and hold; +Their visits I would never shun; +To them my heart grows never cold; +And whether they have wealth, or fame, +Or bear a plain or titled name, +To me will always be the same. + +Nor am I ever quite alone +When thus ensconced among my books; +A kindred mind there meets my own, +And with me toward the sunset looks; +With blazing logs the hearth is bright, +A treasured volume is in sight; +Hence to the outer world good night! + + + + +TOUT PASSE + +Once more I watch the crystal stream + I watched in days gone by; +Once more its waves reflect the gleam + Of Autumn's sunset sky; +Again its banks of gold and green + Seem bursting into flame,-- +And yet for me the lovely scene + Can never be the same. + +The waves that gleamed here long ago + Have reached a distant sea; +The leaves of that first autumn glow + Have fallen from the tree; +The birds which charmed me with their song + Have long since elsewhere flown, +And I amid a careless throng + Am standing here alone. + +This sparkling flood can never quite + Replace the stream of old; +These radiant leaves, however bright, + Wear not the old-time gold; +For evening's light can ne'er retain + The splendor of the dawn, +And naught, alas, can bring again + The faces that are gone. + + + + +BESIDE LAKE COMO + + +THE FAUN + +Within my garden's silence and seclusion, +In pensive beauty gazing toward the dawn, +There stands, mid vines and flowers in profusion, + A sculptured Faun. + +The boughs of stately trees are bending o'er him, +The scent of calycanthus fills the air, +And on the ivied parapet before him + Bloom roses fair. + +Beside him laughs the lightly-flowing fountain, +Beneath him spreads the lake's enchanting hue, +And, opposite, a sun-illumined mountain + Meets heaven's blue. + +Across Lake Como's silvered undulation +The flush of dawn creeps shyly to his face, +And crowns his look of dreamful contemplation + With tender grace. + +And he, like Memnon, thrilled to exultation, +As if unable longer to be mute, +Has lifted to his lips in adoration + His simple flute. + +Ah! would that I might hear the music stealing +From yonder artless reed upon the air,-- +The subtle revelation of his feeling, + While standing there! + +Perhaps 'tis for the Past that he is sighing, +When Como's shore held many a hallowed shrine, +Where such as he were worshipped,--none denying + Their rights divine. + +That Past is gone; its sylvan shrines have crumbled; +From lake and grove the gentle fauns have fled; +Its myths are scorned, Olympus has been humbled, + And Pan is dead. + +Yet still he plays,--the coming day adoring, +With brow serene, and gladness in his gaze, +All past and future happiness ignoring + Just for to-day's! + +Sweet Faun, whence comes thy power of retaining +Through storm and sunshine thine unchanging smile? +Forsaken thus, what comfort, still remaining, + Makes life worth while? + +Impart to me the secret of discerning +The gold of life, with none of its alloy, +That I may also satisfy my yearning + For perfect joy! + +I too would shun those questions, born of sorrow,-- +Life's Wherefore, Whence and Whither; I would fill +My cup with present bliss, and let to-morrow + Bring what it will. + +O Spirit of the vanished world elysian, +Cast over me the spell of thy control, +And give me, for to-day's supernal vision, + Thy Pagan soul! + + + + +ISOLA COMACINA + +(The only Island on Lake Como, the Lake Larius of the Romans) + +There sleeps beneath Italian skies +A lovely island rich in fame, +In days of old a longed-for prize, +And bearing still an honored name,-- +A spot renowned from age to age, +An ancient Roman heritage; + +A valued stronghold, for whose sake +Unnumbered men have fought and died,-- +The Malta of the Larian lake, +Forever armed and fortified, +To Como's shores the master-key, +The guardian of its liberty. + +Half hidden in a sheltered bay, +Where tiny skiffs at anchor ride, +How different is the scene to-day +Reflected in its waveless tide, +From that which this historic foss +Showed mailèd soldiers of the Cross! + +Yet still, across the narrow strait, +Some remnants of the hospice stand, +Whose ever hospitable gate +Met pilgrims from the Holy Land, +Its finely carved, millennial tower +Enduring to the present hour. + +One gem alone doth Como wear, +None other need adorn her breast; +'Tis this, her emerald solitaire, +Her unique island of the blest,-- +The star beside her crescent shore, +A thing of beauty evermore. + +On Comacina's peaceful strand +The coldest heart is moved to pray, +As softly steals o'er lake and land +The splendor of departing day, +And scores of snowy peaks aspire +To sparkle with supernal fire. + +Then Lario paints for liquid miles +The white-robed monarchs' glittering crowns, +Transmutes at once to dimpled smiles +The sternest of their glacial frowns, +And often holds, with subtlest art, +Some Titan's likeness to her heart. + +Fair Comacina, through whose trees +Earth's feathered songsters flit unharmed, +Where soft-eyed cattle graze at ease, +And every whispering breeze seems charmed, +Can it be true that human blood +Hath ever stained thy limpid flood? + +Alas! too often, drenched with gore, +Thy cliffs have witnessed deadly strife, +When hostile feet profaned thy shore, +And each advancing step cost life, +As prince and peasant, side by side, +Beat back the Goths' invading tide. + +But why disturb the silent past? +Why rouse the island's sleeping ghosts? +Or see in forms by ruins cast +The phantoms of those warlike hosts? +For centuries the gentle waves +Have rolled oblivion o'er their graves. + +And what will now thy future be, +Thou pristine refuge of the brave, +Which Rome's last heroes fought to free, +And vainly gave their lives to save? +Forget not, thou wast once a gem +That graced a Caesar's diadem! + +Wilt thou fulfil my fondest hopes? +I sometimes long to check the stream +Of tourists hurrying by thy slopes, +And tell them of my cherished dream,-- +To see upon thy storied height +A palace worthy of the site; + +Not meaningless, not merely vast, +Nor crudely modern in design, +But something suited to thy past,-- +For highest art a hallowed shrine, +A classic home of long ago, +The Tusculum of Cicero. + +Then roses, rich in sweet perfume, +Shall wreathe with bloom each terraced wall, +And, scattered through the leafy gloom +Of olive-groves and laurels tall, +Shall many a marble nymph and faun +Grow lovelier from the flush of dawn. + +So let me dream! I may not see +That stately palace crown thy brow, +Those roses may not bloom for me, +But, as thou art, I love thee now, +Content thy future to resign +To abler portraiture than mine. + +Sweet Comacina, fare thee well! +Across the water's placid breast +The music of the vesper-bell +Invites me to my port of rest; +Fair jewel of this inland sea, +May all the gods be good to thee! + + + + +THE OLD CARRIER + +("Old Lucia", who for many years walked back and forth, every day and in +all weathers, between Azzano and Menaggio, a distance of six miles, +bearing merchandise of all sorts in a basket on her back, fell to the +ground exhausted, as she was nearing her poor home on Christmas Eve, +1907. She died next morning at the age of seventy-three. At the time she +fell, she was carrying a load of nearly one hundred pounds!) + +Patient toiler on the road, +Bending 'neath your heavy load, +Worn and furrowed is your face, +Slow and tremulous your pace, +Yet you still pursue your way, +Bearing burdens day by day, +With the same pathetic smile, +Over many a weary mile, +As you bravely come and go +To and from Menaggio. + +Snowy white, your scanty hair +Crowns a forehead seamed with care, +And a look of suffering lies +In your clear-blue, wistful eyes; +While your thin and ashen cheek +Tells the tale you will not speak, +Of a lodging dark and old, +And a hearth so bare and cold +That you often hungry go +To and from Menaggio. + +Never know you days of rest; +Ceaseless is your humble quest +Of the pittance that you ask +For your arduous daily task. +Every morning sees your form +Pass through sunshine or through storm; +Every evening hears your feet +Trudging up the darkened street; +For your gait is always slow, +Coming from Menaggio. + +Once your dull eyes gleamed with light; +Once those arms were round and white; +And the feet, now roughly shod, +Lightly danced upon the sod, +As to womanhood you grew +And a lover's rapture knew; +For you once were fair, 'tis said, +Early wooed and early wed, +And your husband long ago +Died in old Menaggio. + +Children? Aye, but not one cares +How the poor old mother fares! +You must struggle on alone; +They have children of their own, +And for them, devoid of shame, +All your scanty earnings claim! +Can you walk? Then go you must, +Plodding on through rain and dust, +Summer heat and winter's snow +To and from Menaggio! + +Christmas Eve! Through glistening green +Gleams a merry, festive scene; +Trees, with candles burning bright, +Wake in children's hearts delight. +Where such peace and comfort reign, +None observes the window-pane, +Where your wan face sadly peers +Through a mist of falling tears +At a joy you never know, +Carrier from Menaggio! + +Much that makes those children gay +You have brought them day by day, +Thankful that you thus could earn +Wood to make your hearthstone burn. +Not for you such food and light, +Clothing warm and candles bright! +You are grateful, if you gain +Bread to stifle hunger's pain. +Ah! it was not always so +In old-time Menaggio! + + * * * * * + +She has turned to climb the hill. +Stay! why lies she there so still? +Have her old limbs failed at last +In the chilling wintry blast? +Since for threescore years and ten +She has done the work of men, +'Tis not strange that she should fall +Weak and helpless by the wall, +Nevermore to come and go +To and from Menaggio. + +Gently lift her old gray head! +Bear her homeward! She is dead. +Fallen, like a faithful horse +At the limit of its course; +Fallen on the stony road, +Uncomplaining, 'neath her load; +And the heart within her breast +For the first time finds its rest,-- +Rest that it could never know +Coming from Menaggio! + +Sound again, O Christmas bells! +"Peace on Earth" your song foretells. +It has come, in truth, to one +Whose long pilgrimage is done. +Merciful her quick release, +Blessèd her eternal peace! +Yet I know that, day by day, +As she no more comes my way, +I shall miss her, as I go +To and from Menaggio. + + + + +EVENING ON LAKE COMO + +Beside my garden's ivied wall, +Enwreathed in vines of gold and green, +I stand, as evening shadows fall, +And marvel at the matchless scene, +While wavelets make, with rhythmic beat, +Perpetual music at my feet. + +The year grows old,--yet on the breeze +Still floats the perfume of the rose; +Still gleams the gold of orange trees, +Regardless of the Alpine snows; +For while, above, Frost reigns as king, +Below prevails the warmth of Spring. + +In Tremezzina's sheltered bay +The wintry storms forget to rave; +Without,--the white caps and the spray, +Within,--a shore with scarce a wave,-- +A favored spot where tempests cease, +And Heaven whispers, "Here is Peace." + +Across the water's purple bloom +Bellagio, bathed in sunset light, +Surmounts the twilight's gathering gloom +With glistening walls of pink and white,-- +The wraith of some celestial strand, +The fringe of an enchanted land. + +My sweet-voiced fountain softly sings +Its good-night lyric to the lake; +A skiff glides by on slender wings +With scarce a ripple in its wake; +And pleasure-boats, their canvas furled, +Float idly in an ideal world. + +The swan-like steamers come and go; +The ruffled water finds its rest; +The snow-peaks catch a ruddy glow +From crimsoned cloudlets in the west; +And, trembling on the tranquil air, +Steals forth the vesper-call to prayer. + +Oh, peerless strand! I yearn no more +To mingle with the maddened throng; +Enough for me this wave-kissed shore, +The vesper-bell, the fountain's song, +The sunlit sail, the Alpine glow, +And storied towers of long ago. + +Between me and the world's unrest +The lake's broad leagues of water lie; +Above my wave-protected nest +Serenely bends a cloudless sky; +And homeward from life's stormy sea +The dreams of youth come back to me. + + + + +DELIO PATRI + +(Inscription on an altar-fragment, found on the Island of Lake Como, +1910, and belonging formerly to a temple of Delian Apollo,--the "Delian +Father,"--which no