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diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6833f05 --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,3 @@ +* text=auto +*.txt text +*.md text diff --git a/12391-0.txt b/12391-0.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..8267de0 --- /dev/null +++ b/12391-0.txt @@ -0,0 +1,2764 @@ +*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 12391 *** + +POEMS + +BY + +ELIZABETH STODDARD + +1895 + + + + +CONTENTS + + THE POET'S SECRET + NOVEMBER + MUSIC IN A CROWD + "I LIVE WITHIN THE STRANGER'S GATE" + THE HOUSE OF YOUTH + THE HOUSE BY THE SEA + CHRISTMAS COMES AGAIN + MARCH + THE SPRING AFAR + WHY? + AUGUST + OCTOBER + "THE WILLOW BOUGHS ARE YELLOW NOW" + "IN THE STILL, STAR-LIT NIGHT" + AUTUMN + THE AUTUMN SHEAF + IN THE CITY + "I LOVE YOU, BUT A SENSE OF PAIN" + NAMELESS PAIN + A BABY SONG + THE WIFE SPEAKS + THE HUSBAND SPEAKS + "ONE MORN I LEFT HIM IN HIS BED" + BEFORE THE MIRROR + "THE SHADOWS ON THE WATER REACH" + A SUMMER NIGHT + "FAN ME WITH THESE LILIES FAIR" + "OH, THE WILD, WILD DAYS OF YOUTH!" + "ON MY BED OF A WINTER NIGHT" + "HALLO! MY FANCY, WHITHER WILT THOU GO?" + YOU LEFT ME + "O FRIEND, BEGIN A LOFTIER SONG" + "NOW THAT THE PAIN IS GONE, I TOO CAN SMILE" + THE COLONEL'S SHIELD + A FEW IDLE WORDS + VERS DE SOCIÉTÉ + THE RACE + THE WOLF-TAMER + THE ABBOT OF UNREASON + EL MANOLO + MERCEDES + THE BULL-FIGHT + ON THE CAMPAGNA + THE QUEEN DEPOSED + A UNIT + ZANTHON--MY FRIEND + ACHILLES IN ORCUS + ABOVE THE TREE + TO AN ARTIST + A LANDSCAPE + FROM THE HEADLAND + AS ONE + THE VISITINGS OF TRUTH KNOWN ELSEWHERE + WE MUST WAIT + UNRETURNING + CLOSED + MEMORY IS IMMORTAL + THE TRYST + NO ANSWER + ON THE HILLTOP + THE MESSAGE + EXILE + A SEASIDE IDYL + THE CHIMNEY-SWALLOW'S IDYL + LAST DAYS + + + + +POEMS + + + + + THE POET'S SECRET. + + + The poet's secret I must know, + If that will calm my restless mind. + I hail the seasons as they go, + I woo the sunshine, brave the wind. + + I scan the lily and the rose, + I nod to every nodding tree, + I follow every stream that flows, + And wait beside the steadfast sea. + + I question melancholy eyes, + I touch the lips of women fair: + Their lips and eyes may make me wise, + But what I seek for is not there. + + In vain I watch the day and night, + In vain the world through space may roll: + I never see the mystic light + Which fills the poet's happy soul. + + Through life I hear the rhythmic flow + Whose meaning into song must turn; + Revealing all he longs to know, + The secret each alone must learn. + + + + + NOVEMBER. + + + Much have I spoken of the faded leaf; + Long have I listened to the wailing wind, + And watched it ploughing through the heavy clouds, + For autumn charms my melancholy mind. + + When autumn comes, the poets sing a dirge: + The year must perish; all the flowers are dead; + The sheaves are gathered; and the mottled quail + Runs in the stubble, but the lark has fled! + + Still, autumn ushers in the Christmas cheer, + The holly-berries and the ivy-tree: + They weave a chaplet for the Old Year's bier + These waiting mourners do not sing for me! + + I find sweet peace in depths of autumn woods. + Where grow the ragged ferns and roughened moss; + The naked, silent trees have taught me this,-- + The loss of beauty is not always loss! + + + + + MUSIC IN A CROWD. + + + When I hear music, whether waltz or psalm, + Among a crowd, I find myself alone; + It does not touch me with a soothing balm, + But brings an echo like a moan + + From some far country where a palace rose, + In which I reigned with Cleopatra's pride: + "Come, Charmian! bring the asp for my repose." + And queenly, men shall say, she died. + + There lived and ruled a happy, noble race, + Primeval souls who held imperial power-- + My kindred, gone forever from their place, + And I am here without a dower! + + They were a Vision, though. And are these real, + These men and women, moving as in sleep, + Who, smiling, gesture to the same Ideal, + For which the music makes me weep? + + Have they my longings for that other world + New to them yet? I grant that Music's swell + Is like the sea; they may be thither hurled + By storms that thunder and compel; + + Or, like those voyagers in the land of streams, + Glide through its languid air, its languid wave, + To learn that _Here_ and _There_ are but two dreams, + That end in Nothing and the Grave! + + + + + "I LIVE WITHIN THE STRANGER'S GATE." + + + I. + + I live within the stranger's gate, + And count the hours + Since God let fall the bolt of fate! + Where the waves fall on yonder shore + In cloudy spray, + And where the winds forever roar, + The pillars of a mansion stand, + Without a roof; + The saddest ruin in the land! + + + II. + + When sunset strikes across the sea + The wreck looms up; + Then Memory comes, and touches me. + I see a pitiful white face + Break through the mould + Decaying at the pillar's base, + And hands that beckon me to prayer. + But I still curse, + And wake the Furies slumbering there! + + + III. + + In the strange drama of the Past + It was my part + To hold carousal to the last; + It was for me to hide the shame, + And brave the world + With lies about our ancient name! + I played it well, and played it long: + But let it pass, + The world has never known the 'wrong. + + + IV. + + Upheave, black mould, and totter all + The ruin down! + Fall, monumental pillars, fall, + Upon her grave! Above her breast + May ivy creep, + And roses blow! I choose to rest. + + + + + THE HOUSE OF YOUTH. + + + The rough north winds have left their icy caves + To growl and grope for prey + Upon the murky sea; + The lonely sea-gull skims the sullen waves + All the gray winter day. + + The mottled sand-bird runneth up and down, + Amongst the creaking sedge, + Along the crusted beach; + The time-stained houses of the sea-walled town + Seem tottering on its edge. + + An ancient dwelling, in this ancient place, + Stands in a garden drear, + A wreck with other wrecks; + The Past is there, but no one sees a face + Within, from year to year. + + The wiry rose-trees scratch the window-pane; + The window rattles loud; + The wind beats at the door, + But never gets an answer back again, + The silence is so proud. + + The last that lived there was an evil man; + A child the last that died, + Upon the mother's breast. + It seemed to die by some mysterious ban; + Its grave is by the side + + Of an old tree, whose notched and scanty leaves + Repeat the tale of woe, + And quiver day and night, + Till the snow cometh, and a cold shroud weaves, + Whiter than that below. + + This time of year a woman wanders there-- + They say from distant lands: + She wears a foreign dress, + With jewels on her breast, and her fair hair + In braided coils and bands. + + The ancient dwelling and the garden drear + At night know something more: + Without her foreign dress + Or blazing gems, this woman stealeth near + The threshold of the door. + + The shadow strikes against the window-pane; + She thrusts the thorns away: + Her eyes peer through the glass, + And down the glass her great tears drip, like rain, + In the gray winter day. + + The moon shines down the dismal garden track, + And lights the little mound; + But when she ventures there, + The black and threatening branches wave her back, + And guard the ghostly ground. + + What is the story of this buried Past? + Were all its doors flung wide, + For us to search its rooms, + And we to see the race, from first to last, + And how they lived and died:-- + + Still would it baffle and perplex the brain. + But show this bitter truth: + Man lives not in the past: + None but a woman ever comes again + Back to the House of Youth! + + + + + THE HOUSE BY THE SEA. + + + To-night I do the bidding of a ghost, + A ghost that knows my misery; + In the lone dark I hear his wailing boast, + "Now shalt thou speak with me." + + Must I go back where all is desolate, + Where reigns the terror of a curse, + To knock, a beggar, at my father's gate, + That closed upon a hearse? + + The old stone pier has crumbled in the sea; + The tide flows through the garden wall; + Where grew the lily, and where hummed the bee, + Black seaweeds rise and fall. + + I see the empty nests beneath the eaves; + No bird is near; the vines have died; + The orchard trees have lost the joy of leaves, + The oaks their lordly pride. + + Of what avail to set ajar the door + Through which, when ruin fell, I fled? + If on the threshold I should stand once more, + Shall I behold the dead? + + Shall I behold, as on that fatal night, + My mother from the window start, + When she was blasted by the evil sight,-- + The shame that broke her heart? + + The yellow grass grows on my sister's grave; + Her room is dark--she is not there; + I feel the rain, and hear the wild wind rave-- + My tears, and my despair. + + A white-haired man is singing a sad song + Amid the ashes on the hearth; + "Ashes to ashes, I have moaned so long + I am alone on earth." + + No more! no more! I cannot bear this pain; + Shut the foul annals of my race; + Accursed the hand that opens them again, + My dowry of disgrace. + + And so, farewell, thou bitter, bitter ghost! + When morning comes the shadows fly; + Before we part, I give this merry toast,-- + _The dead that do not die_! + + + + + CHRISTMAS COMES AGAIN. + + + Let me be merry now, 't is time; + The season is at hand + For Christmas rhyme and Christmas chime, + Close up, and form the band. + + The winter fires still burn as bright, + The lamp-light is as clear, + And since the dead are out of sight, + What hinders Christmas cheer? + + Why think or speak of that abyss + In which lies all my Past? + High festival I need not miss, + While song and jest shall last. + + We'll clink and drink on Christmas Eve, + Our ghosts can feel no wrong; + They revelled ere they took their leave-- + Hearken, my Soldier's Song: + + "The morning air doth coldly pass, + Comrades, to the saddle spring: + The night more bitter cold will bring + Ere dying--ere dying. + Sweetheart, come, the parting glass; + Glass and sabre, clash, clash, clash, + Ere dying--ere dying. + Stirrup-cup and stirrup-kiss-- + Do you hope the foe we'll miss, + Sweetheart, for this loving kiss, + Ere dying--ere dying?" + + The feasts and revels of the year + Do ghosts remember long? + Even in memory come they here? + Listen, my Sailor's Song: + + "O my hearties, yo heave ho! + Anchor's up in Jolly Bay-- + Hey! + Pipes and swipes, hob and nob-- + Hey! + Mermaid Bess and Dolphin Meg, + Paddle over Jolly Bay-- + Hey! + Tars, haul in for Christmas Day, + For round the 'varsal deep we go; + Never church, never bell, + For to tell + Of Christmas Day. + Yo heave ho, my hearties O! + Haul in, mates, here we lay-- + Hey!" + + His sword is rusting in its sheath, + His flag furled on the wall; + We'll twine them with a holly-wreath, + With green leaves cover all. + + So clink and drink when falls the eve; + But, comrades, hide from me + Their graves--I would not see them heave + Beside me, like the sea. + + Let not my brothers come again, + As men dead in their prime; + Then hold my hands, forget my pain, + And strike the Christmas chime. + + + + + MARCH. + + + Ho, wind of March, speed over sea, + From mountains where the snows lie deep + The cruel glaciers threatening creep, + And witness this, my jubilee! + + Roar from the surf of boreal isles, + Roar from the hidden, jagged steeps, + Where the destroyer never sleeps; + Ring through the iceberg's Gothic piles! + + Voyage through space with your wild train, + Harping its shrillest, searching tone, + Or wailing deep its ancient moan, + And learn how impotent your reign. + + Then hover by this garden bed, + With all your wilful power, behold, + Just breaking from the leafy mould, + My little primrose lift its head! + + + + + THE SPRING AFAR. + + + Far from the empire of my present days, + Where I perforce remain, + The wild, fresh airs of Spring blow to and fro, + Piping out Winter's reign. + + I know the rosy wind-flowers spread like clouds + Above the leafy mould, + And pollard willows over shallow pools + Stretch out their rods of gold. + + I hear the waters in the mossy swamps + Start on their ocean quest, + Gliding through meadows, murmuring in woods, + Till reaching final rest. + + Fixed in my thoughts is Spring, so long remote, + Though Spring cannot endow + As Summer can, or yield sweet Autumn's peace: + 'T is that my heart needs now; + + Or hope--maybe that Spring and Hope are one. + Therefore I should not ask + For leave from this my place: _both_ may be near, + Behind my daily mask. + + + + + WHY? + + + Why did I go where roses grew, + And meadow larks which skyward flew + From grasses sparkling in the dew, + The yellow sunshine pouring through? + What was there for me to find? + Were they to learn my froward mind? + From far across vast summer seas, + Rifling green marshes, bending trees, + Driving cloud-shadows down the air, + Keen breezes smote me here and there, + Keen breezes crying, _Why, why, why_? + And nothing had I to reply! + Beings with neither soul nor sense, + Convicting me with their pretence; + Beings of change,--but what am I,-- + Once more repeating, _Why, why, why_? + + + + + AUGUST. + + + Read by the wayside, read by the brook, + That this is the passion of the year; + Look at the fields, look at the woods, + Look upon me, and--draw near! + + Just as these days are, so is my heart; + Lilies are flaming, berries are ripe; + Alders blow sweet, acorns are full-- + And the bobolink's young ones pipe! + + Ponder the river, ponder the sky, + Hazy and gray, hazy and blue; + Study the trees wed to the wind-- + I promise you I'll be as true! + Yes, true as August--as the birds' song, + The sweet fern's scent, the weedy, blue shore, + The shine of vines, smilax, and grape-- + What can you ask for more? + + + + + OCTOBER. + + + Falling leaves and falling men! + When the snows of winter fall, + And the winds of winter blow, + Will be woven Nature's pall. + + Let us, then, forsake our dead, + For the dead will surely wait, + While we rush upon the foe, + Eager for the hero's fate. + + Leaves will come upon the trees, + Spring will show the happy race; + Mothers will give birth to sons, + Loyal souls to fill our place. + + Wherefore should we rest and rust? + Soldiers, we must fight and save + Freedom now, and give our foes + All their country should--a grave! + + + + + "THE WILLOW BOUGHS ARE YELLOW NOW." + + + The willow boughs are yellow now, + For spring has come again; + The peach-tree buds begin to swell, + Dripping with April rain. + + The gray-eyed twilight lingers long, + To meet the starry night; + I walk the darkening lanes alone, + And love the sombre light. + + The dream of other days returns, + When comes the blossomed spring; + But when the full leaved summer comes + My dream has taken wing; + + The twittering swallows in the lane + Were there a year ago; + The old nests in the tangled vines + Their next year's brood will know. + + A little brood of children fair, + Under the mother's wing, + Is in the dream of other days, + That flies when flies the spring! + + + + + "IN THE STILL, STAR-LIT NIGHT." + + + In the still, star-lit night, + By the full fountain and the willow-tree, + I walked, and not alone-- + A spirit walked with me! + + A shade fell on the grass; + Upon the water fell a deeper shade: + Something the willow stirred, + For to and fro it swayed. + + The grass was in a quiver, + The water trembled, and the willow-tree + Sighed softly; I sighed loud-- + The spirit taunted me. + + All the night long I walked + By the full fountain, dropping icy tears; + I tore the willow leaves, + I tore the long, green spears! + + I clutched the quaking grass, + And beat the rough bark of the willow-tree; + I shook the wreathed boughs, + To make the spirit flee. + + It haunted me till dawn, + By the full fountain and the willow-tree; + For with myself I walked-- + How could the spirit flee? + + + + + AUTUMN. + + + No melancholy days are these! + Not where the maple changing stands, + Not in the shade of fluttering oaks, + Nor in the bands + + Of twisting vines and sturdy shrubs, + Scarlet and yellow, green and brown, + Falling, or swinging on their stalks, + Is Sorrow's crown. + + The sparkling fields of dewy grass, + Woodpaths and roadsides decked with flowers, + Starred asters and the goldenrod, + Date Autumn's hours. + + The shining banks of snowy clouds, + Steadfast in the aerial blue, + The silent, shimmering, silver sea, + To Joy are true. + + My spirit in this happy air + Can thus embrace the dying year, + And with it wrap me in a shroud + As bright and clear! + + + + + THE AUTUMN SHEAF. + + + Still I remember only autumn days, + When golden leaves were floating in the air, + And reddening oaks stood sombre in the haze, + Till sunset struck them with its redder glare, + + And faded, leaving me by wood and field + In fragrant dew, and fragrant velvet mould, + To wait among the shades of night concealed, + And learn that story which but once is told. + + Though many seasons of the falling leaves + I watched my failing hopes, and watched their fall; + In memory they are gathered now like sheaves, + So withered that a touch would scatter all. + + Dead leaves, and dust more dead, to fall apart, + Leaves spreading once in arches over me, + And dust enclosing once a loving heart, + Still I am happy with youth's mystery. + + It cannot be unbound,--my autumn sheaf; + So let it stand, the ruin of my past; + Returning autumn brings the old belief, + Its mystery all its own, and it will last. + + + + + IN THE CITY. + + + The autumn morning sweetly calls to me, + And autumn days and nights in patience wait; + I answer not, because I am not free, + Although I chose my fate. + + The cold, gray mist that stains the city walls + Stands silver-columned where the river glides, + Or, slow dividing, on the valley falls, + Where one I love abides. + + The wind that trifles round my city door, + Or whirls before me all the city's dust, + By the sea borrows its triumphant roar, + And lends its savage gust; + + Or shrieking rushes where the sombre pines + Hold solemn converse in the ancient vale, + And while 't is dying in their dark confines + Babbles their mystic tale. + + Could I but climb a roof above my own, + And greet grave Autumn as he walks the earth + With secret signal that would make me known, + I should not feel my dearth. + + Then silver mist or loud triumphant wind + Might come in sad disguise and misery; + I would but ponder in my secret mind + How Autumn answers me. + + + + + "I LOVE YOU, BUT A SENSE OF PAIN." + + + I love you, but a sense of pain + Is in my heart and in my brain; + Now, when your voice and eyes are kind, + May I reveal my complex mind? + + Though I am yours, it is my curse + Some ideal passion to rehearse: + I dream of one that's not like you, + Never of one that's half so true. + + To quell these yearnings, vague and wild, + I often kneel by our dear child, + In still, dark nights (you are asleep), + And hold his hands, and try to weep. + + I cannot weep; I cannot pray-- + Why grow so pale, and turn away? + Do you expect to hold me fast + By pretty legends in the past? + + It is a woman's province, then, + To be content with what has been? + To wear the wreath of withered flowers, + That crowned her in the bridal hours? + + Still, I am yours: this idle strife + Stirs but the surface of my life: + And if you would but ask once more, + "How goes the heart?" or at the door + + Imploring stand, and knock again, + I might forget this sense of pain, + And down oblivion's sullen stream + Would float the memory of my dream! + + + + + NAMELESS PAIN. + + + I should be happy with my lot: + A wife and mother--is it not + Enough for me to be content? + What other blessing could be sent? + + A quiet house, and homely ways, + That make each day like other days; + I only see Time's shadow now + Darken the hair on baby's brow! + + No world's work ever comes to me, + No beggar brings his misery; + I have no power, no healing art + With bruisèd soul or broken heart. + + I read the poets of the age, + 'Tis lotus-eating in a cage; + I study Art, but Art is dead + To one who clamors to be fed + + With milk from Nature's rugged breast, + Who longs for Labor's lusty rest. + O foolish wish! I still should pine + If any other lot were mine. + + + + + A BABY SONG. + + + Come, white angels, to baby and me; + Touch his blue eyes with the image of sleep, + In his surprise he will cease to weep; + Hush, child, the angels are coming to thee! + + Come, white doves, to baby and me; + Softly whirr in the silent air, + Flutter about his golden hair: + Hark, child, the doves are cooing to thee! + + Come, white lilies, to baby and me; + Drowsily nod before his eyes, + So full of wonder, so round and wise: + Hist, child, the lily-bells tinkle for thee! + + Come, white moon, to baby and me; + Gently glide o'er the ocean of sleep, + Silver the waves of its shadowy deep: + Sleep, child, and the whitest of dreams to thee. + + + + + THE WIFE SPEAKS. + + + Husband, to-day could you and I behold + The sun that brought us to our bridal morn + Rising so splendid in the winter sky + (We thought fair spring returned), when we were wed; + Could the shades vanish from these fifteen years, + Which stand like columns guarding the approach + To that great temple of the double soul + That is as one--would you turn back, my dear, + And, for the sake of Love's mysterious dream, + As old as Adam and as sweet as Eve, + Take me, as I took you, and once more go + Towards that goal which none of us have reached? + Contesting battles which but prove a loss, + The victor vanquished by the wounded one; + Teaching each other sacrifice of self, + True immolation to the marriage bond; + Learning the joys of birth, the woe of death, + Leaving in chaos all the hopes of life-- + Heart-broken, yet with courage pressing on + For fame and fortune, artists needing both? + Or, would you rather--I will acquiesce-- + Since we must choose what is, and are grown gray, + Stay in life's desert, watch our setting sun, + Calm as those statues in Egyptian sands, + Hand clasping hand, with patience and with peace, + Wait for a future which contains no past? + + + + + THE HUSBAND SPEAKS. + + + Dearest, though I have sung a many songs, + Yet have I never sung one from my heart, + Save to thee only--and such private songs + Are as the silent, secret kiss of Love! + My heart, I say, so sacred was, and is, + I kept, I keep it, from all eyes but thine, + Because it is no longer mine, but thine, + Given thee forever, when I gave myself + That winter morning--was it years ago? + To me it seems the dream of yesterday! + You have not lost the face I married then, + Albeit a trifle paler--not to-night-- + Nor I the eyes that saw then, and see still, + What every man should see in her he weds! + I wander ... wisely, let me, since my words + Conceal what none but you and I should know,-- + The love I bear you, who have been, and are + Strong in the strength and weakness of your sex-- + Queen of my household, mistress of my heart, + My children's mother, and my always friend; + In one word, Sweet, sweetest of all words--Wife! + + + + + "ONE MORN I LEFT HIM IN HIS BED." + + + One morn I left him in his bed; + A moment after some one said, + "Your child is dying--he is dead." + + We made him ready for his rest, + Flowers in his hair, and on his breast + His little hands together prest. + + We sailed by night across the sea; + So, floating from the world were we, + Apart from sympathy, we Three. + + The wild sea moaned, the black clouds spread + Moving shadows on its bed, + But one of us lay midship dead. + + I saw his coffin sliding down + The yellow sand in yonder town, + Where I put on my sorrow's crown. + + And we returned; in this drear place + Never to see him face to face, + I thrust aside the living race. + + Mothers, who mourn with me to-day, + Oh, understand me, when I say, + I cannot weep, I cannot pray; + + I gaze upon a hidden store, + His books, his toys, the clothes he wore, + And cry, "Once more, to me, _once_ more!" + + Then take, from me, this simple verse, + That you may know what I rehearse-- + A grief--your and my Universe! + + + + + BEFORE THE MIRROR. + + + Now like the Lady of Shalott, + I dwell within an empty room, + And through the day and through the night + I sit before an ancient loom. + + And like the Lady of Shalott + I look into a mirror wide, + Where shadows come, and shadows go, + And ply my shuttle as they glide. + + Not as she wove the yellow wool, + Ulysses' wife, Penelope; + By day a queen among her maids, + But in the night a woman, she, + + Who, creeping from her lonely couch, + Unraveled all the slender woof; + Or, with a torch, she climbed the towers, + To fire the fagots on the roof! + + But weaving with a steady hand + The shadows, whether false or true, + I put aside a doubt which asks + "Among these phantoms what are you?" + + For not with altar, tomb, or urn, + Or long-haired Greek with hollow shield, + Or dark-prowed ship with banks of oars, + Or banquet in the tented field; + + Or Norman knight in armor clad, + Waiting a foe where four roads meet; + Or hawk and hound in bosky dell, + Where dame and page in secret greet; + + Or rose and lily, bud and flower, + My web is broidered. Nothing bright + Is woven here: the shadows grow + Still darker in the mirror's light! + + And as my web grows darker too, + Accursed seems this empty room; + For still I must forever weave + These phantoms by this ancient loom. + + + + + "THE SHADOWS ON THE WATER REACH." + + + The shadows on the water reach + My shadow on the beach; + I see the dark trees on the shore, + The fisher's oar. + + I met her by the sea last night, + A little maid in white; + I shall never meet her more + On the shore. + + Ho! fisher, hoist your idle sail, + And whistle for a gale; + My ship is waiting in the bay, + Row away! + + + + + A SUMMER NIGHT. + + + I feel the breath of the summer night, + Aromatic fire: + The trees, the vines, the flowers are astir + With tender desire. + + The white moths flutter about the lamp, + Enamoured with light; + And a thousand creatures softly sing + A song to the night! + + But I am alone, and how can I sing + Praises to thee? + Come, Night! unveil the beautiful soul + That waiteth for me. + + + + + "FAN ME WITH THESE LILIES FAIR." + + + Fan me with these lilies fair, + Twine their stems around your arm: + Put your feet upon these roses, + Then you'll please me to a charm. + + Charm me with your violet eyes, + Kneel, and with your sweet lips meet + The flaming buds of mine, athirst + In the roses at your feet! + + "Leave the lilies on the lake, + Do not break its pale repose: + Tear your heart with cruel thorns, + Such as grow beneath the rose. + + "So you love me? You are mine? + Break from yon dead tree a bough, + Lay it down among these roses-- + Ah! I do not charm you now!" + + + + + "OH, THE WILD, WILD DAYS OF YOUTH!" + + + Oh, the wild, wild days of youth! + My royal youth; + My blood was then my king: + Maybe a little mad, + But full of truth! + + Oh, my lips were like a rose! + And my heart, too; + It was torn out leaf by leaf: + Ah! there be none that know + How the leaves flew! + + Oh, they dropped in the wine! + The royal wine; + There were showers for the girls, + Crowns for their white brows, + And for mine! + + + + + "ON MY BED OF A WINTER NIGHT." + + + On my bed of a winter night, + Deep in a sleep and deep in a dream, + What care I for the wild wind's scream, + What to me is its crooked flight? + + On the sea of a summer day, + Wrapped in the folds of a snowy sail, + What care I for the fitful gale, + Now in earnest, now in play? + + What care I for the fitful wind, + That groans in a gorge, or sighs in a tree? + Groaning and sighing are nothing to me, + For I am a man of steadfast mind. + + + + + "HALLO! MY FANCY, WHITHER WILT THOU GO?" + + + Swift as the tide in the river + The blood flows through my heart, + At the curious little fancy + That to-morrow we must part. + + It seems to me all over, + The last words have been said; + And I have the curious fancy + To-morrow will find me dead! + + + + + YOU LEFT ME. + + + You left me, and the anguish passed, + And passed the day, and passed the night-- + A blank in which my senses failed; + Then slowly came an inward light. + + So plain it reproduced the hours + We lived as one,--the books we read, + Our quiet walks and pleasant talks-- + Love, by your spirit was I led? + + Oh, love, the vision grows too dear, + I live in visions--I pursue + Them only; come, your rival meet, + My future bring, it will be--_you!_ + + + + + "O FRIEND, BEGIN A LOFTIER SONG." + + + O friend, begin a loftier song. + Confusion falls upon your mind; + A sense of evil makes you blind; + "What use," you say, "is it to be? + I know not GOD, GOD knows not me!" + + O friend, begin a loftier song. + In other minds you place no trust: + You tread your laurels in the dust: + You see no Future, Hope has fled, + Youth had its dreams, but Youth is dead. + + O friend, begin a loftier song. + "The sweet ideal of past years + Speaks in my songs, they are my tears: + I'll weep no more, I'll sing no lays + To bury Youth for idle praise!" + + O friend, begin a loftier song. + Come through the gateway of the Past, + Dear friend. The world will hear at last + The little songs the poets sing: + Do thou with anthems make it ring! + + + + + "NOW THAT THE PAIN IS GONE, I TOO CAN SMILE." + + + Now that the pain is gone, I too can smile + At such a foolish picture; you and me + Together in that moonlit summer night, + Within the shadow of an aspen-tree. + + My hand was on your shoulder: I grew wild: + The blood seethed furiously through my heart! + But you--Oh, you were saintly calm, and cold; + You moved my hand, and said, "'T is best we part!" + + My face fell on the bands of your fair hair, + A moonbeam struck across my hungry eye, + And struck across your balmy crimson mouth: + I longed to kiss you, and I longed to die! + + Die in the shadow of the trembling tree, + Trembling my soul away upon your breast. + You smiled, and drifted both your snowy hands + Against my forehead, and your fingers pressed + + Faintly and slow adown my burning face; + A keen sense of the woman touched you then, + The nice dramatic sense you women have, + Playing upon the feelings of us men! + + Long years have passed since that midsummer night, + But still I feel the creeping of your hand + Along my face. If I return once more, + And in the shadow of that tree should stand + + With you there--Answer! Would you kiss me back? + Would you reject me if I sued again?