doubt existed there.) + +Once more Lake Como's storied isle + Reveals the Roman past! +Again a stone of classic style + The spade hath upward cast; +How can such relics thus endure +Two thousand years of sepulture? + +More eagerly than those who toil + For nuggets of mere gold, +We seize and rescue from the soil + This monument of old,-- +An altar-fragment, much defaced, +Yet on whose surface words are traced. + +With reverent hands we cleanse from grime + The legend chiselled there, +Which now, triumphant over time, + Still proves the sculptor's care, +Engraved when on this wave-girt hill +The Pagan gods were potent still. + +'As on their own peculiar page + The fingers of the blind +Decipher truths of every age, + As mind communes with mind, +So, one by one, these letters spell +A name the ancient world knew well. + +For "Delio Patri" heads the lines + Inscribed upon this stone, +And instantly the mind divines + What, else, had been unknown, +Since that familiar name makes clear +Apollo once was worshipped here; + +Perhaps because the spot suggests + That other tiny isle, +Upon whose shore forever rests + The Sun-God's tender smile,-- +Fair Delos, where, one fabled morn, +Both he and Artemis were born. + +Beneath, the donor's name is placed, + And lower still we read +In characters, now half effaced, + The motive for his deed;-- +"Onesimus this altar reared +To One he gratefully revered." + +Faith, grateful reverence,--these are traits + Worth more than rank or fame, +And what this brief inscription states + Does honor to his name, +And makes us wish still more to know +Of him who built here long ago. + +"And is this all?" the cynic sneers, + "The remnant of a shrine?" +Alas for him who never hears + Or heeds the world divine +And in this fragment fails to see +A stepping-stone to Deity! + +The Sun-God's shrines in ruins lie, + But not the glorious sun! +A thousand transient faiths may die. + All prototypes of One, +Since under every form and name +Their essence still remains the same. + + + + +ACQUA FREDDA + +By Acqua Fredda's cloister-wall +I pause to feel the mountain breeze, +And watch the shadows eastward fall +From immemorial cypress trees. + +Like arms outstretched to bless and pray, +Those dusky phantoms downward creep +To where, by Lenno's curving bay, +The peaceful village seems to sleep; + +While mirrored peaks of stainless snow +Turn crimson 'neath the farther shore, +And here and there the sunset glow +Threads diamonds on a dripping oar. + +But now a tremor breaks the spell, +And stirs to life the languid air,-- +It is the convent's vesper-bell,-- +The plaintive call to evening prayer; + +That prayer which rises like a sigh +From every sorrow-laden breast, +When twilight dims the garish sky, +And day is dying in the west. + +Ave Maria! we who miss +A mother's love, a mother's care, +Implore thee, bring us to that bliss +We fondly hope with thee to share! + +How sweet and clear, how soft and low +Those vesper orisons are sung, +In Rome's grand speech of long ago, +Forever old, forever young! + +And those who chant,--that exiled band, +Expelled from France with scorn and hate, +How fare they in this foreign land? +Is life for them disconsolate? + +Have they escaped the sight of pain, +Of social strife, of hopeless tears? +Does life's dark problem grow more plain, +As pass in prayer the tranquil years? + +I know not; dare not ask of them; +Their souls are read by God alone; +But he who would their lives condemn, +Should pause before he cast a stone. + +So full is life of hate and greed, +So vain the world's poor tinselled show, +What wonder that some souls have need +To flee from all its sin and woe? + +I would not join them; yet, in truth, +I feel, in leaving them at prayer, +That something precious of my youth, +Long lost to me, is treasured there. + + + + +THE POSTERN GATE + +I chose me a lovely garden, +Beneath whose ivied wall +A lake's blue wavelets murmur +As evening shadows fall,-- + +A garden, whose leafy windows +Frame visions of Alpine snow +On peaks that burn to crimson +In sunset's afterglow. + +And there, in its sweet seclusion, +I built me a mansion fair, +With many a classic statue +And Eastern relic rare, + +And volumes, whose precious pages +Hold all that the wise have said,-- +The latest among the living, +The greatest among the dead. + +And I sat in those fragrant arbors +Of laurel and palm and pine, +And held in the tranquil twilight +My darling's hand in mine; + +And said "We will here be happy, +And let the mad world go; +Its gold no longer tempts us, +Still less do its pomp and show; + +"No more shall its cares annoy us, +And under these stately trees +With Nature and Art and Letters +Our souls shall take their ease." + +But a brood of griefs pursued us, +Like evil birds of prey; +They lodged in the trees' tall branches, +They shadowed the cloudless day; + +They flew to the darkened casement, +And beat on the wind-swept shade, +And oft in the sleepless midnight +We listened and were afraid; + +And daily came the tidings +Of folly and crime and woe, +And one by one kept dying +The friends of long ago. + +For the Past is ever one's master, +And Memory mocks at space, +And Trouble travels with us, +However swift our pace; + +And envy is always envy, +Though called by a foreign name, +And perfidy, greed, and malice +Are everywhere the same. + +I thought I had left behind me +That gloomy realm of care, +But really one never leaves it, +Its shadow is everywhere. + +So I learned at last the lesson +That walls, and gates, and keys +Can never exclude life's sorrows; +They enter as they please. + +And if we ever acquire +The perfect life we crave, +A subtle warning tells us +Its background is the grave. + +Perhaps I have almost reached it, +For when I am walking late, +I see a shrouded stranger +Beside my postern gate; + +And a sudden chill creeps o'er me +At sight of that figure grim, +For I fancy that he is waiting +For me in the twilight dim; + +And I know he will one day beckon +With gesture of command, +And I shall follow him mutely. +Away to the Silent Land, + +And all that I here have treasured +In fountain, and tree, and stone +Will pass to the hands of others, +Whom I have never known. + +Hence over his sombre features +There flickers a ghostly smile, +As if he would say, "What matter? +Your cares are not worth while; + +"The trouble which gives you anguish, +The woes o'er which you weep, +Will all be soon forgotten +In my long, dreamless sleep. + +"Enjoy the fleeting moment; +I cannot always wait, +And the glow of the coming sunset +Is gilding the postern gate." + + + + +UNDINE + +Spirit of Como, whose rhythmical call +Murmurs caressingly under my wall, +Why are thy feet, though the hour be late, +Mounting the moon-silvered steps of my gate? +What is the cause of this passionate strain, +Voiced by thy wavelets again and again? + +Near to the lake, and surmounting the lawn, +Sculptured Undine sits facing the dawn; +White, on the rocks of the fountain below, +Glistens her form, like a statue of snow; +Smiling, she listens, entranced, to the call, +Sung so alluringly under my wall. + +Leaf-woven ladders of ivy-wreathed vines +Fall from the rampart in undulant lines; +Silken and slender, they swing in the breeze, +Tempting the lover to clamber with ease +Up to the garden, to woo and to take +Lovely Undine away to the lake. + +Boldly Love's wavelets now leap to the land, +Swiftly they scale every tremulous strand, +Lightly they sway with the wavering screen, +White gleam their feet on its background of green; +Yet the old parapet, mossy and gray, +Never is reached by their glittering spray. + +Hear you that music, half song and half sigh? +Sylph-like Undine is making reply:-- +"Though I so motionless sit here above, +I am not deaf to thy pleadings of love; +Others regard me as passionless stone, +Only to thee shall my nature be known. + +"Men who behold me, praise merely my art, +Never suspecting I too have a heart; +Under the marble the world cannot see +All I am keeping there only for thee; +Secrets of love are of all the most sweet; +Mine I will whisper to thee when we meet. + +"Under the wall thou hast bravely assailed, +Under the vines, where thy wavelets have failed, +Passes this fountain; though cradled in snows, +Straight to thy waters it secretly flows; +Leaving my cold, marble counterpart here, +On that swift current I come to thee, dear!" + +Hushed is the lover's importunate call; +Silence and mystery brood over all; +Still my Undine sits facing the dawn; +'Tis but a mask, for her spirit is gone,-- +Gone on that crystalline path to the deep, +Lured there to ecstasy, lulled there to sleep. + + + + +JANUARY IN THE TREMEZZINA + + Day by day, + As if in May, +We sail Azzano's beautiful bay; + High and low + The mountains show +Luminous fields of stainless snow, +But the air is soft, and the sun is warm, +And the lake is free from wind and storm. + + Far and nigh, + Deep and high, +The Alps invade both lake and sky; + Base to base + Their forms we trace, +These in water, those in space,-- +Duplicate peaks on single shores, +As shadow sinks, and substance soars. + + To and fro + We idly go, +Bidding our oarsmen lightly row; + Here and there + Halting where +The vision seems supremely fair; +Happy to let our little boat +In a flood of opaline splendor float. + + Far away + Seems to-day +The clamorous world of work and play; + Ours indeed + A different creed +From that of the modern god of Speed, +Whose converts suffer such grievous waste +In strenuous labor and feverish haste! + + East or west, + A tranquil nest, +When curfew rings, is always best, + A landscape fair, + A volume rare, +And a kindred heart, one's peace to share,-- +What is there better from life to take +In a sweet retreat on the Larian lake? + + + + +THE WANDERER + +Wandering minstrel at my gate, +Shivering in the winter gloaming, +How appalling seems your fate,-- +Destined to be always roaming, +Singing for a bit of bread +And a shelter for your head! + +Your sweet voice is all you own, +Save the poor, thin clothes you're wearing, +And you are not quite alone, +For a dog your crust is sharing; +Yet o'er many a weary mile +You have brought ... a song and smile! + +I, who have abundant land, +Home with comforts beyond measure, +Gardens, loggias, and a strand +Where a boat awaits my pleasure, +Wonder what would be your story, +Were I tramp, and you signore! + +Would you weary of control? +Long to slip your gilded tether, +And with Leo once more stroll, +Heedless of the wind and weather? +You could hardly do that all, +Once ensconced behind my wall. + +Every one must make a choice, +Life is based on compensation; +You have nothing but your voice, +I have more, ... but more vexation! +Minstrel, you at least are free; +Give your smile to slaves like me! + + + + +SECLUSION + +Shut out the World, shut in the Home! +The sea is deeper than its foam; +Retain the gem, reject the paste; +Withdraw from Mammon's feverish haste, +Its tumult and its senseless waste. + +Within are love, and books, and flowers,-- +Creators of life's happiest hours; +Without are those whose baneful call, +If once they pass within thy wall, +May blight the beauty of it all. + +Think not they come for love of thee! +They seek from ennui to be free, +To ask some boon, or tell some tale +Which, true or false, will rarely fail +To leave behind a poisoned trail. + +What else indeed can such as they +Invent to pass their time away? +Their thoughts revolve round sport and dress, +Their reading is the daily press, +Their mental life a wilderness. + +What though their dwellings rise near thine? +Propinquity is not a sign +Of loyal hearts or kindred views; +Thou surely hast a right to choose +Whom thou wilt welcome, whom refuse. + +Decline to let those mar thy joy, +Whose manners wound, and words annoy; +The vapid, heartless throng eschew; +Admit alone,--alas, how few!-- +The really kind, the really true. + +Yet when did ever a recluse +Escape the baffled crowd's abuse? +The social world will ne'er condone +Thy preference to live alone +Amid resources of thine own. + +Well, let it scoff, malign, or ... worse! +Thou hast an independent purse; +Alike to thee its smile or sneer, +It hath no power to cause thee fear, +Nor is its censure worth a tear. + +Hence, 'mid thy flowers, books, and trees +Strive not the multitude to please; +Regard its humors as the spray +Which winds blow lightly o'er the bay; +Live thine own life, and win the day! + + + + +ONE MORE + +With a smile and a kiss he went away; +At the gate he turned and waved his hand, +Then plunged once more in the sordid fray, +Whose strain she could not understand. + +She really thought that she loved him well, +But she loved herself and children more, +And realized only when he fell +What all his friends had known before. + +He had always hid his own distress, +And answered us with a brave "Not yet," +For boys must play and girls must dress, +As do their mates in the social set. + +At least she claimed that this was so, +And he too dearly loved them all +To spoil their place in the passing show, +And so rode on for a fatal fall. + +He had earned enough for a simple life, +If only they a word had said, +So weary was he of the strife; +But they were dumb, and he ... is dead! + +Yes, he is gone, and they are here; +And now the purse he died to fill +Will keep them well for many a year,-- +Of course submissive to "God's will"! + +One victim more in the cruel race +With rivals he himself despised, +For children who can ne'er replace +The father whom they sacrificed. + + + + +UNDER THE PLANE TREE + + Under my wall + And plane-tree tall +The lake's blue wavelets rise and fall; + In they creep, + Out they sweep, +And ever their rhythmic measure keep, +As the light breeze over the water steals, +And fills the sails of a score of keels. + + Soft and low, + In the evening glow, +Murmurs the fountain's ceaseless flow; + Clear and sweet, + Fair and fleet, +It came from the mountain, the lake to meet, +And here, where ivy and roses twine, +Streamlet and lake their lives combine. + + One by one, + In shade or sun, +Each river of life its course must run; + Slow or fast, + Small or vast, +All come to the waiting sea at last,-- +The source from which they first arose, +The home in which they find repose. + + + + +"CONJUGI CARISSIMAE" + +Marble fragment, freed at last +From thy prison of the past, +By a spade-thrust brought to light +After centuries of night,-- +Let me take thee in my hand, +And thy legend understand. + +On thy mutilated face +It is difficult to trace +All that once was graven here; +But at least two words are clear,-- +Reading still, as all agree, +"Conjugi Carissimae." + +"To my well-belovèd wife";-- +Only this; but of her life, +Rank or title, age or name, +Or the place from which she came, +Nothing further can be known +Than is taught us by this stone. + +Touching words they are, which tell +Of a husband's last farewell; +Cry of a despairing heart +That has seen a wife depart +On death's dark, uncharted sea;-- +"Conjugi Carissimae!" + +Was this lady still a bride, +Or a matron, when she died? +Had she children? Was she fair? +Bright with joy, or bowed with care? +Ah, pathetic mystery! +"Conjugi Carissimae." + +Yet, in truth, what matters all, +Save the fact these words recall? +She was loved,--a consort mourned +In the home she had adorned; +And her husband long ago +Left the words which tell us so. + +Strange, that these alone remain,-- +Words of mingled love and pain! +Time, which broke or blurred the rest, +Tenderly has spared the best; +For what better could there be? +"Conjugi Carissimae." + +Ancient relic, white and pure, +May thine epitaph endure, +While the lake with dimpled smile +Mirrors this historic isle! +Precious are thy words of old, +Worthy of a script of gold! + +Soon upon this island's shrine +Shalt thou like a jewel shine,-- +Dearest of its treasure-trove, +Emblem of a deathless love +From its sepulchre set free,-- +"Conjugi Carissimae." + + + + +THE PAGAN PAST + +What sylvan god was worshipped here? +What nymph once made this grove her home, +And bathed within its fountain clear, +When Caesar ruled the world at Rome? + +Did Pan frequent this charming site, +So hidden from the haunts of men? +Did nymphs and satyrs dance at night +Within this moon-illumined glen? + +Ah, who can doubt it, when these vines +Form trellised screens for distant snow, +And trace in arabesque designs +Their profiles on the Alpine glow? + +So sure were Dryads to select +A region thus supremely fair! +So apt were mortals to erect +In such a place a shrine for prayer! + +The two millenniums have not brought +Diminished splendor to this bay; +The strand which Pliny loved and sought +Is no less beautiful to-day. + +Hence, while the fragrant rose-leaves fall, +And white magnolia-blossoms gleam +Above my wave-lapped garden wall, +I seem to see, as in a dream, + +The kneeling forms of those who laid +Their floral offerings on that shrine, +And here their grateful tribute paid +To beauty, rightly deemed divine. + +Doth some Divinity each morn +Cast over me its ancient spell, +That this sweet landscape seems forlorn +Without the gods who loved it well? + +Men tell me they are dead and gone, +But when my soul is moved to pray, +I feel, beside my sculptured Faun, +They are not very far away. + +For I, who love this classic lake, +And cruise along its storied shores, +See Roman galleys in my wake, +And hear the stroke of phantom oars. + +It matters not which way I steer, +Or if my course be slow or fast, +The Pagan world seems always near; +I sail, companioned by the Past. + + + + +RETIREMENT + +Spirit of solitude, silence, and rest, +Take me once more, like a child, to your breast! +Weary of worldliness, turmoil, and hate, +Welcome me back, if it be not too late, +Back to the realm of ideals and dreams, +Hush of the forest and cadence of streams! + +What have I found in life's whirlpool of haste? +Pitiful poverty, limitless waste, +Sad disillusionments, losses of friends, +Treacherous methods for fraudulent ends, +Idle frivolity, senseless display, +Youth without reverence, faith in decay. + +Gladly I turn from the roar of the crowd, +Hand of the beggar, and purse of the proud, +Gladly go back to the humming of bees, +Carols of birds, and the whisper of trees, +Gladly dispense with the voices of men, +Thankful to hear only Nature again. + +Out from the mob with its furious pace +Into the cool, quiet reaches of space; +Rid of Society's glittering chains, +Fleeing a prison and finding the plains; +Far from the clangor of murderous cars, +Losing the limelight, but gaining ... the stars! + +Others may live in the turbulent throng, +Others may struggle to rectify wrong, +Strive with the strenuous, laugh with the gay, +I too have striven and laughed in my day; +But of life's blessings I crave now the best,-- +Freedom for solitude, silence, and rest. + + + + +IN NOVEMBER + +Under my trees of green and gold +I stroll in the soft, autumnal days, +With never a hint of winter's cold, +Though the mountain sides are a brilliant maze +Which spreads from the gleaming lake below +To gild the edge of the distant snow. + +Closed are the stately inns once more; +Flown, like the birds, is the latest guest; +Many have gone to a southern shore, +Some to the east and some to the west; +But the smiling landlords count their gains, +And we know well that the best remains. + +For the walls are lined with precious books, +And the hearth and home are always here, +And the garden hath a score of nooks, +Where flowers bloom throughout the year; +And now that the restless crowd is gone +I hear the flute of my rustic Faun. + +Why should I grieve, if from my trees +The gorgeous leaves fall, one by one? +Through the clearer space with greater ease +I feel the warmth of the genial sun; +And though the plane-trees stand bereft, +The pines and cypresses are left. + +Does the gay world leave us? Well, good-bye! +It will come again--perhaps too soon! +We have the mountains, lake, and sky, +And solitude is a precious boon. +Yet the falling leaves, so fair and fleet,-- +Their memory, after all, is sweet. + + + + +THE CALL OF THE BLOOD + +Over the water the shadows are creeping, +Lost are the lights on Bellagio's shore, +Goddess and Faun in the garden are sleeping, +Only the fountain sings on as before. + +Low as its murmur, when daintily falling, +Sweet as its plaintive, mellifluous song, +Voices of absent ones seem to be calling:-- +"Come to us! Come! thou hast waited too long." + +Vainly I call it a childish delusion, +Vainly attempt to regard it with mirth, +Still do I hear in my spirit's seclusion +Voices I loved in the land of my birth. + +Ever recurrent, like tides of the ocean, +Sad are these cadences, reaching my ear, +Waking within me a mingled emotion,-- +Partly of ecstasy, partly of fear; + +For of the friends who once gathered to greet me +Many, alas! will await me no more; +Few are the comrades remaining to meet me, +Cold are the arms that embraced me before! + +Over Life's river the shadows are creeping, +Dim and unknown is the opposite shore, +But in the fatherland some are still keeping +Lights in the window and watch at the door. + + + + +THE CASCADE + + From the mountain gray + It has made its way +To my garden green and cool, + And there, from the edge + Of a rocky ledge +Leaps down to a crystal pool. + + With a plunging flash + It falls, to dash +That crystal into foam; + And then at a bound + Slips under ground +To the lake,--its final home. + + In the morning light, + In the silent night, +When the moonlight gems the scene, + It laughs and sings, + And a light spray flings +O'er stately walls of green. + + For in and out, + And round about, +Grow flowers, plants, and trees, + From the lowly moss + To the boughs that toss +Their leaves in the passing breeze. + + On its outer zone + Of massive stone +Two marble statues stand,-- + The silver sheen + Of the pool between,-- +One form on either hand. + + One of the pair + Is a woman fair, +With parted, smiling lips; + For her each hour + A honied flower, +And she the bee that sips. + + The other, a faun, + From whom is gone +The power to frankly smile; + For whom each day, + As it drags away, +Makes life still less worth while. + + The face of the one + Is like the sun, +With its warmth, and light, and cheer; + But the faun looks down + With ugly frown, +And his lips retain a sneer. + + Youth and age, + Child and sage! +The former with life unknown; + The latter burnt + By lessons learnt, +With a heart now turned to stone. + + Yet the torrent speeds, + And never heeds +The statues' smiles or sneers; + They come and go, + But the water's flow +Has lasted a thousand years. + + + + +BIRD SLAUGHTER + +Poor, little bird! the chase is ended; +No longer hast thou cause for fear; +Within these walls thou art befriended; +No sportsmen can molest thee here. + +Without, they doubtless still await thee, +And scan with eager eyes the sky; +Sweet, winsome thing! how can they hate thee? +Why should they wish to see thee die? + +So limp and helpless! wilt thou never +Recover from thy fear and flight? +How breathless was thy last endeavor +To reach this shelter, when in sight! + +Thou tremblest still, as I approach thee; +Do I, too, seem like all the rest? +Thy timid, liquid eyes reproach me ... +Alas! there's blood upon thy breast. + +Nay, fear not, birdling! let me gently +Uplift and hold thee in my hand; +Thou gazest on me so intently, +Thou must my motive understand. + +Thy downy breast is pierced and bleeding; +This wing will never rise again; +In vain thy look, so wild and pleading! +I cannot cure or ease thy pain. + +Too well the hunters have succeeded; +Thy little life is ebbing fast; +My presence now is all unheeded; +'Tis over; ... thou art dead at last. + +Yet thus, within my garden dying, +Thy fate hath caused me less regret +Than that of all thy comrades, lying +Half dead and mangled in the net! + +Where are they all, who crossed so gladly +The lofty Alps to seek the sun? +Still lives thy mate, to mourn thee sadly, +Or is her life-course also run? + +Within the voiceless empyrean +No birds are passing on the breeze; +No songster lifts its joyous paean, +And silent stand my empty trees; + +For at the base of every mountain, +Where southward-moving birds repose, +In every grove, at every fountain, +Lurk merciless, insatiate foes. + +With cruel craft those foes surround them, +Ensnaring hundreds in a day, +Indifferent if they tear and wound them, +Proud only of the heaps they slay. + +What care these brutes if songs of rapture +From thrush and lark are no more heard? +What matter if their modes of capture +Denude the land of every bird? + +Whole regions, where they once abounded, +Are now as silent as the tomb; +The birds have vanished,--slain or wounded, +Pursued, by