-- + How strange this is! I think my madness lasts, + Although I'm sure I have forgot the pain! + + + + + THE COLONEL'S SHIELD. + + + Your picture, slung about my neck + The day we went afield, + Swung out before the trench; + It caught the eye of rank and file, + Who knew "The Colonel's Shield." + + I thrust it back, and with my men + (Our General rode ahead) + We stormed the great redoubt, + As if it were an easy thing, + But rows of us fell dead! + + Your picture hanging on my neck, + Up with my men I rushed; + We made an awful charge: + And then my horse, "The Lady Bess," + Dropped, and--my leg was crushed! + + The blood of battle in my veins + (A blue-coat dragged me out),-- + But I remembered you; + I kissed your picture--did you know? + And yelled, "For the redoubt!" + + The Twenty-fourth, my scarred old dogs, + Growled back, "He'll put us through; + We'll take him in our arms: + Our picture there--the girl he loves, + Shall see what we can do." + + The foe was silenced--so were we. + I lay upon the field, + Among the Twenty-fourth; + Your picture, shattered on my breast, + Had proved "The Colonel's Shield." + + + + + A FEW IDLE WORDS. + + + So, I must believe that I loved you once! + These letters say so; + And here is your picture--how you have changed! + It was long ago. + + The gloss is worn from this lock of black hair-- + You can have them all, + And with these treasures a few idle words, + That I will not recall. + + What a child I was when you met me first! + Was I handsome then? + I think you remember the very night, + It was half-past ten, + + When you came upstairs, so tired of the men, + And tired of the wine; + You said you loved lilies (my dress was white), + And hated to dine. + + The dowagers nodded behind their fans; + I played an old song; + You told an old tale, I thought it so new, + And I thought so long. + + True, I had read the "Arabian Nights," + And "Amadis de Gaul;" + But I never had found a modern knight + In our books at the Hall. + + You tore your hand with the thorns of the rose + That looped up my sleeve, + And a drop of red blood fell on my arm-- + You asked, "Do you grieve?" + + That drop of your blood made mine flow fast; + But you sipped your tea + With a nonchalant air, and balanced the spoon, + And balanced poor me, + + In the scale with my stocks, and farms, and mines. + Did it tremble at all? + When my cousin, the heir, turned up one day, + We both had a fall! + + Well, we meet again, and I look at you + With a quiet surprise; + I think your ennui possesses me now, + And am quite as wise. + + To me it was only a dream of love, + A defeat to you: + It was not your first, may be not your last-- + Here, take them--Adieu! + + + + + VERS DE SOCIÉTÉ. + + + This chain of white arms round the room-- + The demon waltz--bewilders me: + Or am I drunk with this good wine? + _Vive la compagnie_! + + "My friend, young Highboys, have you met?" + "O yes: how do? good brandy here!" + The wretch's mother, in her youth, + Was famous for her beer! + + Before his patent scraper sold + Old Highboys used to beat them all! + See what Society has done-- + He's holding her cashmere shawl! + + How is it, Madam, that I know + The guests at once? Wipe off the paint-- + Convention daubs us all alike, + Sinner as well as Saint! + + I see you in the crimson chair, + Behind your jewelled Spanish fan, + Slipping your bracelets up and down, + Flashing your eyes on the man + + Who plays the harp; he twangs an air + You understand--you've met before; + How many lessons did you take? + Madam, you need no more. + + Tiger of fifty! So you've bought + This pretty girl in the Honiton lace. + Now she's abroad, she quite forgets + She shudders in your embrace. + + Dowagers, stiff in black brocades, + Worry the waiters--sweep their trays: + How they scowl at the foolish men + Basking in Beauty's blaze! + + Saunters a poet, munching cake: + "Very distinguished." "Did you buy + Your lace at Beck's?" "Why, how he laughs!" + "But his verses make one cry!" + + Idle poet, a word with you: + You sing too much of love's sweet wrong, + Of rosy cheeks, and purple wine: + Give us a loftier song. + + The coachmen stamp upon the steps; + Our hostess looks towards the door; + Our host twists round his limp cravat, + Pronouncing the thing a bore! + + Our skeletons will be stirring soon; + Something already touches me: + Off, till I drain one bottle more! + _Vive la compagnie!_ + + + + + THE RACE. + + + The guests were gathered in the ancient park + Of my Lord Wynne, and he was now their mark + For wit and gossip--quite the usual way, + Where one bestows, and no one need repay. + "A stumbling-block his pride; his heart's in strife + Between two women, which to choose for wife. + He's always hovering round that lovely girl, + His lawyer's daughter, who will never furl + _Her_ flag of pride: she rivals Gilbert there. + Now watch their meeting; none more bravely wear + Their beauty, recognize a woman's own, + Than Clara Mercome. Gilbert Wynne has sown + His wild oats for her sake; yet he delays, + And with my Lady Bond divides his days. + Who bets on beauty, hedges in on age; + Which tries the flight to perch in Lord Wynne's cage? + Will Lady Bond or Clara be the queen? + For Lady Bond is certain of her lien." + He heard this talk while standing by a beech-- + Hugh Wynne--and planned how he might overreach + Gilbert and Clara, break the pride of both, + Part them for good, or make them plight their troth. + "Now for a race," he cried, "to Martin's Mill; + The boats are here; behold, the lake is still. + Here, Gilbert, take your oar; I'll follow soon, + Though sunset's nigh--to-night is harvest-moon. + Let go the rope, the knot's inside; take these, + Arrange a seat, adjust it at your ease. + _She's here_. Miss Mercome, you will help him win + The race, and will not count my wager sin." + And he was gone; the pair were face to face. + "I'll take the oars," he gasped; "we'll win this race." + He never felt his heart so in his breast. + "I hope you will forgive my cousin's jest?" + A haughty murmur was her sole reply. + No rowers followed. Never did swallows fly + So swift, or dip the lake like Gilbert's oars. + He was watchful, careless she. "There soars + A heron, quite a feature of your state: + Are gems and peacocks, tell me, still in date? + How deep the woods upon the water steal, + One to the other making soft appeal!" + "Not being human, wood and water meet + In their own speech, and soulless things are sweet + Together. So they are to me. I like + To watch the herons by the sedgy dike; + They keep me tranquil; and I love to feed + The pike in yon old pool; they help to lead-- + Why, here is Martin's Bridge, and yet no boats! + Shall we return?" Said Clara then, "There floats + A lily bed beyond; let's shoot beneath + The bridge, and lilies pull; I want a wreath." + He knew the channel narrow; it was dark; + But his heart leaped at this relenting mark. + He drew his oars up, pointed in the helm, + And shot in the cool gloom. He thought no realm + On which the sun had shone was half so bright. + And somehow Clara thought it nice as light. + The waters swirled so swift that in the noise + Clara grew dizzy; Gilbert lost his poise, + And lost an oar; with a confusing shock + The boat was grinding--stopped against a rock. + "Gilbert, my dear, are we not going down?" + "Dearest, my love, we were not born to drown. + Oh, kiss me; we are safe; and grant me now + Yourself. I'll gather lilies for your brow; + And Hugh will know that I have won the race, + And Clara, my dear wife, her rightful place." + + + + + THE WOLF-TAMER. + + + Through the gorge of snow we go, + Tracking, tramping soft and slow, + With our paws and sheathèd claws, + So we swing along the snow, + Crowding, crouching to your pipes-- + Shining serpents! Well you know, + When your lips shall cease to blow + Airs that lure us through the snow, + We shall fall upon your race + Who do wear a different face. + Who were spared in yonder vale? + Not a man to tell the tale! + Blow, blow, serpent pipes, + Slow we follow:--all our troop-- + Every wolf of wooded France, + Down from all the Pyrenees-- + Shall they follow, follow you, + In your dreadful music-trance? + Mark it by our tramping paws, + Hidden fangs, and sheathèd claws? + You have seen the robber bands + Tear men's tongues and cut their hands, + For ransom--we ask none--begone, + For the tramping of our paws, + Marking all your music's laws, + Numbs the lust of ear and eye; + Or--let us go beneath the snow, + And silent die--as wolves should die! + + + + + THE ABBOT OF UNREASON. + + + I looked over the balustrade-- + The twilight had come-- + And saw the pretty waiting-maid + Kiss Roland, the page. + + My lady heard the wolf-dog's chain + Clank on the floor; + Sly Roland caught it up again, + And whistled a song. + + Oh! they think that my heart is cold, + Under my gown; + Not till I blacken into mould + Will it cease to burn. + + Burn, burn for such sweet red lips! + I am almost mad, + Even to touch her finger tips, + When we meet alone. + + Roland, the page, goes here and there, + Loving, and loved, + Women like his devil-may-care, + Till they are forgot! + + Whether I am in castle or inn, + With sinner or saint, + Never can I a woman win,-- + I am but a priest! + + + + + EL MANOLO. + + + In the still, dark shade of the palace wall, + Where the peacocks strut, + Where the queen may have heard my madrigal, + Together we sat. + + My sombrero hid the fire in my eyes, + And shaded her own: + This serge cloak stifled her sweet little cries, + When I kissed her mouth! + + The pale olive trees on the distant plain, + The jagged blue rocks, + The vaporous sea-like mountain chain, + Dropped into the night. + + We saw the lights in the palace flare; + The musicians played: + The red guards slashed and sabred the stair, + And cursed the old king. + + In the long black shade of the palace wall, + We sat the night through; + Under my cloak--but I cannot tell all-- + The queen may have seen! + + + + + MERCEDES. + + + Under a sultry, yellow sky, + On the yellow sand I lie; + The crinkled vapors smite my brain, + I smoulder in a fiery pain. + + Above the crags the condor flies; + He knows where the red gold lies, + He knows where the diamonds shine;-- + If I knew, would she be mine? + + Mercedes in her hammock swings; + In her court a palm-tree flings + Its slender shadow on the ground, + The fountain falls with silver sound. + + Her lips are like this cactus cup; + With my hand I crush it up; + I tear its flaming leaves apart;-- + Would that I could tear her heart! + + Last night a man was at her gate; + In the hedge I lay in wait; + I saw Mercedes meet him there, + By the fireflies in her hair. + + I waited till the break of day, + Then I rose and stole away; + But left my dagger in the gate;-- + Now she knows her lover's fate! + + + + + THE BULL-FIGHT. + + + Eleven o'clock: + Here are our cups of chocolate. + Montez will fight the bulls to-day-- + All Madrid knows that: + Queen Christina is going in state: + Dolores will go with her little fan! + + Lace up my shoe; + Put on my Basquina; + Can you see my black eyes? + I am Manuel's duchess. + + In front of the box of the Queen and the Duke + Dolores sits, flirting her fan; + The church of St. Agnes stands on the right, + And its shadow falls on the picadors; + On their lean steeds they prance in the ring, + Hidalgo-fashion, their hands on their hips. + + "_Ha! Toro! Toro!_" + Hoh! the horses are gored; + Now for the men. + "_Ha! Toro! Toro!_" + Every man over the barrier! + + Not so; for there the bull-fighter stands; + Some little applause from the royal box, + And "_Montez! Montez!_" from a thousand throats! + + The bull bows fine, though snorting with rage, + His fore-leg makes little holes in the ground; + But Montez stands still; his ribbons don't flutter! + Saints, what a leap! + His rosette is on the bull's black horn; + Montez is pale; but his great eye shines + When Dolores cries--"_Kisses for Montez!_" + Fie! Manuel's duchess! + + A minute longer the fight is done, + The mule-bells tinkle, the bull rides off; + Montez twirls a new diamond ring, + And Dolores goes home for chocolate. + + + + + ON THE CAMPAGNA. + + + Stop on the Appian Way, + In the Roman Campagna; + Stop at my tomb, + The tomb of Cecilia Metella. + To-day as you see it, + Alaric saw it, ages ago, + When he, with his pale-visaged Goths, + Sat at the gates of Rome, + Reading his Runic shield. + Odin, thy curse remains! + + Beneath these battlements + My bones were stirred with Roman pride, + Though centuries before my Romans died + Now my bones are dust; the Goths are dust. + The river-bed is dry where sleeps the king, + My tomb remains! + + When Rome commanded the earth + Great were the Metelli: + I was Metella's wife; + I loved him--and I died. + Then with slow patience built he this memorial: + Each century marks his love. + + Pass by on the Appian Way + The tomb of Cecilia Metella; + Wild shepherds alone seek its shelter, + Wild buffaloes tramp at its base. + Deep is its desolation, + Deep as the shadow of Rome! + + + + + THE QUEEN DEPOSED. + + + I was the queen of Karl, a northern king: + Amazon Olga, and I rode his Ban, + A stallion in the royal ring + Who would not bear a man. + + And in Ban's saddle did I feel the pains + For my first-born, the king's sole hope, his heir; + My Karl himself would loose the reins, + Would take me up the stair. + + Low was the murmur of the royal troops + Below, I saw the tapers' twinkling light; + I heard a cry--"My queen, she droops!" + Then fell eternal night. + + No more was Olga queen for any king; + The pathway round a throne she could not tread, + Nor triumph in the royal ring-- + The boy she bore was dead! + + The cloister hers; she chose the cloak and hood, + And beads of olive-wood, a pouch for alms; + So begged she, Christ, for thy dear rood, + _Laus Deo_ sang thy psalms! + + Why am I here? This country is my king's; + The lovely river, wooded hills above; + Old St. Sebastian's church-bell rings-- + There flies the silver dove + + That flitted by the day we came to praise + Our gracious Mary for a granted prayer; + Heralds, trumps, the same gay maze + Of troops--King Karl is there! + + _Laus Deo_ with a child, and with his mate-- + She wins the throne by bringing him a son: + Babes make or mar our queenly fate-- + My woman's life is done. + + + + + A UNIT. + + + When I was camping on the Volga's banks, + The trader Zanthon with a leash of mares + Went by my tent. I knew the wily Jew, + And he knew me. He muttered as he passed, + "The last Bathony, and his tusks are grown. + A broken 'scutcheon is a 'scutcheon still, + And Amine's token in my caftan lies,-- + Amine, who weeps and wails for his return." + He caught my eye, and slipped inside the tent. + "Haw, Zanthon, up from Poland, at your tricks! + How veer the boars on old Bathony's towers? + True to the winds that blow on Poland's plains?" + "They bite the dust, my lord, as beast to beast. + When Poles conspire, conspiracy alone + Survives to hover in the murky air. + My lord, Bathony's gates are left ajar + For you to enter, or--remain outside; + The forest holds the secret you surprised, + And men are there, to dare as they have dared." + "Haw, Zanthon, tell me of the palatine. + The air of Russia makes a man forget + He was a man elsewhere: the trumpets' squeal + I follow, and the thud of drums. You spoke + As if I were of princely birth: hark ye, + _Battalion_ is the call I listen to." + "My lord, the cranes that plunder in your fens, + The doves that nest within your woods I saw + Fly round the gaping walls, and plume their wings + Upon your father's grave. Do you know this?" + "A token, Zanthon? so--a withered flower! + You think I wore one in my sword-hilt once? + Methinks there is no perfume in this flower. + Watch, while I fling it on the Volga's tide. + The chief, my father, sent me with a curse + To travel in the steppes, and so I do. + The air of Russia makes a man forget + He was a man elsewhere, for love or hope, + And as he marches, he becomes but this. + Haw, Zanthon, would you learn the reason why? + Search on the Caucasus, the northern seas, + Look in the sky or over earth, then ask, + The answer everywhere will be, _The Tzar_." + + + + + ZANTHON--MY FRIEND. + + + I, knight-at-arms, in my own forest lost! + Count of the empire, heir to crags and caves, + And brother to the eagle and the fox! + The music of the thunder, and the wind + Among the arches of the oaks, may choir + A requiem for my passing soul. But hist! + A footstep in the leaves--some poaching hind + Or gypsy trapping game--Holà ! holà ! + Perhaps the kobolds are abroad to-night. + Zanthon knows well these mountain-folk entice. + The woods divide, dawn breaks, I see the verge; + Bathony's stronghold on the Polish plains + Should top the wilderness: were Zanthon here, + To boast his prowess in our hunting bouts, + I would not cuff nor flout him, could we sight + In the old way, with fanfaron, the boars + On the old battlements, our ancient badge. + That lie to Zanthon on the Volga's banks, + When Amine sent the wild rose by his hand, + Was Satan's wile. I played the Cossack well. + With shame my mustache bristled when I said, + "Troopers must forage where the grain is grown: + I share my kopecks with the village priest, + Who winnows peccadillos by the sheaf." + Then Zanthon, laughing in his foxy beard: + "When Amine meets me in the plane-tree walk + (Where pairing little finches seek to build, + We saw the cuckoo thieve their nests when boys), + Shall I then tell her, in my peasant way, + Your broken promise, and her troth denied?" + And he was gone--gone, with the stud he bought + From Schamyl's son, up by Caucasus way, + Leaving me solitude to reason with. + Around me, then, an odor swept--the rose! + It plagued my nostrils day and night, in gusts + It blew, but one way only--towards Amine. + At cards it smote me, in the saddle puffed, + Through my tent walls at night its withered blast + Pierced, and changed me in my wavering dreams. + What spell was this, by love or friendship sent? + Across the steppes I followed Zanthon, close,-- + He might have heard the whinny of my mare; + Verst after verst, the measure of her hoofs + Beat out a rhythm, like a cackling laugh. + But on the frontier my poor Sesma fell: + I heard the ravens croaking from the hills. + The sun has burned away the valley's mist. + And in the silent, tranquil morning air + A mirage rises of my ruined walls: + Gold-colored, crystal-edged, the banners flash. + The rooks are stringing for the old beech copse. + This gully crossed, the bridge that spans the stream-- + But halte-lâ, my heart crowds up my breast, + For this is Poland, Mother of my Soul! + Quoth Zanthon, watching in the plane-tree walk, + "My fine Bathony comes to join the feast, + And raise the conopeum for my bride. + I pay the kopecks to the priest to-day, + But Amine in his sheaf will not be bound." + + + + + ACHILLES IN ORCUS. + + + From thy translucent waves, great Thetis, rise! + Mother divine, hear, and take back the gift + Thou gavest me of valor and renown, + And then seek Zeus, but not with loosened zone + For dalliance; entreat him to restore + Me, Achilles, to the earth, to the black earth, + The nourisher of men, not these pale shades, + Whose shapes have learned the presage of thy doom; + They flit between me and the wind-swept plain + Of Troy, the banners over Ilion's walls, + The zenith of my prowess, and my fate. + Give me again the breath of life, not death. + Would I could tarry in the timbered tent, + As when I wept Patroclus, when, by night, + Old Priam crept, kissing my knees with tears + For Hector's corse, the hero I laid low. + My panoply was like the gleam of fire + When in the dust I dragged him at my wheels, + My heart was iron,--he despoiled my friend. + Cast on these borders of eternal gloom, + Now comes Odysseus with his wandering crew; + He pours libations in the deep-dug trench, + While airy forms in multitudes press near, + And listen to the echoes of my praise. + His consolation vain, he hails me, "Prince!" + Vain is his speech: "No man before thy time, + Achilles, lived more honored; here thou art + Supreme, the ruler in these dread abodes." + Speak not so easily to me of death, + Great Odysseus! Rather would I be + The meanest hind, and bring the bleating lambs + From down the grassy hills, or with a goad + To prod the hungry swine in beechen woods, + Than over the departed to bear sway. + Then from the clouds to note the warning cry + Of the harsh crane; to see the Pleiads rise, + The vine and fig-tree shoot, the olive bud; + To hear the chirping swallows in the dawn, + The thieving cuckoo laughing in the leaves! + So, may Achilles pass his palace gate, + And later heroes strike Achilles' lyre! + + + + + ABOVE THE TREE. + + + Why should I tarry here, to be but one + To eke out doubt, and suffer with the rest? + Why should I labor to become a name, + And vaunt, as did Ulysses to his mates, + "I am a part of all that I have met." + A wily seeker to suffice myself! + As when the oak's young leaves push off the old, + So from this tree of life man drops away, + And all the boughs are peopled quick by spring + Above the furrows of forgotten graves. + The one we thought had made the nation's creed, + Whose death would rive us like a thunderbolt, + Dropped down--a sudden rustling in the leaves, + A knowledge of the gap, and that was all! + The robin flitting on his frozen mound + Is more than he. Whoever dies, gives up + Unfinished work, which others, tempted, claim + And carry on. I would go free, and change + Into a star above the multitude, + To shine afar, and penetrate where those + Who in the darkling boughs are prisoned close, + But when they catch my rays, will borrow light, + Believing it their own, and it will serve. + + + + + TO AN ARTIST. + + + To me, long absent from the world of art, + You bring the clouded mountains, my desire, + The tranquil river, and the stormy sea, + The far, pale morning, and the crimson eve, + And silent days, that brood among lush leaves, + When, in the afternoon, the summer sun + Is gliding down the hazy yellow west, + And my soul's atmosphere rests in the scene, + Until I dream the boundaries of my life + May hold an unknown, coming happiness. + How shall I, then, to show my gratitude, + But offer you a picture drawn in words-- + With all the art I have,--in black and white! + + + + + A LANDSCAPE. + + + Between me and the woods along the bay + The swallows circle through the darkling mist, + The robins breast the grass, and they divide + This solitude with me. The rippling sea + And sunset clouds, the sea gulls' flashing flight + From looming isles beyond--I watch them now + With a new sense. Where are the swallows' young, + And where the robins' nests? Year after year + They hover round this ancient house, and I, + Within as heedless, saw the long years pass, + Nor ever dreamed a day like this might come-- + A day when mourners go about the street + For one who always loved his fellow-men. + The windflower trembles in the woods, the sod + Is full of violets, the orchards rain + Their scented blossoms. May unfolds its leaves-- + Nature's eternal mystery to renew. + Must man be less than leaf or flower, and end? + If I go hence, when this departed soul + Has left no human tie to bind me now, + When spring unfolds, and I recall his past, + Will their remembrance lead me here again, + To teach me that his spirit comes to show + That Nature is eternal for man's sake? + + + + + FROM THE HEADLAND. + + + I hear the waters of some inlet now + Come lapping to the fringe of yonder wood, + The storm-bent firs, and oaks along the cliff. + The yellow leaves are glistening in the grass, + The grassy slope I climb this autumn day. + Ensnaring me, the brambles clutch my feet, + As if constraining me to be a guest + To the wild, silent populace they shield. + It cannot say, nor I, why we are here. + What is my recompense upon this soil, + For other paths are mine if I go hence, + Still must I make the mystery my quest? + For here or there, I think, one sways my will. + There is no show of beauty to delight + The vision here, or strike the electric chord + Which makes the present and the past as one. + No thickets where the thrushes sing in maze + Of green, no silver-threaded waterfalls + In vales, where summer sleeps in darkling woods + With sunlit glades, and pools where lilies blow. + Here, but the wiry grass and sorrel beds, + The gaping edges of the sand ravines, + Whose shifting sides are tufted with dull herbs, + Drooping above a brook, that sluggish creeps + Down to the whispering rushes in the marsh. + And this is all, until I reach the cliff, + And on the headland's verge I stand, enthralled + Before the gulf of the unquenchable sea-- + The sea, inexorable in its might, + Circling the pebbly beach with limpid tides, + Storming in bays whose margins fade in mist; + Now blue and silent as a noonday sky, + At twilight now the pearly rollers shake + The sunset's trail of violet and gold; + Or black, when rushing on the rocky isles + Anchored in waves that bellow to the winds. + I watch till comes the night; the moonlight falls, + The silvery deep on some far journey goes, + To solve for me, I think, this mystery. + + + + + AS ONE. + + + When I, enclosed within the city's walls, + Behold the multitudes that come and go, + Hands clenched on gain, and nature all denied, + Then I recall, recall the drift of time. + + But when she proffered all her wealth to me, + The first faint blossom of the spring I share, + The latest autumn leaf, the last green blade, + Then I forget, forget the drift of time. + + The months go by, and take me in their train, + The vesture wrapping them enfolds me too, + And all the journey through we seem as one, + And I forget, forget the drift of time. + + I hear the bluebird's call in windy dawns, + The robin's cheery note from dewy fields, + The swallow's cry along the pool at eve, + And I forget, forget the drift of time. + + When hedges give the prophecy of birds, + And sunbeams play on the expectant boughs, + The leaves uncurl and fill their veins with life, + And I forget, forget the drift of time. + + I watch a tumult in the summer skies, + A blur of sunshine, and the rush of rain, + The tempest dying in the twilight's hush, + And I forget, forget the drift of time. + + When winter woods are armored by the frost, + And all the highways filled with soundless snows, + Then comes the sun to show his golden palm, + And I forget, forget the drift of time. + + The mountains look upon me and the sea-- + I hover on their crests in silver mists, + And with the waters pass beyond their verge, + And I forget, forget the drift of time. + + + + + THE VISITINGS OF TRUTH KNOWN ELSEWHERE. + + + Spending abroad these varied autumn days, + Their melancholy legend I deny. + They keep a vanished treasure I will seek, + And follow on a track of mystic hopes. + While watching in thy atmosphere, I see + The form of beauty changes, not its soul. + When with the Spring, the flying feet of youth + Spurning the present as it passed, and me, + I thought the world a mere environment + To hold my wishes and my happiness. + I have forgot that foolish, vain belief, + Now in my sere and yellow leaf, serene, + I offer Autumn all my homage now. + The eddies, whirling, rustling in my path, + Lure me like sprites, and from the leaves a voice: + "Say not our lesson is decay; we fall, + And lo, the naked trees in beauty lift + Their delicate tracery against the sky. + On the pale verdure of the grass we spread + A shining web of scarlet, bronze, and gold; + When the rain comes, the oaks uphold us still. + The holly shines, and waits the Christmas chimes, + Beneath the branches of the evergreens." + November's clouds without a shadow lift + The purple mountains of its airy sphere, + And all my purpose waits upon them now. + Day fades--a rose above the darkling sea, + And from the amber sky clear twilight falls; + The orange woods grow black, and I go forth, + And as I go, the noiseless airs pass by, + And touch me like the petals of a flower; + The cricket chirps me in the warm, dry sod, + Drowsy, and I would pipe a cheery strain; + But from the pines I hear the call of night, + And round the quiet earth the stars wheel up, + With me eternal, and I stay beneath, + Until I fade into the fading plain. + + + + + WE MUST WAIT. + + + The testimony of my loss and gain + Will I give utterance to, though none may hear. + When long ago, bereft of all I loved, + I sought in Nature recompense, implored + For pity, solace, or forgetfulness, + "The dear, familiar seasons as they pass, + The seal of memory on every place," + I said, "will give the sympathy I seek, + The restoration which they owe to me." + By day and night I prayed as futile prayers + As the wind's shriek in lonesome winter nights; + By the sea they fell as empty as the shells + Upon its sands, uncertain as its mists. + With them I tracked the shadows of the woods, + And sowed them in the fields among the seed; + Whoso reaped harvest, I could gather none. + I wandered in the thickets, giving tongue + Like a lost hound, dazed by their solitude, + The while birds called their mates, the lilies blazed, + And roses opened to the wandering airs. + They vanished with the leaves that voyaged the brook, + Which babbled of no story but its own. + How blind I was to Nature's liberty! + Grief stalked beside me, I was sore beset, + And could not hear the turning of Time's wheel. + Still were the skies serene, the earth most fair, + When with the doleful chant of dust to dust + Mingled the laughter of this sunlit sea; + And through my tears I saw the ripples dance, + And June's sweet breezes kiss the swaying elms. + As he who turns the key within his door + And gazes at his walls before he goes, + Then forward sets his steps--so I set mine + To join a band whose purpose was to find + A world of action; but my heart was cold, + My mind supine. Yet I remained with them, + And answered to the roll called Honor, Fame! + Where were my memories and my ardent prayers? + The years stood far behind, their columns graved + Deep with the adage which youth names _No More_. + Like one who enters some old storied hall, + And down its vista suddenly beholds + A banner waving out its old device + Of victory--so suddenly I felt + My later life a void. I was recalled! + My prayers were answered, and behold me here; + Within the pale of all my loss and gain, + The dear, familiar seasons as they pass, + The seal of memory on every place, + Bestow the restoration which I sought. + At peace, I know, as those who suffer know, + There is no secret we can wrest at will + From Nature. Time must bring and share with her + The gift of resignation, cure for grief, + And cast upon our ways this ray of hope-- + That I, the lost, and Nature may be one. + + + + + UNRETURNING. + + + Now all the flowers that ornament the grass, + Wherever meadows are and placid brooks, + Must fall--the "glory of the grass" must fall. + Year after year I see them sprout and spread-- + The golden, glossy, tossing buttercups, + The tall, straight daisies and red clover globes, + The swinging bellwort and the blue-eyed bent, + With nameless plants as perfect in their hues-- + Perfect in root and branch, their plan of life, + As if the intention of a soul were there: + I see them flourish as I see them fall! + But he, who once was growing with the grass, + And blooming with the flowers, my little son, + Fell, withered--dead, nor has revived again! + Perfect and lovely, needful to my sight, + Why comes he not to ornament my days? + The barren fields forget their barrenness, + The soulless earth mates with these soulless things, + Why should I not obtain _my_ recompense? + The budding spring should bring, or summer's prime, + At least a vision of the vanished child, + And let his heart commune with mine again, + Though in a dream--his life was but a dream; + Then might I wait with patient cheerfulness, + That cheerfulness which keeps one's tears unshed, + And blinds the eyes with pain--the passage slow + Of other seasons, and be still and cold + As the earth is when shrouded in the snow, + Or passive, like it, when the boughs are stripped + In autumn, and the leaves roll everywhere. + And he should go again; for winter's snows, + And autumn's melancholy voice, in winds, + In waters, and in woods, belong to me, + To me--a faded soul; for, as I said, + The sense of all his beauty, sweetness, comes + When blossoms are the sweetest; when the sea, + Sparkling and blue, cries to the sun in joy, + Or, silent, pale, and misty waits the night, + Till the moon, pushing through the veiling cloud, + Hangs naked in its heaving solitude: + When feathery pines wave up and down the shore, + And the vast deep above holds gentle stars, + And the vast world beneath hides him from me! + + + + + CLOSED. + + + The crimson dawn breaks through the clouded east, + And waking breezes round the casement pipe; + They blow the globes of dew from opening buds, + And steal the odors of the sleeping flowers. + The