thousands, to their doom. + +Meanwhile, since Earth itself is blighted, +The Nemesis of Nature wakes; +Her flawless balance must be righted; +If Ceres gives, ... she also takes! + +Still worse, a moral degradation +Thus cradled, vitiates the race; +Among the rising generation +A lust for slaughter grows apace. + +Even children kill the birds thus captured,-- +And, since none censures or withstands, +They seize the tiny skulls, enraptured +To crush them in their blood-smeared hands! + +See yonder lad with tethered linnet, +Its frail legs raw from rasping strings! +A carriage comes,--he flings within it +The tortured bird ... to sell its wings! + +And oft as it may be rejected, +The little victim, mad with thirst, +Is jerked back, well-nigh vivisected, +Till pain and hunger do their worst. + +Beware, harsh man and heartless woman! +Beneath you swells a threatening flood; +If you and yours remain inhuman, +It yet may drown you in your blood. + +You smile, and call this sentimental; +You will not smile in later times! +For cruelty, so fundamental, +Already breeds the worst of crimes. + + + + +THE IRON CROWN + +On the classic shore of Como, +'Neath a headland steep and bold, +Which, though leaden at the dawning, +In the sunset turns to gold, +Nestles beautiful Varenna, +Still invested with renown +By the legend that connects it +With the Lombards' Iron Crown. + +Far above it on the mountain +Stands the castle, old and gray, +With its battlements in ruin +And its towers in decay; +But a subtle charm still lingers +Round that residence sublime, +And the beauty of its story +Is triumphant over time. + +As we trace its ancient pavement, +As we tread its roofless halls, +How alluring is the figure +Which this castle still recalls! +For 'tis Queen Theodelinda +Whom its ruined arches frame, +And the passing breeze seems laden +With the music of her name. + +As we gaze from ivied ramparts +On the storied lake below, +We forget the world about us +For the world of long ago, +When the Lombards had descended +From the mountains to the plain, +And all Italy lay mourning +For the thousands of her slain; + +When their brave, ambitious leader, +Not content to make his home +By these northern lakes of beauty, +Had resolved to capture Rome! +For no longer could her legions +His resistless course withstand, +And the road lay open, southward, +To the conquest of the land. + +When his valiant host stood ready +And impatient for the start, +What reversed their king's decision? +What so changed the warlord's heart? +'Twas the passionate entreaty +Of his wife,--a Christian queen; +'Twas the conquest of the pagan +By the lowly Nazarene. + +Through her prayers Rome's agèd Pontiff +From the threatened doom was freed; +By her aid the Church was strengthened +As the king professed its creed; +And Saint Peter's great successor, +Thus preserved from grievous loss, +Gave to her, his faithful daughter, +A true relic of the Cross. + +What to pious Theodelinda +Could be recompense more sweet +Than the nail, forever sacred, +That once pierced her Saviour's feet? +Which, when rounded to a circlet, +(To fine wire beaten down,) +Then became the precious basis +Of the Lombards' Iron Crown. + +Through the ages that have followed +What a line of the Renowned +Have been proud to wear this emblem, +As they, each in turn, were crowned! +Charlemagne, Charles Fifth, Napoleon, +German Kaisers by the score, +And at last poor King Umberto, +Basely slain at Monza's door! + +Since that coronet was fashioned +Fifteen centuries have passed +O'er the castle by Lake Como, +Where the good queen breathed her last; +But the Crown is still at Monza, +And its iron basic line +Tells the world of human glory +And the death of the Divine. + + + + +CONTRASTS + +The wind is roaring down the lake, +The clear, cold moon rides high, +The mountains, crystal to their crests, +Indent the starlit sky; +The wild sea beats my garden-wall, +And all its peace transforms; +Dear Heart, how different is the lake +When swept by Alpine storms! + +My soul to-night is dark and sad +From proofs of hate displayed, +From envy and rapacity, +And kindness ill-repaid; +The baseness of humanity +Hath spoiled a cherished dream; +Dear Heart, how different is the lake +When Evil reigns supreme! + +The gale hath blown itself to rest, +The sun turns all to gold, +Once more the crystal mountain-sides +A waveless plain enfold; +And some will laugh, and lightly say +The storm hath left no stain, +But in my park one perfect rose +Will never bloom again! + + + + +IN MY PERGOLA + +Beyond the blue-robed, sleeping lake, +I watch the flush of morning rise, +While birds and flowers once more wake, +To share with me my paradise. + +Within this waveless bay of rest +The Alpine winds contend no more, +But skim, like gulls, its dimpled breast, +And sink to silence on its shore. + +The breath of dawn descends the hills, +And round me, as I greet the day, +I hear the lilt of laughing rills +And songs of fountains at their play. + +Tall, whispering trees their shadows fling +Athwart the trellised path I tread, +And incense-breathing roses swing +Their pendent censers o'er my head. + +What Moorish ceiling e'er excelled +This arbor, roofed with cups of gold? +What Eastern casket ever held +The perfume which their leaves unfold? + +Fair chalices of bloom, swing low, +And touch my lips with odors sweet! +Enfold me in your ardent glow, +While petals flutter to my feet! + +Let, for to-day, the dream remain +That life is rose-hued, like this aisle,-- +A fragrant pathway, free from pain, +With every sun-kissed flower a smile! + + + + +EVANESCENCE + +Passing ships! Passing ships! +The white foam sparkling at your lips +And countless jewels in your wake +Proclaim your progress o'er the lake, +While on your decks a smiling throng +Surveys this realm of sun and song. + +Slipping by! Slipping by! +O'er waves that duplicate the sky +I watch you daily come and go, +But rarely is there one I know +Of all who at your railings stand, +To view with joy this storied land. + +On ye pass! On ye pass! +At times I follow through my glass +Your silent course from sunset light +To meet the dusky veil of night, +As swiftly round the curving shore +Glide faces I shall see no more. + +Sailing on! Sailing on! +The transient voyagers now are gone; +Yet though the hills their features hide, +One memory of them will abide,-- +The thought of their enraptured gaze +In this the gem of Larian bays. + +Gliding by! Gliding by! +Why is it that I look, ... and sigh? +What makes my heart thus vaguely yearn +For strangers who will ne'er return? +I would not really have them stay, +Yet grieve to see them fade away. + +Hail-farewell! Hail-farewell! +Those passing steamers seem to tell +That all ships, whether slow or fast, +Will cross life's little bay at last, +While we who linger on the strand +Must daily mourn some vanished hand. + + + + +LAKE COMO IN AUTUMN + +From Como's curving base of blue, +To where the snow lies cold and clear, +Ascends in steps of varied hue +The pageant of the passing year, +As scores of mountain-sides unfold +Their gorgeous robes of red and gold. + +Meanwhile, where shore and lake unite, +I see, projected far below, +A counterpart in colors bright, +Of snows that gleam and woods that glow,-- +Two pictures of an ideal land, +Divided by a single strand. + +O matchless view, thus doubly fair, +Impress thy beauty on my heart, +That, when no longer really there, +I still may see thee as thou art! +Alas, that they should ever go,-- +Those steps of light, those thrones of snow! + +The day declines, the colors pale, +The peaks will soon be ashen gray; +Yet, though the shades of night prevail, +The darkness hath not come to stay; +And if no leaves of gold remain, +The sun will bring the Spring again. + + + + +TO THE PORTRAIT OF NAPOLEON, AS FIRST CONSUL + +Painted by Andrea Appiani, in 1803, and at present in the Villa Melzi, +Bellagio. + +Brilliant as Lucifer, Son of the Morning, +Rises this reincarnation of Mars! +Youth at its apogee, precedent scorning, +Genius ascending its path toward the stars! + +Never was Bonaparte's Consular glory +Treated by Art so superbly as here; +Never a phase of his marvellous story +Handled more deftly, or rendered more clear. + +Italy's effigy lies 'neath his fingers, +Lombardy rests in the fold of his hand, +While on his lips an expression still lingers, +Stamped by a character born to command. + +Hero of history, what art thou scheming, +Spanning thus easily so much of Earth, +Holding tenaciously, too, in thy dreaming +Wave-beaten Corsica, isle of thy birth? + +All that thou dreamest of paramount power +Fate shall concede to thee, chieftain sublime! +Yet shall it prove but the joy of an hour; +Fortune avenges her favors ... with time! + +Aye, even now, although millions adore thee, +Hailing as godlike thy dominant name, +Nemesis stands in the shadow before thee, +Waiting with Waterloo, exile, and shame. + +Waiting is also that island of anguish, +Destined to crush thy proud spirit at last, +Doomed amid pigmy tormentors to languish, +Facing forever its measureless past! + +Yet when at length on that rock in mid-ocean +Merciful Death shall have broken thy chain, +Millions will hail thee again with devotion, +Building thy tomb by the banks of the Seine! + +Face of Napoleon, nobly recalling +Days of the mythical heroes of yore, +Oft wilt thou haunt me when shadows are falling,-- +Beautiful gem of the Larian shore. + + + + +DAY AND NIGHT + +Twilight is falling on lake and on land, +Softly the wavelets steal in to the strand, +Fisher-boats, floating like sea-gulls at rest, +Glow in the lingering light of the west, +Far-away vesper-bells hallow the air, +Ave Maria! the world seems at prayer. + +One more immaculate sunset exposed, +One chapter more of life's history closed, +One more bead told on the chaplet of time, +One further stride in Earth's orbit sublime;-- +Linked to the measureless chain of the past, +One added day, ... to so many their last! + +Slowly the colors diminish and die, +Slowly the stellar hosts people the sky, +Lost is the light on the fishermen's sails, +Sweet is the exquisite peace that prevails, +Silence and solitude brood o'er the deep, +Ave Maria! the world seems to sleep. + +One more magnificent pageant to face,-- +Numberless systems in infinite space; +Once more our planet in majesty rolls +On through the darkness its burden of souls;-- +Linked to the limitless chain of the past, +One added night, ... to so many their last! + + + + +PASSING AND PERMANENT + +Stately boats, with happy crowds, + Passing up the lake, +Leaving, under sunset clouds, + Jewels in your wake, +From my garden's sheltered strand + I can watch you glide, +As through some enchanted land + On a silver tide. + +To your eyes, O joyous throng, + All this scene is new; +Like a burst of seraphs' song, + Comes its matchless view; +You have traversed land and sea + For this wondrous sight, +Which the gods vouchsafe to me + Every day and night! + +One long, serial pageant this + Of supreme content! +Every face suffused with bliss, + Every eye intent; +Griefs and troubles slip away + On this charming shore, +And throughout a transient stay + Will return no more. + +Yet beware! Gardens fair, + Lake, and snow-capped crest +For a while may banish care + From the saddest breast; +But it quickly, even here, + Finds the heart again, +With the old-time sigh and tear, + And the well-known pain. + +Careless crew, I envy you! + You will grieve to go, +But, believe me, if you knew, + You would choose it so; +Leave the lake while still you laugh; + Be content to pass; +Though its wine be sweet to quaff, + Do not drain your glass! + + + + +TRIPOLI + +Hear the singing on the boats, +As they halt beside the pier! +Ah, those fresh Italian throats, + How they cheer! +Yet the words they sing so loud +Bring depression to my heart, +As I watch the youthful crowd + Thus depart. + + "We are going o'er the sea! + Loyal sons of Italy, + We are bound for Tripoli, + Tripoli!" + +See that lad of twenty years,-- +Who is stretching out his hand +Toward his mother there in tears + On the strand! +Should he perish in the strife +Under Afric's burning sky, +There were nothing left in life-- + She must die. + + Yet he's going o'er the sea! + At the call of Italy, + He is bound for Tripoli, + Tripoli! + +Now the plank is pulled to land, +And the last farewell is o'er, +As the steamer, at command, + Leaves