swallow calls its young ones from the eaves, + To dart above their shadows on the lake, + Till its long rollers redden in the sun, + And bend the lances of the mirrored pines. + Who knows the miracle that brings the morn? + Still in my house I linger, though the night-- + The night that hides me from myself is gone. + Light robes the world, but strips me bare again. + I will not follow on the paths of day. + I know the dregs within its crystal hours; + The bearers of my cups have served me well; + I drained them, and the bearers come no more. + Rise, morning, rise, for those believing souls + Who seek completion in day's garish light. + My casement I will close, keep shut my door, + Till day and night are only dreams to me. + + + + + MEMORY IS IMMORTAL. + + + Time passed, as passes time with common souls, + Whose thoughts and wishes end with every day; + For whom no future is, whose present hours + Reveal no looming shade of that which was. + + But Memory is immortal, for she comes + To me, from heaven or hell, to me, once more! + As birds that migrate choose the ocean wind + That beats them helpless, while it steers them home, + So I was this way driven--I chose this way-- + Of old my dwelling-place, where all my race + Are buried. At first I was enchanted here; + Impossible appeared the pall, the shroud; + And in my spell I trod the grassy streets, + Where in the summer days mild oxen drew + The bristling hay, and in the winter snows + The creaking masts and knees for mighty ships, + Whose hulls were parted on the coral reefs, + Or foundered in the depth of Arctic nights. + I wandered through the gardens rank and waste, + Wonderful once, when I was like the flowers; + Along the weedy paths grew roses still, + Surviving empire, but remaining queens. + + My mood established by the slumbrous town-- + (Slumber with slumber, dream with dream should be) + I sought a mansion on the lonely shore, + From which, his feet made level with his head, + Its occupant was gone. I lived alone. + Whoso, beneath this roof, had played his part + In life's deep tragedy, not here again + Could be rehearsed its scenes of love or hate. + Upon the ancient walls my pictures hung, + Of men and women, strong and beautiful, + Whose shoulders pushed along the world's great wheel; + Landscapes, where cloud and mountain rose as one, + Where rivers crept in secret vales, or rolled + Past city walls, whose towers and palaces + By slaves were builded, and by princes fallen! + And books whose pages ever told one tale, + The tale of human love, in joy or pain, + The seed of our last hope--Eternity. + Days glided by, this mirage cheating all; + Morn came, eve went, and we were tranquil still. + If form, and sound, and color fail to show, + By poet's, painter's, sculptor's noble touch, + The subtle truth of Nature, can I tell + How Nature poised my mind in light and shade? + + But Memory is immortal, and to me + She advanced, silent, slow, a muffled shape. + One moonlight night I walked through long white lanes; + The sky and sea were like a frosted web; + The air was heavy with familiar scents, + Which travelled down the wind, I knew from where-- + The fragrance of a grove of Northern pines. + My feet were hastening thither--and my heart! + At last I stood before a funeral mound, + From which I fled when vanished love and life-- + Long years ago--fled from my father's house; + Banished myself, to banish him I loved-- + His broken history and his early grave. + And in the moonlight Memory floated on, + Immortal, with my now immortal Love! + + + + + THE TRYST. + + + Impelled by memory in a wayward mood, + Reluctant, yearning, with a faithless mind, + I sought once more a long neglected spot, + A wooded upland bordered by the sea, + Whose tides were swirling up the reedy sands, + Or floating noiseless in the yellow marsh. + My way was wild. The winds, awaking, smote + My face, but as I passed a ruined wall + Brambles and vines and waving blossoms dashed + A frolic-welcome, like a summer rain. + Shouldering the hills against the murky east + Stood stalwart oaks, and in the mossy sod + Below the trembling birches whispered me, + "Not here!" I reached the silence-loving pines, + And lingered. The mists swept from the wooded hills, + And, rolling seaward, hid the anchored ships. + So, happy, dreaming an old dream again, + Of keeping tryst in secret on the knoll, + I wandered on, listening in dreamy maze + To sounds I thought familiar,--the approach + Of well-known footsteps in the leafy path,-- + A murmuring voice calling me by name! + Through the pine shafts the sunless light of dawn + Stole. Day was come. My dream would be fulfilled! + Above the hills the sky began to blaze, + And ushering morn the west flushed rosy-red; + Then, the Sun leaping from his bed of gold, + Scattered cloud-banners, crimson, gray, and white. + There was my shadow in the leafy path + Alone,--none was to keep the tryst with me! + No voice, no step among the hills I heard. + The joyous swallows from their nestlings flew, + Mad in the light with song. Far out at sea + The white sails fluttered in the eager breeze, + But Day was silent holding tryst with me,-- + My pilgrimage rewarded--faith restored. + + + + + NO ANSWER. + + + You tell me not, green multitude of leaves, + Mingling and whirling with the willful breeze, + Nor you, bright grasses, trembling blade to blade, + What meaneth June, to hap us every year? + + The spirit of the flowers is watching now, + As winking in the sun they suck the dew, + The thickets parley with the splendid fields-- + What meaneth June, to hap us every year? + + Up where the brook laps round the shining flags, + And tinkling foam bells pass the weedy shore, + And where the willow swings above the trout-- + What meaneth June, to hap us every year? + + The clouds hold knowledge in their snowy peaks, + They hide it in their moving fleecy folds, + They share it with the sunset's golden isles-- + What meaneth June, to hap us every year? + + Fullness and sweetness, and the power of life, + Must I in ignorance remain alone, + And yield the quest of speech for certain proof? + What meaneth June, to hap us every year? + + Sweetness and beauty, and the power of life, + Is it creation's anthem--parts for all? + Is this the knowledge--will you answer me + What meaneth June, to hap us every year? + + + + + ON THE HILLTOP. + + "By the margent of the sea + I would build myself a home." + + + Not by the margent of the sea, + But on the hilltop I would be, + My little house a mossy den, + Between me and the world of men. + Beside me dips a wide ravine, + Covered with a flowery screen; + Far round me rise a band of hills, + Whose voices reach me by their rills, + Or deep susurrus of the wood, + That stands in stately brotherhood, + Upholding one vast web of green, + Whereunder foot has never been-- + The pine and elm, the birch and oak-- + And thus their voices me invoke: + "If you would on the hilltop be, + We cannot share your misery; + Cease, cease this moaning for the Past: + The law of grief can never last." + When springtime brings anemones, + Upon the sod I take my ease, + Or search for Arethusa's pink, + Along the torrent's ragged brink; + Or in the tinted April hours + I watch the curtain of the showers + That fall beneath a lurking cloud, + Which for a moment throws a shroud + On the sun's arrows in the west, + Till it blaze up a golden crest. + The young moon bends her crescent horn + Against the lingering summer morn; + Then, riding down the starry sky, + She follows me till night goes by. + And when the dawn breaks on yon town, + I think the sleepers lying down + Must rise to shoulder dismal care + Methinks that once was but my fare. + But I upon the hilltop yet + Am free from every tangling fret; + So ever thus, in peace of mind, + I give my pity to my kind. + For me this noble solitude! + And as I face its varying mood, + Reflected in its every show, + Some higher self I come to know. + See, autumn here, with color glad, + Not like the poets--russet clad-- + But scarlet, umber, green, and gold; + Then in a breath I must behold + The autumn winds tear down my screen, + And leave me not a leaf to glean. + The snow will cover glen and height, + And all my hilltop glisten white; + I see the crystal atoms fly + Under the dome of this gray sky. + Like gnomes are they, these spectral gleams? + Or shall I guess them only dreams? + Whatever is the truth, I say, + If up and down the world I stray, + Still on the hilltop I would be, + Not by the margent of the sea! + + + + + THE MESSAGE. + + + To you, my comrades, whether far or near, + I send this message. Let our past revive; + Come, sound reveille to our hearts once more. + Expecting, I shall wait till at my door + I see you enter, each and every one + Tumultuous, eager all, with clamorous speech, + To hide my stammering welcome and my tears. + I am no host carousing long and late, + Enticing guests with epicurean hints; + Nor am I Timon, sick of this sad world, + Who, jesting, cries, "The sky is overhead, + And underneath that famous rest, the earth: + Show me the man who can have more at last." + + Without, the thunder of the city rolls; + Within, the quiet of the student reigns. + There is a change. Time was a childish voice. + Sweet as the lark's when from her nest she soars, + Thrilled over all, and vanished into heaven. + Music once triumphed here: the skilful hand + Of him who rarely struck the keys, and woke + My soul in harmony grand as his own, + Is folded on his breast, my soldier love. + Here hangs his portrait, under it his sword; + He served his country, and his grave's afar. + Dread not this place as one to relics given, + Though I have decked with amaranth my wall, + The testimony of a later loss-- + His who long wandering in foreign lands, + Then dying, crossed the sea to die with me. + Behold the sunrise and the morning clouds + On yonder canvas, misty mountain-peaks-- + The simple grandeur of a perfect art! + Behold these vivid woods, that gleam beside + The happy vision of an autumn eve, + When red leaves fall, and redder sunsets fade! + The world grows pensive sinking into night, + Whose melancholy space hides sighing winds: + Can they reply to sadder human speech? + What centuries are counted here--my books! + Shadows of mighty men; the chorus, hark! + The antique chant vibrates, and Fate compels! + + Comrades, return; the midnight lamp shall gleam + As in old nights; the chaplets woven then-- + Withered, perhaps, by time--may grace us yet; + The laurel faded is the laurel still, + And some of us are heroes to ourselves. + And amber wine shall flow; the blue smoke wreathe + In droll disputes, with metaphysics mixed; + Or float as lightly as the quick-spun verse, + Threading the circle round from thought to thought, + Sparkling and fresh as is the airy web + Spread on the hedge at morn in silver dew. + The scent of roses you remember well; + In the green vases they shall bloom again. + And me--do you remember? I remain + Unchanged, I think; though one I saw like me + Some years ago, with hair that was not white; + And she was with you then, as brave a soul + As souls can be whom Fate has not approached. + But seek and find me now, unchanged or changed, + Mirthful in tears, and in my laughter sad. + + + + + EXILE. + + + Blind in these stony streets, dumb in their crowds, + What can I do but dream of other days? + Whose is the love I had, and have not now? + If it be Nature's, let her answer me. + It wanders by the blue, monotonous sea, + Where rushes grow, or follows all the sweep + Of shallow summer brooks and umber pools. + Or does it linger in those hidden paths + Where starlike blossoms blow among dead leaves, + And dark groves murmur over darker shrubs, + Birds with their fledgelings sleep, and pale moths flit? + With sunset's crimson flags perhaps it goes, + And reappears with yellow Jupiter, + Riding the West beside the crescent moon. + Comes it with sunrise, when the sunrise floats + From Night's bold towers, vast in the East, and gray + Till tower and wall flash into fiery clouds, + Moving along the verge, stately and slow, + Ordered by the old music of the spheres? + Perchance it trembles in October's oaks; + Or, twining with the brilliant, berried vine, + Would hide the tender, melancholy elm. + Well might it rest within those solemn woods + Where sunlight never falls--whose tops are green + With airs from heaven,--its balmy mists and rains,-- + While underneath black, mossy, mammoth rocks + Keep silence with the waste of blighted boughs. + If winter riots with the wreathing snow, + And ocean, tossing all his threatening plumes, + And winds, that tear the hollow, murky sky, + Can this, my love, which dwells no more with me, + Find dwelling there,--like some storm-driven bird, + That knows not whence it flew, nor where to fly, + Between the world of sea and world of cloud, + At last drops dead in the remorseless deep? + + + + + A SEASIDE IDYL. + + + I wandered to the shore, nor knew I then + What my desire,--whether for wild lament, + Or sweet regret, to fill the idle pause + Of twilight, melancholy in my house, + And watch the flowing tide, the passing sails, + Or to implore the air, and sea, and sky, + For that eternal passion in their power + Which souls like mine who ponder on their fate + May feel, and be as they--gods to themselves. + Thither I went, whatever was my mood. + The sands, the rocks, and beds of bending sedge, + I saw alone. Between the east and west, + Along the beach no creature moved besides. + High on the eastern point a lighthouse shone; + Steered by its lamp a ship stood out to sea, + And vanished from its rays towards the deep, + While in the west, above a wooded isle, + An island-cloud hung in the emerald sky, + Hiding pale Venus in its sombre shade. + I wandered up and down the sands, I loitered + Among the rocks, and trampled through the sedge: + But I grew weary of the stocks and stones. + "I will go hence," I thought; "the Elements + Have lost their charm; my soul is dead to-night. + Oh passive, creeping Sea, and stagnant Air, + Farewell! Dull sands, and rocks, and sedge, farewell." + Homeward I turned my face, but stayed my feet. + Should I go back but to revive again + The ancient pain? Hark! suddenly there came + From over sea, a sound like that of speech; + And suddenly I felt my pulses leap + As though some Presence were approaching me. + Loud as the voice of Ocean's dark-haired king + A breeze came down the sea,--the sea rose high; + The surging waves sang round me--this their song: + "Oh, yet your love will triumph! He shall come + In love's wild tumult; he shall come once more,-- + By tracks of ocean or by paths of earth; + The wanderer will reach you and remain." + The breakers dashed among the rocks, and they + Seemed full of life; the foam dissolved the sands, + And the sedge trembled in the swelling tide. + Was this a promise of the vaunting Sea, + Or the illusion of a last despair? + Either, or both, still homeward I must go, + And that way turned mine eyes, and thought they met + A picture,--surely so,--or I was mad. + The crimson harvest-moon was rising full + Above my roof, and glimmered on my walls. + Within the doorway stood a man I knew-- + No picture this. I saw approaching me + Him I had hoped for, grieved for, and despaired. + "My ship is wrecked," he cried, "and I return + Never to leave my love. You are my love?" + "I too am wrecked," I sighed, "by lonely years; + Returning, you but find another wreck." + He bent his face to search my own, and spake: + "What I have traversed sea and land to find, + I find. For liberty I fought, and life, + On savage shores and wastes of unknown seas, + While waiting for this hour. Oh, think you not + Immortal love mates with immortal love + Always? And now, at last, we know this love." + My soul was filling with a mighty joy + I could not show--yet must I show my love. + "From you whose will divided broke our hearts + I now demand a different kiss than that + Which then you said should be our parting kiss. + Given, I vow the past shall be forgot. + The kiss--and we are one! Give me the kiss." + Like the dark rocks upon the sands he stood, + When on his breast I fell, and kissed his lips. + All the wild clangor of the sea was hushed; + The rapid silver waves ran each to each, + Lapsed in the deep with joyous, murmured sighs. + Years of repentance mine, forgiveness his, + To tell. Happy, we paced the tranquil shores, + Till between sea and sky we saw the sun, + And all our wiser, loving days began. + + + + + THE CHIMNEY-SWALLOW'S IDYL. + + + From where I built the nest for my first young, + In the high chimney of this ancient house, + I saw the household fires burn and go down, + And know what was and is forever gone. + My dusky, swift-winged fledgelings, flying far + To seek their mates in clustered eaves or towers, + Would linger not to learn what I have learned, + Soaring through air or steering over sea-- + These single, solitary walls must fade. + But I return, inhabiting my nest, + A little simple bird, which still survives + The noble souls now vanished from this hearth; + And none are here besides but she who shares + My life, and pensive vigil holds with me. + No longer does she mourn; she lives serene; + I see her mother's beauty in her face, + I see her father's quiet pride and power, + The linked traits and traces of her race; + Her brothers dying, like strong sapling trees + Hewn down by violent blows prone in dense woods, + Covered with aged boughs, decaying slow. + She muses thus: "Beauty once more abides; + The rude alarm of death, its wild amaze + Is over now. The chance of change has passed; + No doubtful hopes are mine, no restless dread, + No last word to be spoken, kiss to give + And take in passion's agony and end. + They cannot come to me, but in good time + I shall rejoin my silent company, + And melt among them, as the sunset clouds + Melt in gray spaces of the coming night." + So she holds dear as I this tranquil spot, + And all the flowers that blow, and maze of green, + The meadows daisy-full, or brown and sere; + The shore which bounds the waves I love to skim, + And dash my purple wings against the breeze. + When breaks the day I twitter loud and long, + To make her rise and watch the vigorous sun + Come from his sea-bed in the weltering deep, + And smell the dewy grass, still rank with sleep. + I hover through the twilight round her eaves, + And dart above, before her, in her path, + Till, with a smile, she gives me all her mind; + And in the deep of night, lest she be sad + In sleepless thought, I stir me in my nest, + And murmur as I murmur to my young; + She makes no answer, but I know she hears; + And all the cherished pictures in her thoughts + Grow bright because of _me_, her swallow friend! + + + + + LAST DAYS. + + + As one who follows a departing friend, + Destined to cross the great, dividing sea, + I watch and follow these departing days, + That go so grandly, lifting up their crowns + Still regal, though their victor Autumn comes. + Gifts they bestow, which I accept, return, + As gifts exchanged between a loving pair, + Who may possess them as memorials + Of pleasures ended by the shadow--Death. + What matter which shall vanish hence, if both + Are transitory--me, and these bright hours-- + And of the future ignorant alike? + From all our social thralls I would be free. + Let care go down the wind--as hounds afar, + Within their kennels baying unseen foes, + Give to calm sleepers only calmer dreams. + Here will I rest alone: the morning mist + Conceals no form but mine; the evening dew + Freshens but faded flowers and my worn face. + When the noon basks among the wooded hills + I too will bask, as silent as the air + So thick with sun-motes, dyed like yellow gold, + Or colored purple like an unplucked plum. + The thrush, now lonesome, for her young have flown, + May flutter her brown wings across my path; + And creatures of the sod with brilliant eyes + May leap beside me, and familiar grow. + The moon shall rise among her floating clouds, + Black, vaporous fans, and crinkled globes of pearl, + And her sweet silver light be given to me. + To watch and follow these departing days + Must be my choice; and let me mated be + With Solitude; may memory and hope + Unite to give me faith that nothing dies; + To show me always, what I pray to know, + That man alone may speak the word--_Farewell_. + +*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 12391 *** diff --git a/12391-h/12391-h.htm b/12391-h/12391-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..2e4da3c --- /dev/null +++ b/12391-h/12391-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,2749 @@ +<!DOCTYPE html PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN" +"http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd"> +<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml" xml:lang="en" lang="en"> +<head> +<meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html;charset=UTF-8" /> +<meta http-equiv="Content-Style-Type" content="text/css" /> +<title>The Project Gutenberg eBook of Poems, by Elizabeth Stoddard</title> +<style type="text/css"> + + P { margin-top: .75em; 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+ text-indent: 0em; + margin-top: 1em; + margin-bottom: 1em; } + +</style> +</head> +<body> +<div>*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 12391 ***</div> + +<h1>POEMS</h1> + +<h3>BY</h3> + +<h2>ELIZABETH STODDARD</h2> + +<p class="center"> +1895 +</p> + +<hr /> + +<h2><a name="CONTENT"></a>CONTENTS</h2> + +<p class="noindent"> +<a href="#POETSSECRET"><span style="margin-left: 1em;">THE POET'S SECRET</span></a><br/> +<a href="#NOVEMBER"><span style="margin-left: 1em;">NOVEMBER</span></a><br/> +<a href="#MUSICINACROWD"><span style="margin-left: 1em;">MUSIC IN A CROWD</span></a><br/> +<a href="#STRANGERSGATE"><span style="margin-left: 1em;">"I LIVE WITHIN THE STRANGER'S GATE"</span></a><br/> +<a href="#HOUSEOFYOUTH"><span style="margin-left: 1em;">THE HOUSE OF YOUTH</span></a><br/> +<a href="#HOUSEBYTHESEA"><span style="margin-left: 1em;">THE HOUSE BY THE SEA</span></a><br/> +<a href="#CHRISTMAS"><span style="margin-left: 1em;">CHRISTMAS COMES AGAIN</span></a><br/> +<a href="#MARCH"><span style="margin-left: 1em;">MARCH</span></a><br/> +<a href="#SPRINGAFAR"><span style="margin-left: 1em;">THE SPRING AFAR</span></a><br/> +<a href="#WHY"><span style="margin-left: 1em;">WHY?</span></a><br/> +<a href="#AUGUST"><span style="margin-left: 1em;">AUGUST</span></a><br/> +<a href="#OCTOBER"><span style="margin-left: 1em;">OCTOBER</span></a><br/> +<a href="#WILLOWBOUGHS"><span style="margin-left: 1em;">"THE WILLOW BOUGHS ARE YELLOW NOW"</span></a><br/> +<a href="#STILLSTARLIT"><span style="margin-left: 1em;">"IN THE STILL, STAR-LIT NIGHT"</span></a><br/> +<a href="#AUTUMN"><span style="margin-left: 1em;">AUTUMN</span></a><br/> +<a href="#AUTUMNSHEAF"><span style="margin-left: 1em;">THE AUTUMN SHEAF</span></a><br/> +<a href="#INTHECITY"><span style="margin-left: 1em;">IN THE CITY</span></a><br/> +<a href="#LOVEYOUPAIN"><span style="margin-left: 1em;">"I LOVE YOU, BUT A SENSE OF PAIN"</span></a><br/> +<a href="#NAMELESSPAIN"><span style="margin-left: 1em;">NAMELESS PAIN</span></a><br/> +<a href="#BABYSONG"><span style="margin-left: 1em;">A BABY SONG</span></a><br/> +<a href="#WIFESPEAKS"><span style="margin-left: 1em;">THE WIFE SPEAKS</span></a><br/> +<a href="#HUSBANDSPEAKS"><span style="margin-left: 1em;">THE HUSBAND SPEAKS</span></a><br/> +<a href="#ONEMORN"><span style="margin-left: 1em;">"ONE MORN I LEFT HIM IN HIS BED"</span></a><br/> +<a href="#MIRROR"><span style="margin-left: 1em;">BEFORE THE MIRROR</span></a><br/> +<a href="#SHADOWSOFWATER"><span style="margin-left: 1em;">"THE SHADOWS ON THE WATER REACH"</span></a><br/> +<a href="#SUMMERNIGHT"><span style="margin-left: 1em;">A SUMMER NIGHT</span></a><br/> +<a href="#FANME"><span style="margin-left: 1em;">"FAN ME WITH THESE LILIES FAIR"</span></a><br/> +<a href="#WILDWILDDAYS"><span style="margin-left: 1em;">"OH, THE WILD, WILD DAYS OF YOUTH!"</span></a><br/> +<a href="#ONMYBED"><span style="margin-left: 1em;">"ON MY BED OF A WINTER NIGHT"</span></a><br/> +<a href="#HALLO"><span style="margin-left: 1em;">"HALLO! MY FANCY, WHITHER WILT THOU GO?"</span></a><br/> +<a href="#YOULEFTME"><span style="margin-left: 1em;">YOU LEFT ME</span></a><br/> +<a href="#OFRIEND"><span style="margin-left: 1em;">"O FRIEND, BEGIN A LOFTIER SONG"</span></a><br/> +<a href="#NOWTHATTHEPAIN"><span style="margin-left: 1em;">"NOW THAT THE PAIN IS GONE, I TOO CAN SMILE"</span></a><br/> +<a href="#COLONELSSHIELD"><span style="margin-left: 1em;">THE COLONEL'S SHIELD</span></a><br/> +<a href="#FEWIDLEWORDS"><span style="margin-left: 1em;">A FEW IDLE WORDS</span></a><br/> +<a href="#VERS"><span style="margin-left: 1em;">VERS DE SOCIÉTÉ</span></a><br/> +<a href="#RACE"><span style="margin-left: 1em;">THE RACE</span></a><br/> +<a href="#WOLFTAMER"><span style="margin-left: 1em;">THE WOLF-TAMER</span></a><br/> +<a href="#ABBOTOFUNREASON"><span style="margin-left: 1em;">THE ABBOT OF UNREASON</span></a><br/> +<a href="#ELMANOLO"><span style="margin-left: 1em;">EL MANOLO</span></a><br/> +<a href="#MERCEDES"><span style="margin-left: 1em;">MERCEDES</span></a><br/> +<a href="#BULLFIGHT"><span style="margin-left: 1em;">THE BULL-FIGHT</span></a><br/> +<a href="#CAMPAGNA"><span style="margin-left: 1em;">ON THE CAMPAGNA</span></a><br/> +<a href="#QUEENDEPOSED"><span style="margin-left: 1em;">THE QUEEN DEPOSED</span></a><br/> +<a href="#AUNIT"><span style="margin-left: 1em;">A UNIT</span></a><br/> +<a href="#ZANTHON"><span style="margin-left: 1em;">ZANTHON—MY FRIEND</span></a><br/> +<a href="#ACHILLESINORCUS"><span style="margin-left: 1em;">ACHILLES IN ORCUS</span></a><br/> +<a href="#ABOVETHETREE"><span style="margin-left: 1em;">ABOVE THE TREE</span></a><br/> +<a href="#TOANARTIST"><span style="margin-left: 1em;">TO AN ARTIST</span></a><br/> +<a href="#LANDSCAPE"><span style="margin-left: 1em;">A LANDSCAPE</span></a><br/> +<a href="#HEADLAND"><span style="margin-left: 1em;">FROM THE HEADLAND</span></a><br/> +<a href="#ASONE"><span style="margin-left: 1em;">AS ONE</span></a><br/> +<a href="#VISITINGS"><span style="margin-left: 1em;">THE VISITINGS OF TRUTH KNOWN ELSEWHERE</span></a><br/> +<a href="#WEMUSTWAIT"><span style="margin-left: 1em;">WE MUST WAIT</span></a><br/> +<a href="#UNRETURNING"><span style="margin-left: 1em;">UNRETURNING</span></a><br/> +<a href="#CLOSED"><span style="margin-left: 1em;">CLOSED</span></a><br/> +<a href="#MEMORYISIMMORTAL"><span style="margin-left: 1em;">MEMORY IS IMMORTAL</span></a><br/> +<a href="#THETRYST"><span style="margin-left: 1em;">THE TRYST</span></a><br/> +<a href="#NOANSWER"><span style="margin-left: 1em;">NO ANSWER</span></a><br/> +<a href="#ONTHEHILLTOP"><span style="margin-left: 1em;">ON THE HILLTOP</span></a><br/> +<a href="#THEMESSAGE"><span style="margin-left: 1em;">THE MESSAGE</span></a><br/> +<a href="#EXILE"><span style="margin-left: 1em;">EXILE</span></a><br/> +<a href="#SEASIDEIDYL"><span style="margin-left: 1em;">A SEASIDE IDYL</span></a><br/> +<a href="#CHIMNEYSWALLOWSIDYL"><span style="margin-left: 1em;">THE CHIMNEY-SWALLOW'S IDYL</span></a><br/> +<a href="#LASTDAYS"><span style="margin-left: 1em;">LAST DAYS</span></a><br/> +</p> + +<hr /> + +<h2><a name="POEMS"></a>POEMS</h2> + + +<p class="noindent"> +<a name="POETSSECRET"><span style="margin-left: 1em;"><b>THE POET'S SECRET.</b></span><br/> +</a> <br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The poet's secret I must know,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">If that will calm my restless mind.</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">I hail the seasons as they go,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">I woo the sunshine, brave the wind.</span><br/> +<br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">I scan the lily and the rose,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">I nod to every nodding tree,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">I follow every stream that flows,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">And wait beside the steadfast sea.</span><br/> +<br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">I question melancholy eyes,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">I touch the lips of women fair:</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Their lips and eyes may make me wise,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">But what I seek for is not there.</span><br/> +<br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">In vain I watch the day and night,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">In vain the world through space may roll:</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">I never see the mystic light</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Which fills the poet's happy soul.</span><br/> +<br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Through life I hear the rhythmic flow</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Whose meaning into song must turn;</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Revealing all he longs to know,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">The secret each alone must learn.</span><br/> +<br/> +<br/> +<br/> +<br/> + <a name="NOVEMBER"><span style="margin-left: 1em;"><b>NOVEMBER.</b></span><br/> +</a> <br/> + <span style="margin-left: 1em;">Much have I spoken of the faded leaf;</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Long have I listened to the wailing wind,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And watched it ploughing through the heavy clouds,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">For autumn charms my melancholy mind.</span><br/> +<br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">When autumn comes, the poets sing a dirge:</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">The year must perish; all the flowers are dead;</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The sheaves are gathered; and the mottled quail</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Runs in the stubble, but the lark has fled!</span><br/> +<br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Still, autumn ushers in the Christmas cheer,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">The holly-berries and the ivy-tree:</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">They weave a chaplet for the Old Year's bier</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">These waiting mourners do not sing for me!</span><br/> +<br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">I find sweet peace in depths of autumn woods.</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Where grow the ragged ferns and roughened moss;</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The naked, silent trees have taught me this,—</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">The loss of beauty is not always loss!</span><br/> +<br/> +<br/> +<br/> +<br/> + <a name="MUSICINACROWD"><span style="margin-left: 1em;"><b>MUSIC IN A CROWD.</b></span><br/> +</a> <br/> + <span style="margin-left: 1em;">When I hear music, whether waltz or psalm,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Among a crowd, I find myself alone;</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">It does not touch me with a soothing balm,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">But brings an echo like a moan</span><br/> +<br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">From some far country where a palace rose,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">In which I reigned with Cleopatra's pride:</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">"Come, Charmian! bring the asp for my repose."</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">And queenly, men shall say, she died.</span><br/> +<br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">There lived and ruled a happy, noble race,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Primeval souls who held imperial power—</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">My kindred, gone forever from their place,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">And I am here without a dower!</span><br/> +<br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">They were a Vision, though. And are these real,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">These men and women, moving as in sleep,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Who, smiling, gesture to the same Ideal,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">For which the music makes me weep?</span><br/> +<br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Have they my longings for that other world</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">New to them yet? I grant that Music's swell</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Is like the sea; they may be thither hurled</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">By storms that thunder and compel;</span><br/> +<br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Or, like those voyagers in the land of streams,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Glide through its languid air, its languid wave,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">To learn that <i>Here</i> and <i>There</i> are but two dreams,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">That end in Nothing and the Grave!</span><br/> +<br/> +<br/> +<br/> +<br/> + <a name="STRANGERSGATE"><span style="margin-left: 1em;"><b>"I LIVE WITHIN THE STRANGER'S GATE."</b></span><br/> +</a> <br/> + <span style="margin-left: 1em;">I.</span><br/> +<br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">I live within the stranger's gate,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">And count the hours</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Since God let fall the bolt of fate!</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Where the waves fall on yonder shore</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">In cloudy spray,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And where the winds forever roar,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The pillars of a mansion stand,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Without a roof;</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The saddest ruin in the land!</span><br/> + <br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">II.</span><br/> +<br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">When sunset strikes across the sea</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">The wreck looms up;</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Then Memory comes, and touches me.</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">I see a pitiful white face</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Break through the mould</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Decaying at the pillar's base,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And hands that beckon me to prayer.</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">But I still curse,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And wake the Furies slumbering there!</span><br/> + <br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">III.</span><br/> +<br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">In the strange drama of the Past</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">It was my part</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">To hold carousal to the last;</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">It was for me to hide the shame,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">And brave the world</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">With lies about our ancient name!</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">I played it well, and played it long:</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">But let it pass,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The world has never known the 'wrong.</span><br/> + <br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">IV.</span><br/> +<br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Upheave, black mould, and totter all</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">The ruin down!</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Fall, monumental pillars, fall,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Upon her grave! Above her breast</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">May ivy creep,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And roses blow! I choose to rest.</span><br/> +<br/> +<br/> +<br/> +<br/> + <a name="HOUSEOFYOUTH"><span style="margin-left: 1em;"><b>THE HOUSE OF YOUTH.</b></span><br/> +</a> <br/> + <span style="margin-left: 1em;">The rough north winds have left their icy caves</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">To growl and grope for prey</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">Upon the murky sea;</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The lonely sea-gull skims the sullen waves</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">All the gray winter day.</span><br/> +<br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The mottled sand-bird runneth up and down,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Amongst the creaking sedge,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">Along the crusted beach;</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The time-stained houses of the sea-walled town</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Seem tottering on its edge.</span><br/> +<br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">An ancient dwelling, in this ancient place,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Stands in a garden drear,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">A wreck with other wrecks;</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The Past is there, but no one sees a face</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Within, from year to year.</span><br/> +<br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The wiry rose-trees scratch the window-pane;</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">The window rattles loud;</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">The wind beats at the door,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">But never gets an answer back again,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">The silence is so proud.</span><br/> +<br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The last that lived there was an evil man;</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">A child the last that died,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">Upon the mother's breast.</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">It seemed to die by some mysterious ban;</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Its grave is by the side</span><br/> +<br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Of an old tree, whose notched and scanty leaves</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Repeat the tale of woe,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">And quiver day and night,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Till the snow cometh, and a cold shroud weaves,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Whiter than that below.</span><br/> +<br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">This time of year a woman wanders there—</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">They say from distant lands:</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">She wears a foreign dress,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">With jewels on her breast, and her fair hair</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">In braided coils and bands.</span><br/> +<br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The ancient dwelling and the garden drear</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">At night know something more:</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">Without her foreign dress</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Or blazing gems, this woman stealeth near</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">The threshold of the door.</span><br/> +<br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The shadow strikes against the window-pane;</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">She thrusts the thorns away:</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">Her eyes peer through the glass,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And down the glass her great tears drip, like rain,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">In the gray winter day.</span><br/> +<br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The moon shines down the dismal garden track,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">And lights the little mound;</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">But when she ventures there,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The black and threatening branches wave her back,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">And guard the ghostly ground.</span><br/> +<br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">What is the story of this buried Past?</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Were all its doors flung wide,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">For us to search its rooms,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And we to see the race, from first to last,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">And how they lived and died:—</span><br/> +<br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Still would it baffle and perplex the brain.</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">But show this bitter truth:</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">Man lives not in the past:</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">None but a woman ever comes again</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Back to the House of Youth!</span><br/> +<br/> +<br/> +<br/> +<br/> +<a name="HOUSEBYTHESEA"><span style="margin-left: 1em;"><b>THE HOUSE BY THE SEA.</b></span><br/> +</a> <br/> + <span style="margin-left: 1em;">To-night I do the bidding of a ghost,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">A ghost that knows my misery;</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">In the lone dark I hear his wailing boast,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">"Now shalt thou speak with me."</span><br/> +<br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Must I go back where all is desolate,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Where reigns the terror of a curse,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">To knock, a beggar, at my father's gate,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">That closed upon a hearse?</span><br/> +<br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The old stone pier has crumbled in the sea;</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">The tide flows through the garden wall;</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Where grew the lily, and where hummed the bee,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Black seaweeds rise and fall.</span><br/> +<br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">I see the empty nests beneath the eaves;</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">No bird is near; the vines have died;</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The orchard trees have lost the joy of leaves,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">The oaks their lordly pride.</span><br/> +<br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Of what avail to set ajar the door</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Through which, when ruin fell, I fled?</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">If on the threshold I should stand once more,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Shall I behold the dead?</span><br/> +<br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Shall I behold, as on that fatal night,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">My mother from the window start,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">When she was blasted by the evil sight,—</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">The shame that broke her heart?</span><br/> +<br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The yellow grass grows on my sister's grave;</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Her room is dark—she is not there;</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">I feel the rain, and hear the wild wind rave—</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">My tears, and my despair.</span><br/> +<br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">A white-haired man is singing a sad song</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Amid the ashes on the hearth;</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">"Ashes to ashes, I have moaned so long</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">I am alone on earth."</span><br/> +<br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">No more! no more! I cannot bear this pain;</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Shut the foul annals of my race;</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Accursed the hand that opens them again,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">My dowry of disgrace.</span><br/> +<br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And so, farewell, thou bitter, bitter ghost!</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">When morning comes the shadows fly;</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Before we part, I give this merry toast,—</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;"><i>The dead that do not die</i>!</span><br/> +<br/> +<br/> +<br/> +<br/> +<a name="CHRISTMAS"><span style="margin-left: 1em;"><b>CHRISTMAS COMES AGAIN.</b></span><br/> +</a> <br/> + <span style="margin-left: 1em;">Let me be merry now, 't is time;</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">The season is at hand</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">For Christmas rhyme and Christmas chime,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Close up, and form the band.</span><br/> +<br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The winter fires still burn as bright,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">The lamp-light is as clear,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And since the dead are out of sight,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">What hinders Christmas cheer?</span><br/> +<br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Why think or speak of that abyss</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">In which lies all my Past?</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">High festival I need not miss,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">While song and jest shall last.</span><br/> +<br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">We'll clink and drink on Christmas Eve,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Our ghosts can feel no wrong;</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">They revelled ere they took their leave—</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Hearken, my Soldier's Song:</span><br/> +<br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">"The morning air doth coldly pass,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Comrades, to the saddle spring:</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The night more bitter cold will bring</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Ere dying—ere dying.</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Sweetheart, come, the parting glass;</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Glass and sabre, clash, clash, clash,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Ere dying—ere dying.</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Stirrup-cup and stirrup-kiss—</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Do you hope the foe we'll miss,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Sweetheart, for this loving kiss,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Ere dying—ere dying?"</span><br/> +<br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The feasts and revels of the year</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Do ghosts remember long?</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Even in memory come they here?</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Listen, my Sailor's Song:</span><br/> +<br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">"O my hearties, yo heave ho!</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Anchor's up in Jolly Bay—</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Hey!</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Pipes and swipes, hob and nob—</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Hey!</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Mermaid Bess and Dolphin Meg,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Paddle over Jolly Bay—</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Hey!</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Tars, haul in for Christmas Day,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">For round the 'varsal deep we go;</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Never church, never bell,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">For to tell</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Of Christmas Day.</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Yo heave ho, my hearties O!</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Haul in, mates, here we lay—</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Hey!"</span><br/> +<br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">His sword is rusting in its sheath,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">His flag furled on the wall;</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">We'll twine them with a holly-wreath,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">With green leaves cover all.</span><br/> +<br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">So clink and drink when falls the eve;</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">But, comrades, hide from me</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Their graves—I would not see them heave</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Beside me, like the sea.</span><br/> +<br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Let not my brothers come again,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">As men dead in their prime;</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Then hold my hands, forget my pain,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">And strike the Christmas chime.</span><br/> +<br/> +<br/> +<br/> +<br/> +<a name="MARCH"><span style="margin-left: 1em;"><b>MARCH.</b></span><br/> +</a> <br/> + <span style="margin-left: 1em;">Ho, wind of March, speed over sea,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">From mountains where the snows lie deep</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">The cruel glaciers threatening creep,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And witness this, my jubilee!</span><br/> +<br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Roar from the surf of boreal isles,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Roar from the hidden, jagged steeps,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Where the destroyer never sleeps;</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Ring through the iceberg's Gothic piles!</span><br/> +<br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Voyage through space with your wild train,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Harping its shrillest, searching tone,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Or wailing deep its ancient moan,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And learn how impotent your reign.</span><br/> +<br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Then hover by this garden bed,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">With all your wilful power, behold,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Just breaking from the leafy mould,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">My little primrose lift its head!</span><br/> +<br/> +<br/> +<br/> +<br/> +<a name="SPRINGAFAR"><span style="margin-left: 1em;"><b>THE SPRING AFAR.</b></span><br/> +</a> <br/> + <span style="margin-left: 1em;">Far from the empire of my present days,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Where I perforce remain,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The wild, fresh airs of Spring blow to and fro,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Piping out Winter's reign.</span><br/> +<br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">I know the rosy wind-flowers spread like clouds</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Above the leafy mould,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And pollard willows over shallow pools</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Stretch out their rods of gold.</span><br/> +<br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">I hear the waters in the mossy swamps</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Start on their ocean quest,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Gliding through meadows, murmuring in woods,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Till reaching final rest.</span><br/> +<br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Fixed in my thoughts is Spring, so long remote,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Though Spring cannot endow</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">As Summer can, or yield sweet Autumn's peace:</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">'T is that my heart needs now;</span><br/> +<br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Or hope—maybe that Spring and Hope are one.</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Therefore I should not ask</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">For leave from this my place: <i>both</i> may be near,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Behind my daily mask.</span><br/> +<br/> +<br/> +<br/> +<br/> +<a name="WHY"><span style="margin-left: 1em;"><b>WHY?</b></span><br/> +</a> <br/> + <span style="margin-left: 1em;">Why did I go where roses grew,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And meadow larks which skyward flew</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">From grasses sparkling in the dew,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The yellow sunshine pouring through?</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">What was there for me to find?</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Were they to learn my froward mind?</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">From far across vast summer seas,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Rifling green marshes, bending trees,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Driving cloud-shadows down the air,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Keen breezes smote me here and there,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Keen breezes crying, <i>Why, why, why</i>?</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And nothing had I to reply!</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Beings with neither soul nor sense,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Convicting me with their pretence;</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Beings of change,—but what am I,—</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Once more repeating, <i>Why, why, why</i>?</span><br/> +<br/> +<br/> +<br/> +<br/> +<a name="AUGUST"><span style="margin-left: 1em;"><b>AUGUST.</b></span><br/> +</a> <br/> + <span style="margin-left: 1em;">Read by the wayside, read by the brook,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">That this is the passion of the year;</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Look at the fields, look at the woods,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Look upon me, and—draw near!</span><br/> +<br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Just as these days are, so is my heart;</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Lilies are flaming, berries are ripe;</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Alders blow sweet, acorns are full—</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">And the bobolink's young ones pipe!</span><br/> +<br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Ponder the river, ponder the sky,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Hazy and gray, hazy and blue;</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Study the trees wed to the wind—</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">I promise you I'll be as true!</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Yes, true as August—as the birds' song,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">The sweet fern's scent, the weedy, blue shore,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The shine of vines, smilax, and grape—</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">What can you ask for more?</span><br/> +<br/> +<br/> +<br/> +<br/> +<a name="OCTOBER"><span style="margin-left: 1em;"><b>OCTOBER.</b></span><br/> +</a> <br/> + <span style="margin-left: 1em;">Falling leaves and falling men!</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">When the snows of winter fall,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And the winds of winter blow,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Will be woven Nature's pall.</span><br/> +<br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Let us, then, forsake our dead,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">For the dead will surely wait,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">While we rush upon the foe,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Eager for the hero's fate.</span><br/> +<br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Leaves will come upon the trees,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Spring will show the happy race;</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Mothers will give birth to sons,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Loyal souls to fill our place.</span><br/> +<br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Wherefore should we rest and rust?</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Soldiers, we must fight and save</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Freedom now, and give our foes</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">All their country should—a grave!</span><br/> +<br/> +<br/> +<br/> +<br/> +<a name="WILLOWBOUGHS"><span style="margin-left: 1em;"><b>"THE WILLOW BOUGHS ARE YELLOW NOW."</b></span><br/> +</a> <br/> + <span style="margin-left: 1em;">The willow boughs are yellow now,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">For spring has come again;</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The peach-tree buds begin to swell,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Dripping with April rain.</span><br/> +<br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The gray-eyed twilight lingers long,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">To meet the starry night;</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">I walk the darkening lanes alone,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">And love the sombre light.</span><br/> +<br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The dream of other days returns,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">When comes the blossomed spring;</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">But when the full leaved summer comes</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">My dream has taken wing;</span><br/> +<br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The twittering swallows in the lane</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Were there a year ago;</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The old nests in the tangled vines</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Their next year's brood will know.</span><br/> +<br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">A little brood of children fair,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Under the mother's wing,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Is in the dream of other days,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">That flies when flies the spring!</span><br/> +<br/> +<br/> +<br/> +<br/> +<a name="STILLSTARLIT"><span style="margin-left: 1em;"><b>"IN THE STILL, STAR-LIT NIGHT."</b></span><br/> +</a> <br/> + <span style="margin-left: 2em;">In the still, star-lit night,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">By the full fountain and the willow-tree,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">I walked, and not alone—</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">A spirit walked with me!</span><br/> +<br/> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">A shade fell on the grass;</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Upon the water fell a deeper shade:</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Something the willow stirred,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">For to and fro it swayed.</span><br/> +<br/> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">The grass was in a quiver,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The water trembled, and the willow-tree</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Sighed softly; I sighed loud—</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The spirit taunted me.</span><br/> +<br/> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">All the night long I walked</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">By the full fountain, dropping icy tears;</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">I tore the willow leaves,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">I tore the long, green spears!</span><br/> +<br/> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">I clutched the quaking grass,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And beat the rough bark of the willow-tree;</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">I shook the wreathed boughs,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">To make the spirit flee.</span><br/> +<br/> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">It haunted me till dawn,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">By the full fountain and the willow-tree;</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">For with myself I walked—</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">How could the spirit flee?</span><br/> +<br/> +<br/> +<br/> +<br/> +<a name="AUTUMN"><span style="margin-left: 1em;"><b>AUTUMN.</b></span><br/> +</a> <br/> + <span style="margin-left: 1em;">No melancholy days are these!