the shore; +There are shouts and ringing cheers, +For the boys are brave and strong, +Yet one feels that there are tears + In their song: + + "We are going o'er the sea! + Loyal sons of Italy, + We are bound for Tripoli, + Tripoli!" + +Ah, that mother who is left! +She is weeping now alone, +Like a Niobe bereft + Of her own; +And at length I dare to speak +To the woman seated there, +With the tears upon her cheek, + In despair. + + He has gone across the sea! + Who so dutiful as he? + He is bound for Tripoli, + Tripoli! + +"Nay, good mother, do not weep! +Since the summons comes from Rome, +Can we really wish to keep + Sons at home?" +"And why not?" she made reply; +"We have no invading foe; +I would send my son to die, + Were it so." + + But he's gone across the sea! + Gone with thousands such as he! + He is bound for Tripoli, + Tripoli! + +"What is Africa to me, +If it swallow up my child? +What care I for Tripoli, + Spot defiled! +Did not Abyssinian sand +Drink sufficiently our gore? +Must we stain that fatal strand, + As before?" + + Yet he's gone across the sea, + Who more valorous than he? + He is bound for Tripoli, + Tripoli! + +"Have we no great uses _here_ +For the millions we outpour? +Are our consciences quite clear + In this war? +Are there no more roads to build, +Schools to found, and farms to work. +That we let our boys be killed + By the Turk?" + + Yet we send them o'er the sea! + Youthful sons of Italy, + They are bound for Tripoli, + Tripoli! + +"We are hungry, yet behold, +How the price of food goes higher! +And the nights will soon be cold + Without fire! +Who will earn for me my bread? +Who my little home will save, +When he lies there cold and dead + In his grave?" + + But he's gone across the sea! + Who so good and kind to me? + He is bound for Tripoli, + Tripoli! + +To the churchyard, near the bay, +Went the mother in her grief, +For her soul was moved to pray + For relief; +And deep sobs convulsed her breast, +As she knelt upon the sod, +Where her husband lay at rest, + Safe in God. + + For the boy was o'er the sea, + Whom she rocked upon her knee; + He had gone to Tripoli, + Tripoli! + +She was buried yesterday +With her husband, side by side; +Ere two months had passed away + She had died! +For one morning she had read +Of her son among the slain, +And they saw her old gray head + Sink in pain. + + Nevermore across the sea + Will he come to Italy! + He was killed in Tripoli, + Tripoli! + +There was nothing more to tell +Of a lad so little known; +He was reckoned "one who fell," + That alone. +Was he wounded? Did he lie +Long ill-treated by the foe? + And not know! + + Yes, he lies beyond the sea! + (Can it be that _that_ is he?) + In the sands of Tripoli, + Tripoli! + +She had asked for nothing more, +But in silence slowly failed, +Dreaming ever of the shore, + Whence he sailed. +Till her face, so wan and white, +Flushed at last with sweet surprise, +And a strangely tender light + Filled her eyes. + + Then for her was "no more sea"! + She had found the soul set free + From the sands of Tripoli, + Tripoli! + + + + +INFLUENCE + +We know not what mysterious power +Lies latent in our words and deeds,-- +Sweet as the perfume of a flower, +Strong as the life that sleeps in seeds; +But something certainly survives +The passing of our fleeting lives. + +A look, a pressure of the hand, +A sign of hope, a song of cheer, +May journey over sea and land, +Outliving many a sterile year, +To find at last the destined hour +When they shall leap to bud and flower. + +We write, we print, then--nevermore +To be recalled--our thoughts take flight, +Like white-winged birds that leave the shore, +And scattering, lose themselves in light; +For good or ill those words may be +The arbiters of destiny. + +Perchance some fervid plea may find +A heart to rise to its appeal; +Some statement rouse a dormant mind, +Or stir a spirit, quick to feel; +Nay, through some note of gentler tone +Even love may recognize its own. + +Fain would I deem not wholly dead +The spoken words of former years, +And every printed page, when read, +A source of smiles, instead of tears; +That friends, whom I shall never see, +May, for a time, remember me. + + + + +LEO + +I made a journey o'er the sea, +I bade my faithful dog good-bye, +I knew that he would grieve for me, +But did not dream that he would die! + And how could I explain + That I would come again? + +At first he mourned, as dogs will mourn +A life-long master they adore, +Till in his mind the fear was born +That he should never see me more. + +Ah! then, on every boat intent, +He watched the crowd upon the pier, +While every look and motion meant +"Will _he_ not come? Is _he_ not here?" + +At last he merely raised his head, +To see the steamers passing by, +Then sank again upon his bed, +And heaved a long-drawn, plaintive sigh; + For how could one explain + That I would come again? + +I hastened back by sea and land, +Forced homeward by remorse and fear; +But no glad barking swept the strand, +Nor did he meet me on the pier! + +I climbed the steps with footsteps fleet, +And then beheld him near the wall, +Though tottering, still upon his feet, +And creeping toward me down the hall. + +No wish had he to sulk or blame, +Nor did he need to understand, +But simply loved me just the same,-- +In silence licking face and hand. + +In silence? What could this portend? +Such muteness he had never shown; +Was he so very near the end? +Ah, Leo, had I only known! + +For his grand eyes, so large and bright, +Though turned, through sound, my form to find, +Were totally devoid of sight; +He faced me in the darkness ... blind! + +What could such gloom have been to him, +As weeks and months had crept away, +While all the outer world grew dim, +Till endless night eclipsed the day! + +What had it meant to him to wake +And mid familiar things to grope? +To hear old sounds on shore and lake, +Yet wander darkly without hope! + +But now, his head upon my knee, +He tried in various ways to show +That, though my face he could not see, +He knew the voice of long ago. + Yes, now it was quite plain + That I had come again. + +Within my arms he breathed his last, +In my embrace his noble head +Drooped back, and left to me ... the Past, +With tender memories of the dead. + +He lies beneath the stately trees, +Whose ample shade he loved the best, +Mid flowers, whose perfume every breeze +Wafts lightly o'er his place of rest. + +Yet somehow still I watch and wait +For him, as he once watched for me; +At every footstep near my gate +I look, his bounding form to see. + +Good-night? ... Good-bye! for I must leave thee, +My boat is waiting on the shore; +May I not hope that it will grieve thee, +When thou shalt see me here no more? + +Such thoughts, I know, to-day are flouted; +"Have statues souls?" the cynic sneers; +But I am happier to have doubted, +And loved thee thus these many years. + +Behind the form is the ideal, +Forever high, forever true; +Behind the false exists the real, +Known only to the favored few. + +Not all can hear the music stealing +From out that lightly-lifted flute; +To those devoid of kindred feeling +Its melody is always mute. + +But thou to me hast been a token +Of classic legend, wrought in stone; +In thee the thread of Art, unbroken, +Made all the storied past mine own. + +And I have felt, still brooding o'er thee, +The old-time Genius of the Place, +Aware of those who still adore thee, +Unchanged by time, or creed, or race. + +Through thee came also inspiration +For many a rare, poetic thought; +And oh, how much of resignation +Thy sweet, unchanging smile hath taught! + +Though thine own past hath had its sorrow, +Though all thy sylvan friends have fled, +Thou still canst smile at every morrow, +For Nature lives, though Pan is dead. + +Thou didst not grieve with futile wailing +When altars crumbled far and near, +When gods were scoffed, and faith was failing, +And worship lessened year by year. + +Above thee still rose lofty mountains, +Before thee lay the lake divine, +Around thee sang the crystal fountains,-- +With all these treasures, why repine? + +Religions changed, and shrines were banished, +Years slipped away, men came and went, +But thou, whatever pleasures vanished, +With what thou hadst wast still content. + +Not thine our fatal strain of sadness, +As cherished fancies fade away; +For thee the simple soul of gladness,-- +The careless rapture of to-day! + +Farewell! within my heart abiding +I hear thy music, gentle Faun,-- +The wounds of disillusion hiding, +The prelude to a happier dawn. + + + + +WAKEFULNESS + +Drifting, idly drifting, where thought's varied streams +Meet at last and mingle in the realm of dreams, +Gladly would I join them in oblivion's deep! + Sleep, so dear to me, + Sleep, come near to me, + Sleep, sweet sleep! + +Toward the night's Nirvana groping for the way, +Striving, ever striving to forget the day, +Waves of dreamless slumber, o'er my spirit creep! + Sleep, so dear to me, + Sleep, come near to me, + Sleep, sweet sleep! + +By the stream of Lethe, fettered to the brink, +Longing for the breaking of the last, frail link, +Eager for its billows o'er my mind to sweep, + Sleep, so dear to me, + Sleep, come near to me, + Sleep, sweet sleep! + +Waiting, ever waiting for thy soothing call, +And the welcome darkness that envelops all, +If no more to waken, then no more to weep, + Sleep, so dear to me, + Sleep, come near to me, + Sleep, sweet sleep! + + + + +VILLA PLINIANA + +It stands where darkly wooded cliffs +Slope swiftly to the deep, +And silvery streams from ledge to ledge +In foaming splendor leap,-- +A broad expanse of saffron walls, +A wilderness of mouldering halls. + +The torrent's breath hath spread its blight +On every darkened room, +And oozing mosses drip decay +Through corridors of gloom, +While Ruin lays a subtle snare +On many a yielding rail and stair. + +There seats, which beauty once enthroned, +In tattered damask stand; +In gray neglect a faun extends +A mutilated hand; +And silence makes the festal board +Mute as the stringless harpsichord. + +The boldest hesitate to tread +Those gruesome courts at night; +'Tis whispered that a spectral form +Then haunts the lonely height; +For he who built this home apart +Had stabbed his rival to the heart. + +Oblivion's boon is vainly sought +Amid those scenes sublime; +Forever lurked within his breast +The nemesis of crime; +Not all that flood of limpid spray +Could wash the fatal stain away. + +Yet certain fearless souls have dwelt +Within that haunted pile; +Among them she, whose portrait still, +With enigmatic smile, +Lights up the mansion, like a gem +Set in a tarnished diadem;-- + +The princess, at whose thrilling call +Unnumbered patriots rose +To drive from fettered Lombardy +Her immemorial foes,-- +A woman, loved from sea to sea, +As Liberty's divinity. + +But now the old, historic site +Lives only in the past; +Neglected and untenanted, +Its life is ebbing fast; +Each crumbling step, each mossy stone +Is marked by Ruin for her own. + +Yet one mysterious charm abides,-- +The spring, whose ebb and flow +Were praised in Pliny's classic prose +Two thousand years ago,-- +A fountain, whose perennial grace +Millenniums could not efface. + +Thrice daily in their polished cup +Its crystal waters sink; +Thrice daily do they rise again +And overflow the brink,-- +Since Pliny's day no more, no less, +Unchanged in rhythmic loveliness. + +Sweet Larian lake, and sylvan cliffs, +Cascade, and storied spring, +Ye are the same as when he loved +Your varied charms to sing; +'Tis man alone who sadly goes! +The lake remains, the fountain flows. + +Like drops in its exhaustless flood, +Our little lives emerge, +Swirl for an instant, and are gone, +Sunk by another surge! +Whence come they? Whither do they go? +O Roman poet, dost thou know? + + + + +POINT BALBIANELLO + +From Lake Como's depths ascending, +With embankments steep +Stands a wooded headland, bending +With majestic sweep +Till its rugged shores, expanding, +Join two charming bays, +Now, as formerly, commanding +Universal praise. + +Years ago a papal Primate +Built a hospice here, +Which, from its delightful climate, +Mild throughout the year, +Soon became for convalescence +A renowned retreat, +Where pure air and strict quiescence +Made all cures complete. + +"Villa Balbi",--appellation +Of the Primate's seat--, +Gave its name to this location +In a form more sweet,-- +Soft, sonorous "Balbianello", +Spoken, as if sung +In the speech, so smooth and mellow, +Of the Latin tongue. + +Balbianello, Balbianello! +Point of liquid name, +With thy walls of golden yellow +And thy flowers of flame, +When thy varied charms enthrall me +Under summer skies, +Tenderly I love to call thee +Como's Paradise. + +From thy base, where in profusion +Countless roses bloom, +To thy crest, where sweet seclusion +Reigns in leafy gloom, +All is beauty, uncontested +By a rival claim, +All is symmetry invested +With a storied fame. + +Cool the paths, by plane-trees shaded, +Which thy slopes ascend; +Grand the loggia, old and faded, +Where those pathways end;-- +Noble arches, well recalling +Mighty works of old, +Columns which, when night is falling, +Turn to shafts of gold. + +In that loggia, fringed with roses, +All my soul expands; +Every arch a view discloses +Of historic lands; +Southward lies fair Comacina, +Famed in classic lore, +Northward Pliny's Tremezzina +And Bellagio's shore. + +Miles of liquid opalescence +Stretch on either hand, +Curving into lovely crescents, +Each with sylvan strand; +While on Alpine peaks lie sleeping +Realms of stainless snow, +Whence the milk-white streams come leaping +To the lake below. + +Many a far-off promontory +Melts in silvery haze, +Many a scene of song and story +Tells of Roman days; +Real and unreal, past and present, +Make the vision seem +Like the rapture evanescent +Of a happy dream. + +Yet this point, so well selected,-- +Peerless in its day--, +Now, abandoned and neglected, +Sinks to slow decay; +Sculptured saints, with broken fingers, +Line the ancient walls, +Like a loyal guard that lingers +Till the rampart falls; + +Vases, o'er the portal standing, +Crumble into lime; +Steps, ascending from the landing, +Show the touch of time; +And its one lone gardener, weeping +As he tells his fears, +Faithful watch has here been keeping +Many, many years! + +Even he must leave it lonely, +When the night grows late; +Then the mouldering statues only +Guard its rusty gate; +Then no eye its charm discovers, +And its moonlit bowers +Wait in vain for happy lovers +Through the silent hours. + +Will no champion protect thee, +Fairest spot on earth? +Doth a busy world neglect thee, +Careless of thy worth? +Even so, thy site elysian +Still remains supreme,-- +Acme of the painter's vision +And the poet's dream. + + + + +AT LENNO + + By Lake Como's sylvan shore, + Where the wavelets evermore +Seem to rhythmically murmur of the classic days of yore, + Cease, O boatman, now to row! + While the Alpine summits glow, +Let me dream that I am floating on the lake of long ago. + + Where the Tremezzina ends, + And the bay of Lenno bends +Till the shadow of the mountain to its placid wave descends, + On this strand of silver foam + Stood the Younger Pliny's home, +When the world at last lay subject to the dominance of Rome. + + Here he passed his sweetest hours + 'Mid his statues, books, and flowers +With a life and list of pleasures not dissimilar to ours, + For the city's rush and roar + Never reached this tranquil shore, +And his writings prove completely that he yearned for them no more. + + Here, as scholar, poet, sage, + He filled many a pliant page +With the philosophic wisdom and refinement of his age, + And his letters to his peers + Through a life of smiles and tears +Make me often quite forgetful of the intervening years; + + For the beauty of the bay + And the magical display +Of its coronet of mountains have not altered since his day, + And the lake of which he wrote + At that epoch so remote +With the same caressing murmur laps my undulating boat. + + Hence the subtle, tender spell + Of the place he loved so well +Holds me captive and enchanted, as these waters gently swell, + And a vague and nameless pain + Makes me long for,--though in vain--, +That delightful classic era, which will never come again. + + Since the Goths' invading tide + Wrecked Rome's potency and pride, +Something wonderful has vanished, something exquisite has died; + And in spite of modern fame + And the lustre of its name, +Even beautiful Lake Como can be never quite the same. + + So beside its sylvan shore, + Where the wavelets evermore +Seem to rythmically murmur of the classic days of yore, + Cease, O boatman, now to row! + For, while Alpine summits glow, +I would dream that I am floating on the lake of long ago. + + + + +PERSONALLY ADDRESSED + + +LINES + +written for a Golden Wedding, 1883 + +Just fifty years ago to-night, + When earth was mantled deep with snow, +The stars beheld with tender light + The fairest scene this world can show. + +Two graceful forms stood side by side, + Two trembling hands were clasped as one, +Two hearts exchanged perpetual faith, + And love's sweet poem was begun. + +For suns may rise and suns may set, + And tides may ebb and tides may flow, +Love is man's greatest blessing yet, + And honest wedlock makes it so. + +"Father" and "Mother",--sweetest words + That human lips can ever frame, +We gather here as children now + To find your loving hearts the same. + +Unchanged, unchangeable by time, + Your love is boundless as the sea; +The same as when our childish griefs + Were hushed beside our mother's knee. + +Years may have given us separate homes, + Friends, children, happiness and fame, +But oh! to-night our greatest wealth + Is that we call you still by name. + +God bless you both! for fifty years + You've journeyed onward side by side; +And still, for years to come, God grant + Your paths may nevermore divide; + +But, just as sunset's golden glow + Makes Alpine snows divinely fair, +So may the setting sun of life + Rest lightly on your silvered hair! + +Yes, suns may rise and suns may set, + And tides may ebb and tides may flow, +We are your loving children yet, + And time will ever prove us so. + + + + +TO THE WALKING-STICK OF MY DEAD FRIEND + +To my hand thou com'st at last, +Wand of ebon, tipped with gold,-- +Often carried in the past +By a hand that now lies cold +In his grave beyond the sea, +Many thousand miles from me. + +Faithful staff! for many years +Thou didst travel far and wide +Through a life of smiles and tears,-- +Rarely absent from his side, +As the light of day for him +Grew pathetically dim. + +When with thee he walked abroad, +Every crossing, every stair +By thy touch was first explored, +Ere his feet were planted there, +With a sort of rhythmic beat +On the pavement of the street. + +Hence, when brought to face the gloom +Of a way, to all unknown, +Called to leave his sunlit room +For death's darkness, quite alone, +He instinctively again +Called to mind his faithful cane. + +To whose grasp should it descend, +Since with him it could not go? +Surely no one save a friend +Would receive and prize it so! +Thus to me wast thou bequeathed, +To console a heart bereaved. + +Friendship's gift, belovd wand! +Thou shalt likewise go with me +To the shore of the Beyond, +To the dark, untravelled sea; +Only left upon the strand, +When my bark puts forth from land. + + + + +TO C.... + +Behind a laughing waterfall +There lies a little fount of tears, +Deep, dark, and rarely seen at all +By those the sparkling torrent cheers. + +Beneath a suit of armor bright, +Shaft-proof and burnished, hard and cold, +There beats, concealed from common sight, +A tender woman's heart of gold! + + + + +To Mr. and Mrs. A.H.S., Brussels + +BIRDS OF PASSAGE + +Two homeless birds, fatigued by flight, +Have rested on the Belgian shore; +And now, at the approach of night, +Must spread their wings, and fly once more. + +Two others, when they saw them come +From out the dark and stormy west, +Conveyed them to their pleasant home, +And fed and warmed them, breast to breast. + +Dear Birds of Brussels, do not crave +The long, long route by which we came; +More safe than any restless wave +The sheltered nest of Auderghem. + +Henceforth, however far we roam, +'Neath clouds that chill, or suns that burn, +The memory of your lovely home +Will make us certain to return. + +For, stronger than the subtle spell +That homeward draws the carrier-dove, +Are the sweet bonds that clearly tell +Of Friendship welded into Love. + + + + +TO M.C. OF ATHENS + +Son of the race that gave the world its best, +Of ancient Greece a noble type thou art,-- +An Attic spirit transferred to the West, +The blood of Hellas pulsing at thy heart; +In homage to thyself and to thy land, +Accept, I pray, these simple lines of mine; +To one I offer both my heart and hand, +Before the other kneel, as at a shrine. + + + + +TO J.B. + +Within an Old World, classic vase +She blossomed like a flower, +And made Italian summer days +Seem fleeting as an hour; +Then left the antique vase in gloom,-- +Yet o'er its edges climb +Some petals, with a sweet perfume +That triumphs over time. + + + + +TO M.P. + +The Critic grieves at Virtue's loss, +And rails at Evil's stride, +But Love still holds aloft the Cross, +And shows the Crucified. + +One, safe in a secure retreat, +Disdains the maddened throng; +The other braves the seething street, +And strives to right the wrong. + +Self shudders at the angry waves, +And dreams of what should be, +But Love the sinking sinner saves, +And stills the stormy sea. + + + + +TO MISS MARY C. LOW + +A thousand eyes, by thee made bright, +Have read thy cheering lines; +A thousand hearts have felt the light +That through thy poetry shines; +Thou dost not know them all, 'tis true, +But they all wait for thee, +As wait the rosebuds for the dew, +Queen of the Christmas Tree! + + + + +IN MEMORIAM. G.M.M. + +His letter lies before me here, +Scarce written ere the hand grew cold +That traced the lines so fine and clear, +Which still of love and friendship told. + +This fragile film of black and white,-- +A traveller over land and sea--, +Is all the bond I have to-night +Between the friend I loved and me. + +I know not where his form may rest, +Yet well I know Death cannot take +His memory from the Central West +And its proud city by the lake. + +But where are now his loyal soul, +His loving heart and gifted mind; +Do they survive--a conscious whole-- +The dwelling they have left behind? + +Beyond this tiny orb we tread +Who can the spirit's pathway trace, +Or find a haven for our dead +In seas of interstellar space? + +O silent stars, that flash and burn +Across the bridgeless vault of blue, +Ye may receive, but ne'er return, +The dead we sadly yield to you. + +In vain we urge the old request; +In vain the darkness we explore; +Light lie the turf above thy breast, +O friend, whom I shall see no more! + + + + +TO C.M.D. + +If it be true, as some have dreamed, +That all have lived and loved before, +I cannot wonder it hath seemed +That on some other shore, +In former ages long ago, +Our souls had met and learned to know +The truths that now upon the sea +Establish our affinity. + +Heart leaps to heart and mind to mind: +A look, a word, a smile, a phrase,-- +And we at once a kinship find, +A relic of those days, +When we both watched the sunset kiss +The storied Bay of Salamis, +Or paced beside the classic stream +That borders Plato's Academe.