</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Not where the maple changing stands,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Not in the shade of fluttering oaks,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Nor in the bands</span><br/> +<br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Of twisting vines and sturdy shrubs,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Scarlet and yellow, green and brown,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Falling, or swinging on their stalks,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Is Sorrow's crown.</span><br/> +<br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The sparkling fields of dewy grass,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Woodpaths and roadsides decked with flowers,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Starred asters and the goldenrod,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Date Autumn's hours.</span><br/> +<br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The shining banks of snowy clouds,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Steadfast in the aerial blue,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The silent, shimmering, silver sea,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">To Joy are true.</span><br/> +<br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">My spirit in this happy air</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Can thus embrace the dying year,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And with it wrap me in a shroud</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">As bright and clear!</span><br/> +<br/> +<br/> +<br/> +<br/> +<a name="AUTUMNSHEAF"><span style="margin-left: 1em;"><b>THE AUTUMN SHEAF.</b></span><br/> +</a> <br/> + <span style="margin-left: 1em;">Still I remember only autumn days,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">When golden leaves were floating in the air,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And reddening oaks stood sombre in the haze,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Till sunset struck them with its redder glare,</span><br/> +<br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And faded, leaving me by wood and field</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">In fragrant dew, and fragrant velvet mould,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">To wait among the shades of night concealed,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">And learn that story which but once is told.</span><br/> +<br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Though many seasons of the falling leaves</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">I watched my failing hopes, and watched their fall;</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">In memory they are gathered now like sheaves,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">So withered that a touch would scatter all.</span><br/> +<br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Dead leaves, and dust more dead, to fall apart,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Leaves spreading once in arches over me,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And dust enclosing once a loving heart,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Still I am happy with youth's mystery.</span><br/> +<br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">It cannot be unbound,—my autumn sheaf;</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">So let it stand, the ruin of my past;</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Returning autumn brings the old belief,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Its mystery all its own, and it will last.</span><br/> +<br/> +<br/> +<br/> +<br/> +<a name="INTHECITY"><span style="margin-left: 1em;"><b>IN THE CITY.</b></span><br/> +</a> <br/> + <span style="margin-left: 1em;">The autumn morning sweetly calls to me,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">And autumn days and nights in patience wait;</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">I answer not, because I am not free,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">Although I chose my fate.</span><br/> +<br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The cold, gray mist that stains the city walls</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Stands silver-columned where the river glides,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Or, slow dividing, on the valley falls,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">Where one I love abides.</span><br/> +<br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The wind that trifles round my city door,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Or whirls before me all the city's dust,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">By the sea borrows its triumphant roar,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">And lends its savage gust;</span><br/> +<br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Or shrieking rushes where the sombre pines</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Hold solemn converse in the ancient vale,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And while 't is dying in their dark confines</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">Babbles their mystic tale.</span><br/> +<br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Could I but climb a roof above my own,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">And greet grave Autumn as he walks the earth</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">With secret signal that would make me known,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">I should not feel my dearth.</span><br/> +<br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Then silver mist or loud triumphant wind</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Might come in sad disguise and misery;</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">I would but ponder in my secret mind</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">How Autumn answers me.</span><br/> +<br/> +<br/> +<br/> +<br/> +<a name="LOVEYOUPAIN"><span style="margin-left: 1em;"><b>"I LOVE YOU, BUT A SENSE OF PAIN."</b></span><br/> +</a> <br/> + <span style="margin-left: 1em;">I love you, but a sense of pain</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Is in my heart and in my brain;</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Now, when your voice and eyes are kind,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">May I reveal my complex mind?</span><br/> +<br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Though I am yours, it is my curse</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Some ideal passion to rehearse:</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">I dream of one that's not like you,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Never of one that's half so true.</span><br/> +<br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">To quell these yearnings, vague and wild,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">I often kneel by our dear child,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">In still, dark nights (you are asleep),</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And hold his hands, and try to weep.</span><br/> +<br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">I cannot weep; I cannot pray—</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Why grow so pale, and turn away?</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Do you expect to hold me fast</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">By pretty legends in the past?</span><br/> +<br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">It is a woman's province, then,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">To be content with what has been?</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">To wear the wreath of withered flowers,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">That crowned her in the bridal hours?</span><br/> +<br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Still, I am yours: this idle strife</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Stirs but the surface of my life:</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And if you would but ask once more,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">"How goes the heart?" or at the door</span><br/> +<br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Imploring stand, and knock again,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">I might forget this sense of pain,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And down oblivion's sullen stream</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Would float the memory of my dream!</span><br/> +<br/> +<br/> +<br/> +<br/> +<a name="NAMELESSPAIN"><span style="margin-left: 1em;"><b>NAMELESS PAIN.</b></span><br/> +</a> <br/> + <span style="margin-left: 1em;">I should be happy with my lot:</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">A wife and mother—is it not</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Enough for me to be content?</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">What other blessing could be sent?</span><br/> +<br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">A quiet house, and homely ways,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">That make each day like other days;</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">I only see Time's shadow now</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Darken the hair on baby's brow!</span><br/> +<br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">No world's work ever comes to me,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">No beggar brings his misery;</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">I have no power, no healing art</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">With bruisèd soul or broken heart.</span><br/> +<br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">I read the poets of the age,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">'Tis lotus-eating in a cage;</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">I study Art, but Art is dead</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">To one who clamors to be fed</span><br/> +<br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">With milk from Nature's rugged breast,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Who longs for Labor's lusty rest.</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">O foolish wish! I still should pine</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">If any other lot were mine.</span><br/> +<br/> +<br/> +<br/> +<br/> +<a name="BABYSONG"><span style="margin-left: 1em;"><b>A BABY SONG.</b></span><br/> +</a> <br/> + <span style="margin-left: 1em;">Come, white angels, to baby and me;</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Touch his blue eyes with the image of sleep,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">In his surprise he will cease to weep;</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Hush, child, the angels are coming to thee!</span><br/> +<br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Come, white doves, to baby and me;</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Softly whirr in the silent air,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Flutter about his golden hair:</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Hark, child, the doves are cooing to thee!</span><br/> +<br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Come, white lilies, to baby and me;</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Drowsily nod before his eyes,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">So full of wonder, so round and wise:</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Hist, child, the lily-bells tinkle for thee!</span><br/> +<br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Come, white moon, to baby and me;</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Gently glide o'er the ocean of sleep,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Silver the waves of its shadowy deep:</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Sleep, child, and the whitest of dreams to thee.</span><br/> +<br/> +<br/> +<br/> +<br/> +<a name="WIFESPEAKS"><span style="margin-left: 1em;"><b>THE WIFE SPEAKS.</b></span><br/> +</a> <br/> + <span style="margin-left: 1em;">Husband, to-day could you and I behold</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The sun that brought us to our bridal morn</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Rising so splendid in the winter sky</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">(We thought fair spring returned), when we were wed;</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Could the shades vanish from these fifteen years,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Which stand like columns guarding the approach</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">To that great temple of the double soul</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">That is as one—would you turn back, my dear,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And, for the sake of Love's mysterious dream,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">As old as Adam and as sweet as Eve,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Take me, as I took you, and once more go</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Towards that goal which none of us have reached?</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Contesting battles which but prove a loss,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The victor vanquished by the wounded one;</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Teaching each other sacrifice of self,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">True immolation to the marriage bond;</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Learning the joys of birth, the woe of death,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Leaving in chaos all the hopes of life—</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Heart-broken, yet with courage pressing on</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">For fame and fortune, artists needing both?</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Or, would you rather—I will acquiesce—</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Since we must choose what is, and are grown gray,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Stay in life's desert, watch our setting sun,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Calm as those statues in Egyptian sands,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Hand clasping hand, with patience and with peace,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Wait for a future which contains no past?</span><br/> +<br/> +<br/> +<br/> +<br/> +<a name="HUSBANDSPEAKS"><span style="margin-left: 1em;"><b>THE HUSBAND SPEAKS.</b></span><br/> +</a> <br/> + <span style="margin-left: 1em;">Dearest, though I have sung a many songs,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Yet have I never sung one from my heart,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Save to thee only—and such private songs</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Are as the silent, secret kiss of Love!</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">My heart, I say, so sacred was, and is,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">I kept, I keep it, from all eyes but thine,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Because it is no longer mine, but thine,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Given thee forever, when I gave myself</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">That winter morning—was it years ago?</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">To me it seems the dream of yesterday!</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">You have not lost the face I married then,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Albeit a trifle paler—not to-night—</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Nor I the eyes that saw then, and see still,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">What every man should see in her he weds!</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">I wander ... wisely, let me, since my words</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Conceal what none but you and I should know,—</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The love I bear you, who have been, and are</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Strong in the strength and weakness of your sex—</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Queen of my household, mistress of my heart,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">My children's mother, and my always friend;</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">In one word, Sweet, sweetest of all words—Wife!</span><br/> +<br/> +<br/> +<br/> +<br/> +<a name="ONEMORN"><span style="margin-left: 1em;"><b>"ONE MORN I LEFT HIM IN HIS BED."</b></span><br/> +</a> <br/> + <span style="margin-left: 1em;">One morn I left him in his bed;</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">A moment after some one said,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">"Your child is dying—he is dead."</span><br/> +<br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">We made him ready for his rest,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Flowers in his hair, and on his breast</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">His little hands together prest.</span><br/> +<br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">We sailed by night across the sea;</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">So, floating from the world were we,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Apart from sympathy, we Three.</span><br/> +<br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The wild sea moaned, the black clouds spread</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Moving shadows on its bed,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">But one of us lay midship dead.</span><br/> +<br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">I saw his coffin sliding down</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The yellow sand in yonder town,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Where I put on my sorrow's crown.</span><br/> +<br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And we returned; in this drear place</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Never to see him face to face,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">I thrust aside the living race.</span><br/> +<br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Mothers, who mourn with me to-day,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Oh, understand me, when I say,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">I cannot weep, I cannot pray;</span><br/> +<br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">I gaze upon a hidden store,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">His books, his toys, the clothes he wore,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And cry, "Once more, to me, <i>once</i> more!"</span><br/> +<br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Then take, from me, this simple verse,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">That you may know what I rehearse—</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">A grief—your and my Universe!</span><br/> +<br/> +<br/> +<br/> +<br/> +<a name="MIRROR"><span style="margin-left: 1em;"><b>BEFORE THE MIRROR.</b></span><br/> +</a> <br/> + <span style="margin-left: 1em;">Now like the Lady of Shalott,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">I dwell within an empty room,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And through the day and through the night</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">I sit before an ancient loom.</span><br/> +<br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And like the Lady of Shalott</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">I look into a mirror wide,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Where shadows come, and shadows go,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">And ply my shuttle as they glide.</span><br/> +<br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Not as she wove the yellow wool,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Ulysses' wife, Penelope;</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">By day a queen among her maids,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">But in the night a woman, she,</span><br/> +<br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Who, creeping from her lonely couch,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Unraveled all the slender woof;</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Or, with a torch, she climbed the towers,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">To fire the fagots on the roof!</span><br/> +<br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">But weaving with a steady hand</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">The shadows, whether false or true,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">I put aside a doubt which asks</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">"Among these phantoms what are you?"</span><br/> +<br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">For not with altar, tomb, or urn,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Or long-haired Greek with hollow shield,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Or dark-prowed ship with banks of oars,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Or banquet in the tented field;</span><br/> +<br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Or Norman knight in armor clad,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Waiting a foe where four roads meet;</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Or hawk and hound in bosky dell,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Where dame and page in secret greet;</span><br/> +<br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Or rose and lily, bud and flower,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">My web is broidered. Nothing bright</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Is woven here: the shadows grow</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Still darker in the mirror's light!</span><br/> +<br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And as my web grows darker too,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Accursed seems this empty room;</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">For still I must forever weave</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">These phantoms by this ancient loom.</span><br/> +<br/> +<br/> +<br/> +<br/> +<a name="SHADOWSOFWATER"><span style="margin-left: 1em;"><b>"THE SHADOWS ON THE WATER REACH."</b></span><br/> +</a> <br/> + <span style="margin-left: 1em;">The shadows on the water reach</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">My shadow on the beach;</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">I see the dark trees on the shore,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">The fisher's oar.</span><br/> +<br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">I met her by the sea last night,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">A little maid in white;</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">I shall never meet her more</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">On the shore.</span><br/> +<br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Ho! fisher, hoist your idle sail,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">And whistle for a gale;</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">My ship is waiting in the bay,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Row away!</span><br/> +<br/> +<br/> +<br/> +<br/> +<a name="SUMMERNIGHT"><span style="margin-left: 1em;"><b>A SUMMER NIGHT.</b></span><br/> +</a> <br/> + <span style="margin-left: 1em;">I feel the breath of the summer night,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">Aromatic fire:</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The trees, the vines, the flowers are astir</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">With tender desire.</span><br/> +<br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The white moths flutter about the lamp,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">Enamoured with light;</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And a thousand creatures softly sing</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">A song to the night!</span><br/> +<br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">But I am alone, and how can I sing</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">Praises to thee?</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Come, Night! unveil the beautiful soul</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">That waiteth for me.</span><br/> +<br/> +<br/> +<br/> +<br/> +<a name="FANME"><span style="margin-left: 1em;"><b>"FAN ME WITH THESE LILIES FAIR."</b></span><br/> +</a> <br/> + <span style="margin-left: 1em;">Fan me with these lilies fair,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Twine their stems around your arm:</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Put your feet upon these roses,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Then you'll please me to a charm.</span><br/> +<br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Charm me with your violet eyes,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Kneel, and with your sweet lips meet</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The flaming buds of mine, athirst</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">In the roses at your feet!</span><br/> +<br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">"Leave the lilies on the lake,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Do not break its pale repose:</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Tear your heart with cruel thorns,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Such as grow beneath the rose.</span><br/> +<br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">"So you love me? You are mine?</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Break from yon dead tree a bough,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Lay it down among these roses—</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Ah! I do not charm you now!"</span><br/> +<br/> +<br/> +<br/> +<br/> +<a name="WILDWILDDAYS"><span style="margin-left: 1em;"><b>"OH, THE WILD, WILD DAYS OF YOUTH!"</b></span><br/> +</a> <br/> + <span style="margin-left: 1em;">Oh, the wild, wild days of youth!</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">My royal youth;</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">My blood was then my king:</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Maybe a little mad,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">But full of truth!</span><br/> +<br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Oh, my lips were like a rose!</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">And my heart, too;</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">It was torn out leaf by leaf:</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Ah! there be none that know</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">How the leaves flew!</span><br/> +<br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Oh, they dropped in the wine!</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">The royal wine;</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">There were showers for the girls,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Crowns for their white brows,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">And for mine!</span><br/> +<br/> +<br/> +<br/> +<br/> +<a name="ONMYBED"><span style="margin-left: 1em;"><b>"ON MY BED OF A WINTER NIGHT."</b></span><br/> +</a> <br/> + <span style="margin-left: 2em;">On my bed of a winter night,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Deep in a sleep and deep in a dream,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">What care I for the wild wind's scream,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">What to me is its crooked flight?</span><br/> +<br/> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">On the sea of a summer day,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Wrapped in the folds of a snowy sail,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">What care I for the fitful gale,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Now in earnest, now in play?</span><br/> +<br/> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">What care I for the fitful wind,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">That groans in a gorge, or sighs in a tree?</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Groaning and sighing are nothing to me,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">For I am a man of steadfast mind.</span><br/> +<br/> +<br/> +<br/> +<br/> +<a name="HALLO"><span style="margin-left: 1em;"><b>"HALLO! MY FANCY, WHITHER WILT THOU GO?"</b></span><br/> +</a> <br/> + <span style="margin-left: 1em;">Swift as the tide in the river</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">The blood flows through my heart,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">At the curious little fancy</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">That to-morrow we must part.</span><br/> +<br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">It seems to me all over,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">The last words have been said;</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And I have the curious fancy</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">To-morrow will find me dead!</span><br/> +<br/> +<br/> +<br/> +<br/> +<a name="YOULEFTME"><span style="margin-left: 1em;"><b>YOU LEFT ME.</b></span><br/> +</a> <br/> + <span style="margin-left: 1em;">You left me, and the anguish passed,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">And passed the day, and passed the night—</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">A blank in which my senses failed;</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Then slowly came an inward light.</span><br/> +<br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">So plain it reproduced the hours</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">We lived as one,—the books we read,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Our quiet walks and pleasant talks—</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Love, by your spirit was I led?</span><br/> +<br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Oh, love, the vision grows too dear,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">I live in visions—I pursue</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Them only; come, your rival meet,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">My future bring, it will be—<i>you!</i></span><br/> +<br/> +<br/> +<br/> +<br/> +<a name="OFRIEND"><span style="margin-left: 1em;"><b>"O FRIEND, BEGIN A LOFTIER SONG."</b></span><br/> +</a> <br/> + <span style="margin-left: 1em;">O friend, begin a loftier song.</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Confusion falls upon your mind;</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">A sense of evil makes you blind;</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">"What use," you say, "is it to be?</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">I know not GOD, GOD knows not me!"</span><br/> +<br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">O friend, begin a loftier song.</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">In other minds you place no trust:</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">You tread your laurels in the dust:</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">You see no Future, Hope has fled,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Youth had its dreams, but Youth is dead.</span><br/> +<br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">O friend, begin a loftier song.</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">"The sweet ideal of past years</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Speaks in my songs, they are my tears:</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">I'll weep no more, I'll sing no lays</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">To bury Youth for idle praise!"</span><br/> +<br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">O friend, begin a loftier song.</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Come through the gateway of the Past,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Dear friend. The world will hear at last</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The little songs the poets sing:</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Do thou with anthems make it ring!</span><br/> +<br/> +<br/> +<br/> +<br/> +<a name="NOWTHATTHEPAIN"><span style="margin-left: 1em;"><b>"NOW THAT THE PAIN IS GONE, I TOO CAN SMILE."</b></span><br/> +</a> <br/> + <span style="margin-left: 1em;">Now that the pain is gone, I too can smile</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">At such a foolish picture; you and me</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Together in that moonlit summer night,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Within the shadow of an aspen-tree.</span><br/> +<br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">My hand was on your shoulder: I grew wild:</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">The blood seethed furiously through my heart!</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">But you—Oh, you were saintly calm, and cold;</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">You moved my hand, and said, "'T is best we part!"</span><br/> +<br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">My face fell on the bands of your fair hair,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">A moonbeam struck across my hungry eye,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And struck across your balmy crimson mouth:</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">I longed to kiss you, and I longed to die!</span><br/> +<br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Die in the shadow of the trembling tree,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Trembling my soul away upon your breast.</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">You smiled, and drifted both your snowy hands</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Against my forehead, and your fingers pressed</span><br/> +<br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Faintly and slow adown my burning face;</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">A keen sense of the woman touched you then,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The nice dramatic sense you women have,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Playing upon the feelings of us men!</span><br/> +<br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Long years have passed since that midsummer night,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">But still I feel the creeping of your hand</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Along my face. If I return once more,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">And in the shadow of that tree should stand</span><br/> +<br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">With you there—Answer! Would you kiss me back?</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Would you reject me if I sued again?—</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">How strange this is! I think my madness lasts,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Although I'm sure I have forgot the pain!</span><br/> +<br/> +<br/> +<br/> +<br/> +<a name="COLONELSSHIELD"><span style="margin-left: 1em;"><b>THE COLONEL'S SHIELD.</b></span><br/> +</a> <br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Your picture, slung about my neck</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">The day we went afield,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Swung out before the trench;</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">It caught the eye of rank and file,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Who knew "The Colonel's Shield."</span><br/> +<br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">I thrust it back, and with my men</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">(Our General rode ahead)</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">We stormed the great redoubt,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">As if it were an easy thing,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">But rows of us fell dead!</span><br/> +<br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Your picture hanging on my neck,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Up with my men I rushed;</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">We made an awful charge:</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And then my horse, "The Lady Bess,"</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Dropped, and—my leg was crushed!</span><br/> +<br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The blood of battle in my veins</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">(A blue-coat dragged me out),—</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">But I remembered you;</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">I kissed your picture—did you know?</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">And yelled, "For the redoubt!"</span><br/> +<br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The Twenty-fourth, my scarred old dogs,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Growled back, "He'll put us through;</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">We'll take him in our arms:</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Our picture there—the girl he loves,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Shall see what we can do."</span><br/> +<br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The foe was silenced—so were we.</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">I lay upon the field,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Among the Twenty-fourth;</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Your picture, shattered on my breast,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Had proved "The Colonel's Shield."</span><br/> +<br/> +<br/> +<br/> +<br/> +<a name="FEWIDLEWORDS"><span style="margin-left: 1em;"><b>A FEW IDLE WORDS.</b></span><br/> +</a> <br/> + <span style="margin-left: 1em;">So, I must believe that I loved you once!</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">These letters say so;</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And here is your picture—how you have changed!</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">It was long ago.</span><br/> +<br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The gloss is worn from this lock of black hair—</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">You can have them all,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And with these treasures a few idle words,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">That I will not recall.</span><br/> +<br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">What a child I was when you met me first!</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Was I handsome then?</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">I think you remember the very night,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">It was half-past ten,</span><br/> +<br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">When you came upstairs, so tired of the men,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">And tired of the wine;</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">You said you loved lilies (my dress was white),</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">And hated to dine.</span><br/> +<br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The dowagers nodded behind their fans;</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">I played an old song;</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">You told an old tale, I thought it so new,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">And I thought so long.</span><br/> +<br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">True, I had read the "Arabian Nights,"</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">And "Amadis de Gaul;"</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">But I never had found a modern knight</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">In our books at the Hall.</span><br/> +<br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">You tore your hand with the thorns of the rose</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">That looped up my sleeve,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And a drop of red blood fell on my arm—</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">You asked, "Do you grieve?"</span><br/> +<br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">That drop of your blood made mine flow fast;</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">But you sipped your tea</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">With a nonchalant air, and balanced the spoon,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">And balanced poor me,</span><br/> +<br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">In the scale with my stocks, and farms, and mines.</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Did it tremble at all?</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">When my cousin, the heir, turned up one day,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">We both had a fall!</span><br/> +<br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Well, we meet again, and I look at you</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">With a quiet surprise;</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">I think your ennui possesses me now,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">And am quite as wise.</span><br/> +<br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">To me it was only a dream of love,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">A defeat to you:</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">It was not your first, may be not your last—</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Here, take them—Adieu!</span><br/> +<br/> +<br/> +<br/> +<br/> +<a name="VERS"><span style="margin-left: 1em;"><b>VERS DE SOCIÉTÉ.</b></span><br/> +</a> <br/> + <span style="margin-left: 1em;">This chain of white arms round the room—</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">The demon waltz—bewilders me:</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Or am I drunk with this good wine?</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;"><i>Vive la compagnie</i>!</span><br/> +<br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">"My friend, young Highboys, have you met?"</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">"O yes: how do? good brandy here!"</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The wretch's mother, in her youth,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">Was famous for her beer!</span><br/> +<br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Before his patent scraper sold</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Old Highboys used to beat them all!</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">See what Society has done—</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">He's holding her cashmere shawl!</span><br/> +<br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">How is it, Madam, that I know</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">The guests at once? Wipe off the paint—</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Convention daubs us all alike,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">Sinner as well as Saint!</span><br/> +<br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">I see you in the crimson chair,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Behind your jewelled Spanish fan,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Slipping your bracelets up and down,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">Flashing your eyes on the man</span><br/> +<br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Who plays the harp; he twangs an air</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">You understand—you've met before;</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">How many lessons did you take?</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">Madam, you need no more.</span><br/> +<br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Tiger of fifty! So you've bought</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">This pretty girl in the Honiton lace.</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Now she's abroad, she quite forgets</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">She shudders in your embrace.</span><br/> +<br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Dowagers, stiff in black brocades,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Worry the waiters—sweep their trays:</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">How they scowl at the foolish men</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">Basking in Beauty's blaze!</span><br/> +<br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Saunters a poet, munching cake:</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">"Very distinguished." "Did you buy</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Your lace at Beck's?" "Why, how he laughs!"</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">"But his verses make one cry!"</span><br/> +<br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Idle poet, a word with you:</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">You sing too much of love's sweet wrong,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Of rosy cheeks, and purple wine:</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">Give us a loftier song.</span><br/> +<br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The coachmen stamp upon the steps;</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Our hostess looks towards the door;</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Our host twists round his limp cravat,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">Pronouncing the thing a bore!</span><br/> +<br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Our skeletons will be stirring soon;</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Something already touches me:</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Off, till I drain one bottle more!</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;"><i>Vive la compagnie!</i></span><br/> +<br/> +<br/> +<br/> +<br/> +<a name="RACE"><span style="margin-left: 1em;"><b>THE RACE.</b></span><br/> +</a> <br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The guests were gathered in the ancient park</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Of my Lord Wynne, and he was now their mark</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">For wit and gossip—quite the usual way,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Where one bestows, and no one need repay.</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">"A stumbling-block his pride; his heart's in strife</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Between two women, which to choose for wife.</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">He's always hovering round that lovely girl,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">His lawyer's daughter, who will never furl</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><i>Her</i> flag of pride: she rivals Gilbert there.</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Now watch their meeting; none more bravely wear</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Their beauty, recognize a woman's own,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Than Clara Mercome. Gilbert Wynne has sown</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">His wild oats for her sake; yet he delays,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And with my Lady Bond divides his days.</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Who bets on beauty, hedges in on age;</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Which tries the flight to perch in Lord Wynne's cage?</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Will Lady Bond or Clara be the queen?</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">For Lady Bond is certain of her lien."</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">He heard this talk while standing by a beech—</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Hugh Wynne—and planned how he might overreach</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Gilbert and Clara, break the pride of both,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Part them for good, or make them plight their troth.</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">"Now for a race," he cried, "to Martin's Mill;</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The boats are here; behold, the lake is still.</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Here, Gilbert, take your oar; I'll follow soon,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Though sunset's nigh—to-night is harvest-moon.</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Let go the rope, the knot's inside; take these,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Arrange a seat, adjust it at your ease.</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><i>She's here</i>. Miss Mercome, you will help him win</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The race, and will not count my wager sin."</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And he was gone; the pair were face to face.</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">"I'll take the oars," he gasped; "we'll win this race."</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">He never felt his heart so in his breast.</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">"I hope you will forgive my cousin's jest?"</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">A haughty murmur was her sole reply.</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">No rowers followed. Never did swallows fly</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">So swift, or dip the lake like Gilbert's oars.</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">He was watchful, careless she. "There soars</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">A heron, quite a feature of your state:</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Are gems and peacocks, tell me, still in date?</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">How deep the woods upon the water steal,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">One to the other making soft appeal!"</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">"Not being human, wood and water meet</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">In their own speech, and soulless things are sweet</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Together. So they are to me. I like</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">To watch the herons by the sedgy dike;</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">They keep me tranquil; and I love to feed</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The pike in yon old pool; they help to lead—</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Why, here is Martin's Bridge, and yet no boats!</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Shall we return?" Said Clara then, "There floats</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">A lily bed beyond; let's shoot beneath</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The bridge, and lilies pull; I want a wreath."</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">He knew the channel narrow; it was dark;</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">But his heart leaped at this relenting mark.</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">He drew his oars up, pointed in the helm,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And shot in the cool gloom. He thought no realm</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">On which the sun had shone was half so bright.</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And somehow Clara thought it nice as light.</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The waters swirled so swift that in the noise</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Clara grew dizzy; Gilbert lost his poise,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And lost an oar; with a confusing shock</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The boat was grinding—stopped against a rock.</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">"Gilbert, my dear, are we not going down?"</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">"Dearest, my love, we were not born to drown.</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Oh, kiss me; we are safe; and grant me now</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Yourself. I'll gather lilies for your brow;</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And Hugh will know that I have won the race,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And Clara, my dear wife, her rightful place."</span><br/> +<br/> +<br/> +<br/> +<br/> +<a name="WOLFTAMER"><span style="margin-left: 1em;"><b>THE WOLF-TAMER.</b></span><br/> +</a> <br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Through the gorge of snow we go,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Tracking, tramping soft and slow,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">With our paws and sheathèd claws,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">So we swing along the snow,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Crowding, crouching to your pipes—</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Shining serpents! Well you know,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">When your lips shall cease to blow</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Airs that lure us through the snow,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">We shall fall upon your race</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Who do wear a different face.</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Who were spared in yonder vale?</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Not a man to tell the tale!</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Blow, blow, serpent pipes,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Slow we follow:—all our troop—</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Every wolf of wooded France,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Down from all the Pyrenees—</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Shall they follow, follow you,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">In your dreadful music-trance?</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Mark it by our tramping paws,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Hidden fangs, and sheathèd claws?</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">You have seen the robber bands</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Tear men's tongues and cut their hands,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">For ransom—we ask none—begone,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">For the tramping of our paws,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Marking all your music's laws,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Numbs the lust of ear and eye;</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Or—let us go beneath the snow,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And silent die—as wolves should die!</span><br/> +<br/> +<br/> +<br/> +<br/> +<a name="ABBOTOFUNREASON"><span style="margin-left: 1em;"><b>THE ABBOT OF UNREASON.</b></span><br/> +</a> <br/> + <span style="margin-left: 1em;">I looked over the balustrade—</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">The twilight had come—</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And saw the pretty waiting-maid</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Kiss Roland, the page.</span><br/> +<br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">My lady heard the wolf-dog's chain</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Clank on the floor;</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Sly Roland caught it up again,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">And whistled a song.</span><br/> +<br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Oh! they think that my heart is cold,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Under my gown;</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Not till I blacken into mould</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Will it cease to burn.</span><br/> +<br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Burn, burn for such sweet red lips!</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">I am almost mad,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Even to touch her finger tips,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">When we meet alone.</span><br/> +<br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Roland, the page, goes here and there,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Loving, and loved,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Women like his devil-may-care,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Till they are forgot!</span><br/> +<br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Whether I am in castle or inn,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">With sinner or saint,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Never can I a woman win,—</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">I am but a priest!</span><br/> +<br/> +<br/> +<br/> +<br/> +<a name="ELMANOLO"><span style="margin-left: 1em;"><b>EL MANOLO.</b></span><br/> +</a> <br/> + <span style="margin-left: 1em;">In the still, dark shade of the palace wall,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 4em;">Where the peacocks strut,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Where the queen may have heard my madrigal,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 4em;">Together we sat.</span><br/> +<br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">My sombrero hid the fire in my eyes,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 4em;">And shaded her own:</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">This serge cloak stifled her sweet little cries,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 4em;">When I kissed her mouth!</span><br/> +<br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The pale olive trees on the distant plain,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 4em;">The jagged blue rocks,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The vaporous sea-like mountain chain,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 4em;">Dropped into the night.</span><br/> +<br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">We saw the lights in the palace flare;</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 4em;">The musicians played:</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The red guards slashed and sabred the stair,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 4em;">And cursed the old king.</span><br/> +<br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">In the long black shade of the palace wall,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 4em;">We sat the night through;</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Under my cloak—but I cannot tell all—</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 4em;">The queen may have seen!</span><br/> +<br/> +<br/> +<br/> +<br/> +<a name="MERCEDES"><span style="margin-left: 1em;"><b>MERCEDES.</b></span><br/> +</a> <br/> + <span style="margin-left: 1em;">Under a sultry, yellow sky,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">On the yellow sand I lie;</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The crinkled vapors smite my brain,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">I smoulder in a fiery pain.</span><br/> +<br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Above the crags the condor flies;</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">He knows where the red gold lies,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">He knows where the diamonds shine;—</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">If I knew, would she be mine?</span><br/> +<br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Mercedes in her hammock swings;</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">In her court a palm-tree flings</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Its slender shadow on the ground,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The fountain falls with silver sound.</span><br/> +<br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Her lips are like this cactus cup;</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">With my hand I crush it up;</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">I tear its flaming leaves apart;—</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Would that I could tear her heart!</span><br/> +<br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Last night a man was at her gate;</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">In the hedge I lay in wait;</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">I saw Mercedes meet him there,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">By the fireflies in her hair.</span><br/> +<br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">I waited till the break of day,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Then I rose and stole away;</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">But left my dagger in the gate;—</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Now she knows her lover's fate!</span><br/> +<br/> +<br/> +<br/> +<br/> +<a name="BULLFIGHT"><span style="margin-left: 1em;"><b>THE BULL-FIGHT.</b></span><br/> +</a> <br/> + <span style="margin-left: 1em;">Eleven o'clock:</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Here are our cups of chocolate.