-- + +Perhaps our spirits met again, +When Virgil wrote his deathless lines, +And Horace praised, in lighter vein, +His farm amid the Apennines; +Or else we walked this old, old Earth +When Grecian learning found new birth, +And arm in arm watched Giotto's tower +Rise heavenward, like a peerless flower. + +Enough that we have surely met, +No matter in what land or age; +For, if such trifles we forget, +We share a common heritage: +And though in this brief life stern Fate +Shall bid us once more separate, +O brother poet, it must be +That kindred spirits such as we +Shall sail another ocean blue, +Still you with me and I with you. + + + + +Sent with a Copy of "Red Letter Days Abroad" +To J.C.Y. + +Book of my youth, I send thee to a friend +Met, comprehended, loved, alas! too late,-- +Too near the sad, inevitable end +Decreed by life's inexorable fate; +Yet though an ocean's billows roll between, +And two great continents our paths divide, +The unseen subtly triumphs o'er the seen, +We walk in spirit, ever side by side; +He on the stately Mississippi's shore, +I 'mid the snow and roses of Tyrol, +But in my heart he dwells forevermore,-- +Belovèd friend, and double of my soul. + + + + +To HON. JESSE HOLDOM OF CHICAGO, + +on receipt of his picture and that of his baby in his arms. + +Far from the great lake's pride, + Over the ocean vast, +Two faces picture, side by side, + The future and the past. + +On one is the flush of dawn + And the light of the morning star; +On the other a shade, from knowledge drawn + And the dusk of the sunset bar. + +One brow has the spotless sweep + Of a page that is white and fair; +The other forehead is graven deep + With lines of thought and care. + +The eyes of the child look out + On a world all pure and sweet; +But those of the man are sad from doubt + And a knowledge of men's deceit. + +To the baby's dainty ears + Only love's accents flow; +Through the man's alas! have surged for years + Stories of crime and woe. + +Held in the infant's grasp + Is a tiny, lifeless toy; +In the father's firm yet tender clasp + Is his last great hope,--his boy! + +Wisely the parent peers + Through the future's unknown skies, +For knowledge of life has awakened fears + Of the storms that may arise + +When his darling boy no more + Can cling to his father's breast, +But when on the strand of the silent shore + That father shall be at rest. + +Ah me! could the wisdom won + Through the father's fateful years +Be but transmitted to the son, + There were little need for fears. + +But each must tread alone + The wine-press of his life; +Into each cup by Fate is thrown + The bitter drops of strife. + +Forth from that fond embrace + Must the little stranger go; +For the rising sun must mount through space. + And the waning sun sink low. + + + + +TRANSLATIONS + + +THE KISS TO THE FLAG + +Ta ra! Boom boom! A regiment is coming down the street; +From every side an eager throng is hurrying to greet +From overflowing sidewalk and densely crowded square, +A brilliant, uniformed cortège whose music fills the air; +For such a gorgeous spectacle is not seen every day; +It gives the town a festival to view the fine array; +All hearts are filled with happiness, and no one seems to lag, +When he has thus a chance to see the soldiers ... and the flag. +The old retired officers, their hats like helmets worn, +Have thrust them gaily on one side at sound of drum and horn; +The eldest, whose brave heart is stirred by that familiar strain, +Surmounts, with stifled sigh, his chair, a better view to gain; +Cafes, salons, mansards alike their windows open throw, +And pretty girls wear radiant smiles to greet the passing show. +Ah, here they are! Yes, here they come! preceded by the boys, +Who imitate in fashion droll, yet with no actual noise, +But merely by the gesturing of finger or of hand, +The cymbals, flute, and (best of all) the trombones of the band. +The babies even laugh and crow, upheld in nurses' arms, +And have no fear of trumpets loud, or the bass-drum's alarms. +The pavement of the boulevard is struck in perfect time; +Six hundred echoes blend in one, and make the scene sublime; +Six hundred hearts are throbbing there, imbued with martial pride; +Twelve hundred feet with rhythmic beat make but a single stride. +United, too, are all the hearts of those whose eyes pursue +With admiration every line now passing in review. +But when a gallant regiment appears thus on parade, +A little vain of its fine looks, and conscious of its grade, +Each soldier, (since a time of peace allows him to be gay), +Aspires to be attentive to the ladies on the way, +And stares at every pretty face, with no wish to be rude, +But, then, you know, a regiment is never quite ... a prude! +And this explains why Captain Short has said to Captain Tall, +Despite the order which enjoins strict silence upon all, + +"A lovely girl!" "Is that so? Where?" "Beside the window there." +"By Jove! I'd like to know her. She is divinely fair!" +Then both a little thoughtfully move on with some regret, +And now the entire regiment the lovely girl has met; + +Across the broad, resplendent ranks she looks now left, now right, +Now straight before her, but as yet no smiles her features light; +More than one mounted officer, with flashing sabre, wheels +His well-groomed horse, and calls to him the sergeant at his heels; +And makes excuse of some detail, endeavoring the while, +Perhaps half consciously, to win the favor of a smile. +In vain; the glance he hopes to gain, as hero of her heart, +Comes not; but rank forbids delay, he must at once depart. +The Colonel even has remarked this charming thoughtful girl, +And gives to his fine gray moustache the customary twirl; +A handsome man, with uniform whose gilded lustre shines +From clanking spur to epaulette with stars and golden lines; +He knows how potent is the spell such ornaments impart +To make of soldiers demi-gods in woman's gentle heart. +"The Flag! The Flag!" The crowd is thrilled to see it now advance! +Hail, Colors of the Fatherland! Hail, Banner of Fair France! +Hail, wounded emblem of the brave; blood-red, and heaven's blue, +And purest white,--the noble Flag, now waving in our view! + +Standard sublime, that moves all hearts, as now thy form unrolls, +Our dead seem shrouded in thy folds, stirred by the breath of souls! +The color-bearer, young as Hope, and still a charming boy, +In rhythm to the beating hearts and symphony of joy, +Sways gently, as he bears it on, the emblem of a land +Whose sons will in united ranks all enemies withstand. +The young lieutenant, on whose face the standard's shadow falls, +Knows well it makes him pass admired between those human walls, +And that its presence lifts him high above the rank and file, +And gains for him a sentiment worth many a pretty smile. +"That girl has smiled", the Colonel thinks, "but on whom'? Who can tell?" +"It is the bearer of the flag, on whom her favor fell", +Exclaims the Captain, who then adds, "Great Heavens! worse than this, +She has not only smiled, but now she really throws a kiss!" + +The Colonel, somewhat bent with years, sits up and swells his chest; +"A charming girl" a sergeant cries, and tries to look his best; +Each soldier, if a comrade laughs, a rival seems to fear; +The chief of a battalion looks, and makes his charger rear. +While several soldiers thus assume an air of martial pride, +The color-bearer, whom the band has quite electrified, +Caresses with a trembling hand the down upon his lip, +In doing which he rashly lets the tattered banner dip. +But she has seen within its folds, thus torn with shell and shot, +The soul of one she dearly loved, who, dead at Gravelotte, +Returned no more, but sleeps to-day within an unknown grave ... +The maiden's kiss was for the Flag, the death-shroud of the brave. + +(Translated from the poem by Jean Aicard, entitled "Le Baiser au Drapeau".) + + + + +EMILY'S GRAVE + +Idly one day in a foreign town +In a churchyard's shade I sat me down +By the side of a little cross of stone +On which was a woman's name alone. +A cypress whispered in my ear +That all was now neglected here; +"Emily's Grave" was all I read; +Nothing more on the cross was said; +Neither a name, nor Bible verse, +Nor date relieved the inscription terse,-- + "Emily's Grave". +So strange this seemed, my blood turned cold +At thought of a tragedy never told. +The flowers, the grass, and the humming bees +Were blithe and gay in the sun and breeze, +Yet no kind hand had ever strewn +Sweet flowers, where only weeds had grown, +And nothing brightened the lonely mound +Whose edge was lost in the trodden ground. +At length to the churchyard gate I went, +And asked of a woman old and bent, +"Who was the girl, whose cross of stone +Bears nothing save these words alone,-- + 'Emily's Grave'?" +"Alas!" she answered, "many a year +Hath passed since I beheld her bier; +She was young, and came from a humble nest, +And credulous too, like all the rest; +So a stranger met her here one day +And caught her in his net straightway. +He said he was rich, and she should shine +Like a queen in his castle by the Rhine, +And, winning her love, he took her hence +To where she found it was all pretence. +He had basely lied to the simple maid, +And, wearying soon of a girl betrayed, +Abandoned her; then home once more +She came, to sink at her mother's door. +Of shame and grief she was quickly dead, +For here she could no more lift her head; +And her mother, wishing to efface +All memory of her child's disgrace, +Reared that small cross, to which she gave +The title only,--'Emily's Grave'". + +(From the German.) + + + + +SERENADE TO NINON + +Ninon, Ninon, what life canst thou be leading? +Swift glide its hours, and day succeeds to day; +How dost thou live, still deaf to Love's sweet pleading? +To-night's fair rose to-morrow fades away. +To-day the bloom of Spring, Ninon, to-morrow frost! +What! Thou canst starless sail, and fear not to be lost? +Canst travel without book? In silence march to strife? +What! thou hast not known love, and yet canst talk of life? +I for a little love would give my latest breath; +And, if deprived of love, would gladly welcome death! +What matter if the day be at its dusk or dawn, +If from another's life our own heart's life be drawn? +O youthful flowers, unfold! If blown o'er Death's cold stream, +This life is but a sleep, of which love is the dream; +And when the winds of Fate have wafted you above, +You will at least have lived, if you have tasted love! + +(From the French of Alfred de Musset.) + + + + +THE RED TYROLEAN EAGLE + +Eagle, Tyrolean eagle, +Why are thy plumes so red? +"In part because I rest +On Ortler's lordly crest; +There share I with the snow +The sunset's crimson glow." + +Eagle, Tyrolean eagle, +Why are thy plumes so red? +"From drinking of the wine +Of Etschland's peerless vine; +Its juice so redly shines, +That it incarnadines." + +Eagle, Tyrolean eagle, +Why are thy plumes so red? +"My plumage hath been dyed +In blood my foes supplied; +Oft on my breast hath lain +That deeply purple stain." + +Eagle, Tyrolean eagle, +Why are thy plumes so red? +"From suns that fiercely shine, +From draughts of ruddy wine, +From blood my foes have shed,-- +From these am I so red." + +(From the German of Senn.) + + + + +ANDREAS HOFER + +In Mantua in fetters +The faithful Hofer lay, +Condemned by hostile soldiers +To die at break of day; +Now bled his comrades' hearts in vain; +All Germany felt shame and pain, + As did his land, Tyrol. + +When through his dungeon grating +In Mantua's fortress grim +He saw his loyal comrades +Stretch out their hands to him, +He cried: "God give to you his aid, +And to the German realm betrayed, + And to the land Tyrol!" + +With step serene and steadfast, +His hands behind him chained, +Went forth the valiant Hofer +To death which he disdained,-- +That death, which by his valor foiled +Had oft from Iselberg recoiled, + In his loved land, Tyrol. + +The noisy drum-beat slackened, +And silenced was its roar +When Andreas the dauntless, +Stepped through the prison door; +The "Sandwirt", fettered still, yet free, +Stood on the wall with unbent knee,-- + The hero of Tyrol. + +When told to kneel, he answered: +"That will I never do; +I'll die, as I am standing, +Die, as I fought with you; +Here I resist your last advance, +Long live my well-loved Kaiser Franz, + And with him his Tyrol!" + +The soldier takes the kerchief +Which Hofer will not wear; +Once more the hero murmurs +To God a farewell prayer; +Then cries: "Take aim! Hit well this spot! +Now fire! ... How badly you have shot! + Adieu, my land Tyrol"! + +(From the German.) + + + + +STREAM AND SEA + +A river flowed through a desert land +On its way to find the sea, +And saw naught else than glaring sand +And scarcely a shady tree. + +The distant stars looked down by night, +And the burning sun by day, +On the crystal stream, so pure and bright; +But the sea was far away. + +Sometimes at night the little stream +Would sigh for the sea's embrace, +And oft would see, as in a dream, +The longed-for ocean's face. + +At last one day it felt a thrill +It had never known before, +As it reached the brow of a lofty hill, +And saw the wave-lapped shore. + +And it flung itself with a mighty leap +From the crest of the hill above, +Till its waters mingled with the deep;-- +And the name of the sea was Love. + + + + + * * * * * + + +RACHEL + +'Twas sunset in Jerusalem; the light +Still lingered on the city's walls, and crowned +Mount Olivet with splendor, while below, +Among the trees of dark Gethsemane +And on the Kedron gloomy shadows lay, +As if but waiting for the death of day +To rise and mantle Zion in a shroud. +To one who watched it in that golden light, +Across the gulf between the