</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Montez will fight the bulls to-day—</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">All Madrid knows that:</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Queen Christina is going in state:</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Dolores will go with her little fan!</span><br/> +<br/> +<span style="margin-left: 4em;">Lace up my shoe;</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Put on my Basquina;</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 4em;">Can you see my black eyes?</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 5em;">I am Manuel's duchess.</span><br/> +<br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">In front of the box of the Queen and the Duke</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Dolores sits, flirting her fan;</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The church of St. Agnes stands on the right,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And its shadow falls on the picadors;</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">On their lean steeds they prance in the ring,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Hidalgo-fashion, their hands on their hips.</span><br/> +<br/> +<span style="margin-left: 5em;">"<i>Ha! Toro! Toro!</i>"</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 4em;">Hoh! the horses are gored;</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 4em;">Now for the men.</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 5em;">"<i>Ha! Toro! Toro!</i>"</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 4em;">Every man over the barrier!</span><br/> +<br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Not so; for there the bull-fighter stands;</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Some little applause from the royal box,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And "<i>Montez! Montez!</i>" from a thousand throats!</span><br/> +<br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The bull bows fine, though snorting with rage,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">His fore-leg makes little holes in the ground;</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">But Montez stands still; his ribbons don't flutter!</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">Saints, what a leap!</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">His rosette is on the bull's black horn;</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Montez is pale; but his great eye shines</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">When Dolores cries—"<i>Kisses for Montez!</i>"</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">Fie! Manuel's duchess!</span><br/> +<br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">A minute longer the fight is done,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The mule-bells tinkle, the bull rides off;</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Montez twirls a new diamond ring,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And Dolores goes home for chocolate.</span><br/> +<br/> +<br/> +<br/> +<br/> +<a name="CAMPAGNA"><span style="margin-left: 1em;"><b>ON THE CAMPAGNA.</b></span><br/> +</a> <br/> + <span style="margin-left: 2em;">Stop on the Appian Way,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">In the Roman Campagna;</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">Stop at my tomb,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">The tomb of Cecilia Metella.</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">To-day as you see it,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Alaric saw it, ages ago,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">When he, with his pale-visaged Goths,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Sat at the gates of Rome,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Reading his Runic shield.</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Odin, thy curse remains!</span><br/> +<br/> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Beneath these battlements</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">My bones were stirred with Roman pride,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Though centuries before my Romans died</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Now my bones are dust; the Goths are dust.</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The river-bed is dry where sleeps the king,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">My tomb remains!</span><br/> +<br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">When Rome commanded the earth</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Great were the Metelli:</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">I was Metella's wife;</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">I loved him—and I died.</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Then with slow patience built he this memorial:</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Each century marks his love.</span><br/> +<br/> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Pass by on the Appian Way</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">The tomb of Cecilia Metella;</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Wild shepherds alone seek its shelter,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Wild buffaloes tramp at its base.</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Deep is its desolation,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Deep as the shadow of Rome!</span><br/> +<br/> +<br/> +<br/> +<br/> +<a name="QUEENDEPOSED"><span style="margin-left: 1em;"><b>THE QUEEN DEPOSED.</b></span><br/> +</a> <br/> + <span style="margin-left: 1em;">I was the queen of Karl, a northern king:</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Amazon Olga, and I rode his Ban,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">A stallion in the royal ring</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Who would not bear a man.</span><br/> +<br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And in Ban's saddle did I feel the pains</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">For my first-born, the king's sole hope, his heir;</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">My Karl himself would loose the reins,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Would take me up the stair.</span><br/> +<br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Low was the murmur of the royal troops</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Below, I saw the tapers' twinkling light;</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">I heard a cry—"My queen, she droops!"</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Then fell eternal night.</span><br/> +<br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">No more was Olga queen for any king;</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">The pathway round a throne she could not tread,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Nor triumph in the royal ring—</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">The boy she bore was dead!</span><br/> +<br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The cloister hers; she chose the cloak and hood,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">And beads of olive-wood, a pouch for alms;</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">So begged she, Christ, for thy dear rood,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;"><i>Laus Deo</i> sang thy psalms!</span><br/> +<br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Why am I here? This country is my king's;</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">The lovely river, wooded hills above;</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Old St. Sebastian's church-bell rings—</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">There flies the silver dove</span><br/> +<br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">That flitted by the day we came to praise</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Our gracious Mary for a granted prayer;</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Heralds, trumps, the same gay maze</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Of troops—King Karl is there!</span><br/> +<br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><i>Laus Deo</i> with a child, and with his mate—</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">She wins the throne by bringing him a son:</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Babes make or mar our queenly fate—</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">My woman's life is done.</span><br/> +<br/> +<br/> +<br/> +<br/> +<a name="AUNIT"><span style="margin-left: 1em;"><b>A UNIT.</b></span><br/> +</a> <br/> + <span style="margin-left: 1em;">When I was camping on the Volga's banks,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The trader Zanthon with a leash of mares</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Went by my tent. I knew the wily Jew,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And he knew me. He muttered as he passed,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">"The last Bathony, and his tusks are grown.</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">A broken 'scutcheon is a 'scutcheon still,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And Amine's token in my caftan lies,—</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Amine, who weeps and wails for his return."</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">He caught my eye, and slipped inside the tent.</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">"Haw, Zanthon, up from Poland, at your tricks!</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">How veer the boars on old Bathony's towers?</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">True to the winds that blow on Poland's plains?"</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">"They bite the dust, my lord, as beast to beast.</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">When Poles conspire, conspiracy alone</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Survives to hover in the murky air.</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">My lord, Bathony's gates are left ajar</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">For you to enter, or—remain outside;</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The forest holds the secret you surprised,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And men are there, to dare as they have dared."</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">"Haw, Zanthon, tell me of the palatine.</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The air of Russia makes a man forget</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">He was a man elsewhere: the trumpets' squeal</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">I follow, and the thud of drums. You spoke</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">As if I were of princely birth: hark ye,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><i>Battalion</i> is the call I listen to."</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">"My lord, the cranes that plunder in your fens,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The doves that nest within your woods I saw</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Fly round the gaping walls, and plume their wings</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Upon your father's grave. Do you know this?"</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">"A token, Zanthon? so—a withered flower!</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">You think I wore one in my sword-hilt once?</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Methinks there is no perfume in this flower.</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Watch, while I fling it on the Volga's tide.</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The chief, my father, sent me with a curse</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">To travel in the steppes, and so I do.</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The air of Russia makes a man forget</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">He was a man elsewhere, for love or hope,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And as he marches, he becomes but this.</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Haw, Zanthon, would you learn the reason why?</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Search on the Caucasus, the northern seas,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Look in the sky or over earth, then ask,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The answer everywhere will be, <i>The Tzar</i>."</span><br/> +<br/> +<br/> +<br/> +<br/> +<a name="ZANTHON"><span style="margin-left: 1em;"><b>ZANTHON—MY FRIEND.</b></span><br/> +</a> <br/> + <span style="margin-left: 1em;">I, knight-at-arms, in my own forest lost!</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Count of the empire, heir to crags and caves,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And brother to the eagle and the fox!</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The music of the thunder, and the wind</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Among the arches of the oaks, may choir</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">A requiem for my passing soul. But hist!</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">A footstep in the leaves—some poaching hind</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Or gypsy trapping game—Holà! holà!</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Perhaps the kobolds are abroad to-night.</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Zanthon knows well these mountain-folk entice.</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The woods divide, dawn breaks, I see the verge;</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Bathony's stronghold on the Polish plains</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Should top the wilderness: were Zanthon here,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">To boast his prowess in our hunting bouts,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">I would not cuff nor flout him, could we sight</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">In the old way, with fanfaron, the boars</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">On the old battlements, our ancient badge.</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">That lie to Zanthon on the Volga's banks,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">When Amine sent the wild rose by his hand,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Was Satan's wile. I played the Cossack well.</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">With shame my mustache bristled when I said,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">"Troopers must forage where the grain is grown:</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">I share my kopecks with the village priest,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Who winnows peccadillos by the sheaf."</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Then Zanthon, laughing in his foxy beard:</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">"When Amine meets me in the plane-tree walk</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">(Where pairing little finches seek to build,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">We saw the cuckoo thieve their nests when boys),</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Shall I then tell her, in my peasant way,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Your broken promise, and her troth denied?"</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And he was gone—gone, with the stud he bought</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">From Schamyl's son, up by Caucasus way,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Leaving me solitude to reason with.</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Around me, then, an odor swept—the rose!</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">It plagued my nostrils day and night, in gusts</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">It blew, but one way only—towards Amine.</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">At cards it smote me, in the saddle puffed,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Through my tent walls at night its withered blast</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Pierced, and changed me in my wavering dreams.</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">What spell was this, by love or friendship sent?</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Across the steppes I followed Zanthon, close,—</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">He might have heard the whinny of my mare;</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Verst after verst, the measure of her hoofs</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Beat out a rhythm, like a cackling laugh.</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">But on the frontier my poor Sesma fell:</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">I heard the ravens croaking from the hills.</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">The sun has burned away the valley's mist.</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And in the silent, tranquil morning air</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">A mirage rises of my ruined walls:</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Gold-colored, crystal-edged, the banners flash.</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The rooks are stringing for the old beech copse.</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">This gully crossed, the bridge that spans the stream—</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">But halte-lâ, my heart crowds up my breast,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">For this is Poland, Mother of my Soul!</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Quoth Zanthon, watching in the plane-tree walk,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">"My fine Bathony comes to join the feast,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And raise the conopeum for my bride.</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">I pay the kopecks to the priest to-day,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">But Amine in his sheaf will not be bound."</span><br/> +<br/> +<br/> +<br/> +<br/> +<a name="ACHILLESINORCUS"><span style="margin-left: 1em;"><b>ACHILLES IN ORCUS.</b></span><br/> +</a> <br/> + <span style="margin-left: 1em;">From thy translucent waves, great Thetis, rise!</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Mother divine, hear, and take back the gift</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Thou gavest me of valor and renown,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And then seek Zeus, but not with loosened zone</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">For dalliance; entreat him to restore</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Me, Achilles, to the earth, to the black earth,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The nourisher of men, not these pale shades,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Whose shapes have learned the presage of thy doom;</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">They flit between me and the wind-swept plain</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Of Troy, the banners over Ilion's walls,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The zenith of my prowess, and my fate.</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Give me again the breath of life, not death.</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Would I could tarry in the timbered tent,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">As when I wept Patroclus, when, by night,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Old Priam crept, kissing my knees with tears</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">For Hector's corse, the hero I laid low.</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">My panoply was like the gleam of fire</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">When in the dust I dragged him at my wheels,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">My heart was iron,—he despoiled my friend.</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Cast on these borders of eternal gloom,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Now comes Odysseus with his wandering crew;</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">He pours libations in the deep-dug trench,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">While airy forms in multitudes press near,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And listen to the echoes of my praise.</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">His consolation vain, he hails me, "Prince!"</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Vain is his speech: "No man before thy time,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Achilles, lived more honored; here thou art</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Supreme, the ruler in these dread abodes."</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Speak not so easily to me of death,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Great Odysseus! Rather would I be</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The meanest hind, and bring the bleating lambs</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">From down the grassy hills, or with a goad</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">To prod the hungry swine in beechen woods,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Than over the departed to bear sway.</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Then from the clouds to note the warning cry</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Of the harsh crane; to see the Pleiads rise,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The vine and fig-tree shoot, the olive bud;</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">To hear the chirping swallows in the dawn,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The thieving cuckoo laughing in the leaves!</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">So, may Achilles pass his palace gate,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And later heroes strike Achilles' lyre!</span><br/> +<br/> +<br/> +<br/> +<br/> +<a name="ABOVETHETREE"><span style="margin-left: 1em;"><b>ABOVE THE TREE.</b></span><br/> +</a> <br/> + <span style="margin-left: 1em;">Why should I tarry here, to be but one</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">To eke out doubt, and suffer with the rest?</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Why should I labor to become a name,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And vaunt, as did Ulysses to his mates,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">"I am a part of all that I have met."</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">A wily seeker to suffice myself!</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">As when the oak's young leaves push off the old,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">So from this tree of life man drops away,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And all the boughs are peopled quick by spring</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Above the furrows of forgotten graves.</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The one we thought had made the nation's creed,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Whose death would rive us like a thunderbolt,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Dropped down—a sudden rustling in the leaves,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">A knowledge of the gap, and that was all!</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The robin flitting on his frozen mound</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Is more than he. Whoever dies, gives up</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Unfinished work, which others, tempted, claim</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And carry on. I would go free, and change</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Into a star above the multitude,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">To shine afar, and penetrate where those</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Who in the darkling boughs are prisoned close,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">But when they catch my rays, will borrow light,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Believing it their own, and it will serve.</span><br/> +<br/> +<br/> +<br/> +<br/> +<a name="TOANARTIST"><span style="margin-left: 1em;"><b>TO AN ARTIST.</b></span><br/> +</a> <br/> + <span style="margin-left: 1em;">To me, long absent from the world of art,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">You bring the clouded mountains, my desire,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The tranquil river, and the stormy sea,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The far, pale morning, and the crimson eve,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And silent days, that brood among lush leaves,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">When, in the afternoon, the summer sun</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Is gliding down the hazy yellow west,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And my soul's atmosphere rests in the scene,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Until I dream the boundaries of my life</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">May hold an unknown, coming happiness.</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">How shall I, then, to show my gratitude,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">But offer you a picture drawn in words—</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">With all the art I have,—in black and white!</span><br/> +<br/> +<br/> +<br/> +<br/> +<a name="LANDSCAPE"><span style="margin-left: 1em;"><b>A LANDSCAPE.</b></span><br/> +</a> <br/> + <span style="margin-left: 1em;">Between me and the woods along the bay</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The swallows circle through the darkling mist,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The robins breast the grass, and they divide</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">This solitude with me. The rippling sea</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And sunset clouds, the sea gulls' flashing flight</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">From looming isles beyond—I watch them now</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">With a new sense. Where are the swallows' young,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And where the robins' nests? Year after year</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">They hover round this ancient house, and I,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Within as heedless, saw the long years pass,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Nor ever dreamed a day like this might come—</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">A day when mourners go about the street</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">For one who always loved his fellow-men.</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The windflower trembles in the woods, the sod</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Is full of violets, the orchards rain</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Their scented blossoms. May unfolds its leaves—</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Nature's eternal mystery to renew.</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Must man be less than leaf or flower, and end?</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">If I go hence, when this departed soul</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Has left no human tie to bind me now,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">When spring unfolds, and I recall his past,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Will their remembrance lead me here again,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">To teach me that his spirit comes to show</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">That Nature is eternal for man's sake?</span><br/> +<br/> +<br/> +<br/> +<br/> +<a name="HEADLAND"><span style="margin-left: 1em;"><b>FROM THE HEADLAND.</b></span><br/> +</a> <br/> + <span style="margin-left: 1em;">I hear the waters of some inlet now</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Come lapping to the fringe of yonder wood,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The storm-bent firs, and oaks along the cliff.</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The yellow leaves are glistening in the grass,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The grassy slope I climb this autumn day.</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Ensnaring me, the brambles clutch my feet,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">As if constraining me to be a guest</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">To the wild, silent populace they shield.</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">It cannot say, nor I, why we are here.</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">What is my recompense upon this soil,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">For other paths are mine if I go hence,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Still must I make the mystery my quest?</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">For here or there, I think, one sways my will.</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">There is no show of beauty to delight</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The vision here, or strike the electric chord</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Which makes the present and the past as one.</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">No thickets where the thrushes sing in maze</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Of green, no silver-threaded waterfalls</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">In vales, where summer sleeps in darkling woods</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">With sunlit glades, and pools where lilies blow.</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Here, but the wiry grass and sorrel beds,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The gaping edges of the sand ravines,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Whose shifting sides are tufted with dull herbs,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Drooping above a brook, that sluggish creeps</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Down to the whispering rushes in the marsh.</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And this is all, until I reach the cliff,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And on the headland's verge I stand, enthralled</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Before the gulf of the unquenchable sea—</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The sea, inexorable in its might,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Circling the pebbly beach with limpid tides,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Storming in bays whose margins fade in mist;</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Now blue and silent as a noonday sky,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">At twilight now the pearly rollers shake</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The sunset's trail of violet and gold;</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Or black, when rushing on the rocky isles</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Anchored in waves that bellow to the winds.