sunlit hills, +The city seemed transfigured, lifted high +Above the gloom and misery of earth,-- +A fit abode for Israel's ancient kings. +The broad plateau, where Abram once had knelt, +And where the hallowed Temple of the Jews +Had glittered gorgeous with its gems and gold, +Now bore, 'tis true, the stately Moslem mosque, +But bore it as a captive bears his chains, +Whose spirit is not crushed, but borne aloft +By thrilling memories of a noble past. +The rays of dying day yet half illumed +A dreary spot outside the city walls +Where sat, apart, an old man and his child. + +Beside them rose the cherished blocks of stone +Which once had graced the Temple's sacred court; +It was the "Day of Wailing", and the Jews,-- +A poor scant remnant of their outcast race--, +Had gathered there, as is their weekly wont, +To read of all the glories they have lost, +And count their endless list of shattered hopes. +Some moaned at thought of their contrasted lot, +Some plucked their beards in anguish and despair, +Some turned their tear-stained faces to the wall, +And mutely kissed the precious blocks, as if +The historic stones held sentient sympathy. +Their lamentations ended, all had gone +To their poor dwellings, sadly, one by one, +Save these two lingering mourners, who still sat +With downcast eyes and slowly-dropping tears. +At length the old man raised his head, and spoke;-- + +"Our Fathers' God! whose all-protecting hand +Led us, Thy people, to this chosen land, +Through the cleft waters of a distant sea, +That we might rear a temple here to Thee; +Thou, who on Zion hadst Thy favorite shrine, +And in Thy majesty and power divine +Wast daily by our suppliant race adored +As sovereign Jehovah, peerless Lord; +Why hast Thou cast us off to toil and die +In foreign countries' harsh captivity? +Our race is scattered now the wide world o'er; +Our wailings rise to Thee from every shore; +Baited or banished by the Christian Powers, +Cursed by the Moslem mid our ruined towers, +Like pariah dogs, an execrated race, +We crouch to-day within our 'Wailing Place', +Begging, and paying dearly for, the right +To bathe with tears this consecrated site. +How long, O Israel's God, shall this endure? +Are not Thy promises to Jacob sure? +Oh, speed the day when once again Thy name +Shall here be worshipped, and the sacred flame +Of pure, atoning offerings shall rise, +And smoke ascend from daily sacrifice!" + +Tears choked his utterance, and the old man wept, +His meagre frame convulsed with mighty sobs,-- +Pathetic tokens of a broken heart. +His daughter crept beside him, drew his head,-- +Adorned with thin, white hair,--upon her breast, +And soothed him as a mother might her child; +Then, when his grief abated, took his hands,-- +So worn and white,--within her own soft palms, +And chafed them gently with a loving care; +Then pressed them to her lips, and lightly lay +Her warm cheek next his own, while murmuring words +Of tender, filial love in that old tongue +Which once had rung in triumph on this spot, +When poets of her race in glowing words +Had sung their glorious, prophetic strains. + +"Father," she whispered, "shall we now despair, +When we at last inhale the sacred air +Of our ancestral glory, and have come, +Despite long years of waiting, to our home? +Didst thou not say, when far beyond the sea, +In our dark days of want and misery, +That thou hadst but one prayer,--to go to die +Upon the hill where Zion's ruins lie? +Now this is granted, and thou hast attained +Thy dearest wish, with ample wealth retained +To keep us here from want, till on the breast +Of Olivet's gray slope in death we rest." + +She paused, and faintly smiled, while at her voice +Her father turned his tear-dimmed eyes to hers, +As one who hears soft music with delight. +The sunset glow fell full upon her face,-- +A rich, dark oval, crowned with raven hair; +Her lustrous eyes were shrines of tenderness, +Large, dark, profound, and tremulously bright, +And fringed by lashes of the deepest hue, +Which swept the downy smoothness of her cheek; +While her full lips, inimitably arched +And exquisitely mobile, told her thoughts, +Ere their soft motion framed them into speech; +Divinely there had Beauty set her seal; +As who should say,--"Behold a perfect type +Of southern loveliness, in whose warm veins +The blood of good, ancestral stock runs pure, +Maintained through centuries of Spanish suns." +The old man fondly took her hands in his, +And, bending forward, kissed her broad, fair brow; +Then in a faint and weary voice replied;-- + +"Rachel, my well-belov'd, I have in thee +The only blessing left on earth to me, +The one sweet solace in my dreary life +Of fourscore years of racial hate and strife; +Dear Comforter, 'tis true, our feet now stand +Within the limits of our people's land; +Behind us are the obloquy and pain +Endured in cruel, persecuting Spain, +Yet feel I still more keenly here than there +The degradation which our people share; +Each object here speaks sadly to the Jew +Of all the grandeur which his race once knew. +But let that pass; there is another pain +Which hurts me sorely, Rachel, and in vain +I seek a remedy; it is that thou +Hast now new lines of sorrow on thy brow. +'Tis true, thou art a Jewess, and must know +The shame which constitutes thy people's woe; +But I detect the signs of some new grief +For which the lapse of time brings no relief; +Thy cheek hath paled since our arrival here, +And often on its pallor gleams a tear." + +At first she spoke not; but at length her lips +Moved, quivering as in pain, while o'er her face +An ashen paleness came, which whiter seemed +From startling contrast with her ebon hair; +"Father", she murmured, "speak of that no more! +I shared thy coming to this Syrian shore, +And here shall die, for nothing more I crave +Than on these lonely hills to find a grave. +My life, though like a flower deprived of light, +Hath yet known moments so divinely bright, +So full of rapture, that I then forgave +The insults we endured, and still could brave +Existence in Seville, if thou wouldst stay; +But in thy absence how could I betray +My dying mother's trust and farewell prayer +That I henceforth thy lonely life should share?" + +She paused, and from her lips a stifled moan +Revealed the torture that her soul had known. +Her father noted it, and with a sigh +Of self-reproach attempted a reply;-- +"Dear child, thy love for me hath cost thee much; +For young Emanuel,--shrink not from my touch!-- +Was dear to thee; I knew it, and confess +That I, to consummate thy happiness, +Had given thee to him with full consent, +(Who with Emanuel would not be content?) +Had not my vow and purpose of long years +Compelled me to depart despite thy tears. +I knew the struggle, Rachel, in thy heart, +I felt the anguish of thy soul to part +From one for whom thy love was so intense; +In truth, for weeks I suffered in suspense, +Lest thy impetuous temperament might lead +Even thee to leave me, in my hour of need, +Infirm with years, to sail alone from Spain, +Go unattended on the stormy main, +And lay my poor, worn body in a grave +Unknown, uncared for, by a foreign wave. +God bless thee, Rachel, that thy noble soul +Could make this filial choice, and thus control +A love which, though supreme, could not efface +Thy duty, as a daughter of thy race; +Thy ancestors were princes on this hill! +Within thy veins their blood runs nobly still!" + +Rachel sat motionless, with outstretched hands, +And fingers interlocked; her steadfast eyes +Had hopeless sorrow in their stony gaze, +As though they read Fate's sentence of despair. +At length she turned her face; the light had fled +From her young features, just as in the west +The glow had faded from the sky, and left +A wintry coldness in the unlit clouds. +She seemed about to speak, when, sweet and clear, +From out the shadow of the ancient wall +Soft vocal music stirred the evening air, +With plaintive passion thrilled,--a proof that love +Inspired the words that floated into song,-- + +Light of the glorious, setting sun, + Gilding the Syrian shore, +Ere the bright, lingering day be done, +Guide me to her whose heart, well won, + Holds me forevermore. + +Moon, that hath spanned the silvered plain, + Olivet's brow to kiss, +Lead her by memory's golden chain +Back to the olive groves of Spain; + Back to our days of bliss! + +Star of the evening's darkening sky, + Gemming the lonely hill, +Whisper to her that I am nigh, +Waiting in hope for her reply; + Tell her I love her still! + +The song had ended; Rachel stood erect, +Her pale lips parted breathlessly, her head +Bent forward to receive the words, which came +Like grateful raindrops to a drooping flower; +Her slender form was quivering with delight +And sudden rush of feeling; she scarce knew +If this were all a dream, or if in truth +She heard Emanuel's welcome accents there; +Her heart for that brief moment wanted naught +To supplement its rapture; 'twas enough +To stand thus in expectancy, and know +The idol of her soul was drawing near. +At length her father touched her hand, and spoke;-- + +"'Tis he, my Rachel; thy sweet power hath drawn +Thy lover o'er the sea! Again the dawn +Of love and hope is kindled in thy face; +The concentrated beauty of thy race +Illumes thy features; now alas! I know +That thy self-sacrifice hath cost thee woe +Intenser than I thought; I too rejoice +To hear the music of Emanuel's voice, +Although I tremble lest his purpose be +To lure thee, Rachel, far away from me." + +His daughter, even in the thrill of bliss +Which filled her throbbing heart, yet saw the pain +That marked his closing words; and, turning, twined +Her arms about the old man's drooping neck; +"Dear Father, fear not that," she gently said; +"Though it be true that ardent love hath led +Emanuel to this distant Syrian shore, +Thy lot shall still be mine forevermore; +Doubt not thy faithful child, for none the less +'Twill be thy Rachel's greatest happiness +At thy dear side to minister to thee; +For only death can come 'twixt thee and me!" + +She paused, and hid her face upon his breast; +Her father clasped her fondly in his arms, +And bent his cheek to hers, his whitened locks +On her dark tresses glistening like the snow. +'Twas thus Emanuel found them; silently +He stood before them in a dread suspense; +His very soul seemed poised upon the word +Which left at last his trembling lips,--"Rachel!" +She raised her head, and their bright, ardent eyes +Exchanged the voiceless language of the soul; +A joy ineffable diffused its flush +O'er both their faces; yet she did not speak, +But only clung the closer to her sire, +As if in fear to lose her self-control. +At length Emanuel spoke in tones so charged +With deep emotion that the very air +Seemed tremulous with thoughts transcending speech;-- + +"Rachel, my more than life! Canst thou forgive +The momentary thought that I could live +Without thee? See, our separation ends! +Henceforth I know no country, home or friends +Save thine, my love! I gladly leave them all, +Obedient to a higher, nobler call,-- +The cry of my whole being to be near +Thee, thee, my Rachel, now so wholly dear, +That life without thee is but lingering death! +Already with thee a diviner breath +Of inspiration lifts my soul to gain +The purest, loftiest heights I can attain! +Not to entice thee from thy father's care, +Have I come hither, but to seek a share +In that dear filial duty, and to give +Love, loyalty and homage, while I live, +To him, the honored hero of our race, +Beside whom here I also crave a place. +Not only do I plead my love anew, +But also thus lay open to thy view +The dearest wishes of my soul, and wait +To learn thy answer. Do I come too late?" + +In doubt, 'twixt hope and fear, she raised her eyes +To read her fate in her lov'd father's face; +Who, taking her fair hands within his own, +Advanced with her to where Emanuel stood, +And laid them in her lover's eager grasp. +With softened radiance, from their lonely paths, +The far-off stars beheld their kneeling forms, +While, with his hands in benediction raised, +The old man stood absorbed in silent prayer. + + * * * * * + + The old, old story, ever new + Alike in Gentile and in Jew; + For Love remains man's sovereign yet + In Eden and on Olivet. + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Poems, by John L. Stoddard + +*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 11091 *** |