</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">I watch till comes the night; the moonlight falls,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The silvery deep on some far journey goes,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">To solve for me, I think, this mystery.</span><br/> +<br/> +<br/> +<br/> +<br/> +<a name="ASONE"><span style="margin-left: 1em;"><b>AS ONE.</b></span><br/> +</a> <br/> + <span style="margin-left: 1em;">When I, enclosed within the city's walls,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Behold the multitudes that come and go,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Hands clenched on gain, and nature all denied,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">Then I recall, recall the drift of time.</span><br/> +<br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">But when she proffered all her wealth to me,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The first faint blossom of the spring I share,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The latest autumn leaf, the last green blade,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">Then I forget, forget the drift of time.</span><br/> +<br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The months go by, and take me in their train,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The vesture wrapping them enfolds me too,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And all the journey through we seem as one,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">And I forget, forget the drift of time.</span><br/> +<br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">I hear the bluebird's call in windy dawns,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The robin's cheery note from dewy fields,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The swallow's cry along the pool at eve,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">And I forget, forget the drift of time.</span><br/> +<br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">When hedges give the prophecy of birds,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And sunbeams play on the expectant boughs,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The leaves uncurl and fill their veins with life,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">And I forget, forget the drift of time.</span><br/> +<br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">I watch a tumult in the summer skies,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">A blur of sunshine, and the rush of rain,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The tempest dying in the twilight's hush,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">And I forget, forget the drift of time.</span><br/> +<br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">When winter woods are armored by the frost,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And all the highways filled with soundless snows,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Then comes the sun to show his golden palm,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">And I forget, forget the drift of time.</span><br/> +<br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The mountains look upon me and the sea—</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">I hover on their crests in silver mists,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And with the waters pass beyond their verge,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">And I forget, forget the drift of time.</span><br/> +<br/> +<br/> +<br/> +<br/> +<a name="VISITINGS"><span style="margin-left: 1em;"><b>THE VISITINGS OF TRUTH KNOWN ELSEWHERE.</b></span><br/> +</a> <br/> + <span style="margin-left: 1em;">Spending abroad these varied autumn days,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Their melancholy legend I deny.</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">They keep a vanished treasure I will seek,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And follow on a track of mystic hopes.</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">While watching in thy atmosphere, I see</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The form of beauty changes, not its soul.</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">When with the Spring, the flying feet of youth</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Spurning the present as it passed, and me,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">I thought the world a mere environment</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">To hold my wishes and my happiness.</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">I have forgot that foolish, vain belief,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Now in my sere and yellow leaf, serene,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">I offer Autumn all my homage now.</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The eddies, whirling, rustling in my path,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Lure me like sprites, and from the leaves a voice:</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">"Say not our lesson is decay; we fall,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And lo, the naked trees in beauty lift</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Their delicate tracery against the sky.</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">On the pale verdure of the grass we spread</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">A shining web of scarlet, bronze, and gold;</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">When the rain comes, the oaks uphold us still.</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The holly shines, and waits the Christmas chimes,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Beneath the branches of the evergreens."</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">November's clouds without a shadow lift</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The purple mountains of its airy sphere,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And all my purpose waits upon them now.</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Day fades—a rose above the darkling sea,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And from the amber sky clear twilight falls;</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The orange woods grow black, and I go forth,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And as I go, the noiseless airs pass by,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And touch me like the petals of a flower;</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The cricket chirps me in the warm, dry sod,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Drowsy, and I would pipe a cheery strain;</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">But from the pines I hear the call of night,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And round the quiet earth the stars wheel up,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">With me eternal, and I stay beneath,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Until I fade into the fading plain.</span><br/> +<br/> +<br/> +<br/> +<br/> +<a name="WEMUSTWAIT"><span style="margin-left: 1em;"><b>WE MUST WAIT.</b></span><br/> +</a> <br/> + <span style="margin-left: 1em;">The testimony of my loss and gain</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Will I give utterance to, though none may hear.</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">When long ago, bereft of all I loved,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">I sought in Nature recompense, implored</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">For pity, solace, or forgetfulness,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">"The dear, familiar seasons as they pass,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The seal of memory on every place,"</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">I said, "will give the sympathy I seek,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The restoration which they owe to me."</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">By day and night I prayed as futile prayers</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">As the wind's shriek in lonesome winter nights;</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">By the sea they fell as empty as the shells</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Upon its sands, uncertain as its mists.</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">With them I tracked the shadows of the woods,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And sowed them in the fields among the seed;</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Whoso reaped harvest, I could gather none.</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">I wandered in the thickets, giving tongue</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Like a lost hound, dazed by their solitude,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The while birds called their mates, the lilies blazed,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And roses opened to the wandering airs.</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">They vanished with the leaves that voyaged the brook,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Which babbled of no story but its own.</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">How blind I was to Nature's liberty!</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Grief stalked beside me, I was sore beset,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And could not hear the turning of Time's wheel.</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Still were the skies serene, the earth most fair,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">When with the doleful chant of dust to dust</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Mingled the laughter of this sunlit sea;</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And through my tears I saw the ripples dance,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And June's sweet breezes kiss the swaying elms.</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">As he who turns the key within his door</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And gazes at his walls before he goes,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Then forward sets his steps—so I set mine</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">To join a band whose purpose was to find</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">A world of action; but my heart was cold,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">My mind supine. Yet I remained with them,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And answered to the roll called Honor, Fame!</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Where were my memories and my ardent prayers?</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The years stood far behind, their columns graved</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Deep with the adage which youth names <i>No More</i>.</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Like one who enters some old storied hall,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And down its vista suddenly beholds</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">A banner waving out its old device</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Of victory—so suddenly I felt</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">My later life a void. I was recalled!</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">My prayers were answered, and behold me here;</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Within the pale of all my loss and gain,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The dear, familiar seasons as they pass,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The seal of memory on every place,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Bestow the restoration which I sought.</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">At peace, I know, as those who suffer know,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">There is no secret we can wrest at will</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">From Nature. Time must bring and share with her</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The gift of resignation, cure for grief,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And cast upon our ways this ray of hope—</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">That I, the lost, and Nature may be one.</span><br/> +<br/> +<br/> +<br/> +<br/> +<a name="UNRETURNING"><span style="margin-left: 1em;"><b>UNRETURNING.</b></span><br/> +</a> <br/> + <span style="margin-left: 1em;">Now all the flowers that ornament the grass,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Wherever meadows are and placid brooks,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Must fall—the "glory of the grass" must fall.</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Year after year I see them sprout and spread—</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The golden, glossy, tossing buttercups,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The tall, straight daisies and red clover globes,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The swinging bellwort and the blue-eyed bent,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">With nameless plants as perfect in their hues—</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Perfect in root and branch, their plan of life,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">As if the intention of a soul were there:</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">I see them flourish as I see them fall!</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">But he, who once was growing with the grass,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And blooming with the flowers, my little son,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Fell, withered—dead, nor has revived again!</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Perfect and lovely, needful to my sight,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Why comes he not to ornament my days?</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The barren fields forget their barrenness,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The soulless earth mates with these soulless things,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Why should I not obtain <i>my</i> recompense?</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The budding spring should bring, or summer's prime,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">At least a vision of the vanished child,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And let his heart commune with mine again,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Though in a dream—his life was but a dream;</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Then might I wait with patient cheerfulness,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">That cheerfulness which keeps one's tears unshed,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And blinds the eyes with pain—the passage slow</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Of other seasons, and be still and cold</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">As the earth is when shrouded in the snow,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Or passive, like it, when the boughs are stripped</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">In autumn, and the leaves roll everywhere.</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">And he should go again; for winter's snows,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And autumn's melancholy voice, in winds,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">In waters, and in woods, belong to me,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">To me—a faded soul; for, as I said,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The sense of all his beauty, sweetness, comes</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">When blossoms are the sweetest; when the sea,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Sparkling and blue, cries to the sun in joy,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Or, silent, pale, and misty waits the night,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Till the moon, pushing through the veiling cloud,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Hangs naked in its heaving solitude:</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">When feathery pines wave up and down the shore,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And the vast deep above holds gentle stars,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And the vast world beneath hides him from me!</span><br/> +<br/> +<br/> +<br/> +<br/> +<a name="CLOSED"><span style="margin-left: 1em;"><b>CLOSED.</b></span><br/> +</a> <br/> + <span style="margin-left: 1em;">The crimson dawn breaks through the clouded east,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And waking breezes round the casement pipe;</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">They blow the globes of dew from opening buds,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And steal the odors of the sleeping flowers.</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The swallow calls its young ones from the eaves,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">To dart above their shadows on the lake,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Till its long rollers redden in the sun,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And bend the lances of the mirrored pines.</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Who knows the miracle that brings the morn?</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Still in my house I linger, though the night—</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The night that hides me from myself is gone.</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Light robes the world, but strips me bare again.</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">I will not follow on the paths of day.</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">I know the dregs within its crystal hours;</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The bearers of my cups have served me well;</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">I drained them, and the bearers come no more.</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Rise, morning, rise, for those believing souls</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Who seek completion in day's garish light.</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">My casement I will close, keep shut my door,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Till day and night are only dreams to me.</span><br/> +<br/> +<br/> +<br/> +<br/> +<a name="MEMORYISIMMORTAL"><span style="margin-left: 1em;"><b>MEMORY IS IMMORTAL.</b></span><br/> +</a> <br/> + <span style="margin-left: 1em;">Time passed, as passes time with common souls,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Whose thoughts and wishes end with every day;</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">For whom no future is, whose present hours</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Reveal no looming shade of that which was.</span><br/> +<br/> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">But Memory is immortal, for she comes</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">To me, from heaven or hell, to me, once more!</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">As birds that migrate choose the ocean wind</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">That beats them helpless, while it steers them home,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">So I was this way driven—I chose this way—</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Of old my dwelling-place, where all my race</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Are buried. At first I was enchanted here;</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Impossible appeared the pall, the shroud;</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And in my spell I trod the grassy streets,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Where in the summer days mild oxen drew</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The bristling hay, and in the winter snows</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The creaking masts and knees for mighty ships,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Whose hulls were parted on the coral reefs,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Or foundered in the depth of Arctic nights.</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">I wandered through the gardens rank and waste,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Wonderful once, when I was like the flowers;</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Along the weedy paths grew roses still,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Surviving empire, but remaining queens.</span><br/> +<br/> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">My mood established by the slumbrous town—</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">(Slumber with slumber, dream with dream should be)</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">I sought a mansion on the lonely shore,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">From which, his feet made level with his head,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Its occupant was gone. I lived alone.</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Whoso, beneath this roof, had played his part</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">In life's deep tragedy, not here again</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Could be rehearsed its scenes of love or hate.</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Upon the ancient walls my pictures hung,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Of men and women, strong and beautiful,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Whose shoulders pushed along the world's great wheel;</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Landscapes, where cloud and mountain rose as one,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Where rivers crept in secret vales, or rolled</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Past city walls, whose towers and palaces</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">By slaves were builded, and by princes fallen!</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And books whose pages ever told one tale,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The tale of human love, in joy or pain,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The seed of our last hope—Eternity.</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Days glided by, this mirage cheating all;</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Morn came, eve went, and we were tranquil still.</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">If form, and sound, and color fail to show,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">By poet's, painter's, sculptor's noble touch,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The subtle truth of Nature, can I tell</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">How Nature poised my mind in light and shade?</span><br/> +<br/> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">But Memory is immortal, and to me</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">She advanced, silent, slow, a muffled shape.</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">One moonlight night I walked through long white lanes;</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The sky and sea were like a frosted web;</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The air was heavy with familiar scents,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Which travelled down the wind, I knew from where—</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The fragrance of a grove of Northern pines.</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">My feet were hastening thither—and my heart!</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">At last I stood before a funeral mound,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">From which I fled when vanished love and life—</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Long years ago—fled from my father's house;</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Banished myself, to banish him I loved—</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">His broken history and his early grave.</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And in the moonlight Memory floated on,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Immortal, with my now immortal Love!</span><br/> +<br/> +<br/> +<br/> +<br/> +<a name="THETRYST"><span style="margin-left: 1em;"><b>THE TRYST.</b></span><br/> +</a> <br/> + <span style="margin-left: 1em;">Impelled by memory in a wayward mood,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Reluctant, yearning, with a faithless mind,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">I sought once more a long neglected spot,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">A wooded upland bordered by the sea,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Whose tides were swirling up the reedy sands,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Or floating noiseless in the yellow marsh.</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">My way was wild. The winds, awaking, smote</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">My face, but as I passed a ruined wall</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Brambles and vines and waving blossoms dashed</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">A frolic-welcome, like a summer rain.</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Shouldering the hills against the murky east</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Stood stalwart oaks, and in the mossy sod</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Below the trembling birches whispered me,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">"Not here!" I reached the silence-loving pines,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And lingered. The mists swept from the wooded hills,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And, rolling seaward, hid the anchored ships.</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">So, happy, dreaming an old dream again,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Of keeping tryst in secret on the knoll,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">I wandered on, listening in dreamy maze</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">To sounds I thought familiar,—the approach</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Of well-known footsteps in the leafy path,—</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">A murmuring voice calling me by name!</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Through the pine shafts the sunless light of dawn</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Stole. Day was come. My dream would be fulfilled!</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Above the hills the sky began to blaze,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And ushering morn the west flushed rosy-red;</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Then, the Sun leaping from his bed of gold,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Scattered cloud-banners, crimson, gray, and white.</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">There was my shadow in the leafy path</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Alone,—none was to keep the tryst with me!</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">No voice, no step among the hills I heard.</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The joyous swallows from their nestlings flew,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Mad in the light with song. Far out at sea</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The white sails fluttered in the eager breeze,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">But Day was silent holding tryst with me,—</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">My pilgrimage rewarded—faith restored.</span><br/> +<br/> +<br/> +<br/> +<br/> +<a name="NOANSWER"><span style="margin-left: 1em;"><b>NO ANSWER.</b></span><br/> +</a> <br/> + <span style="margin-left: 1em;">You tell me not, green multitude of leaves,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Mingling and whirling with the willful breeze,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Nor you, bright grasses, trembling blade to blade,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">What meaneth June, to hap us every year?</span><br/> +<br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The spirit of the flowers is watching now,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">As winking in the sun they suck the dew,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The thickets parley with the splendid fields—</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">What meaneth June, to hap us every year?</span><br/> +<br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Up where the brook laps round the shining flags,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And tinkling foam bells pass the weedy shore,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And where the willow swings above the trout—</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">What meaneth June, to hap us every year?</span><br/> +<br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The clouds hold knowledge in their snowy peaks,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">They hide it in their moving fleecy folds,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">They share it with the sunset's golden isles—</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">What meaneth June, to hap us every year?</span><br/> +<br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Fullness and sweetness, and the power of life,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Must I in ignorance remain alone,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And yield the quest of speech for certain proof?</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">What meaneth June, to hap us every year?</span><br/> +<br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Sweetness and beauty, and the power of life,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Is it creation's anthem—parts for all?</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Is this the knowledge—will you answer me</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">What meaneth June, to hap us every year?</span><br/> +<br/> +<br/> +<br/> +<br/> +<a name="ONTHEHILLTOP"><span style="margin-left: 1em;"><b>ON THE HILLTOP.</b></span><br/> +</a> <br/> +<span style="margin-left: 4em;">"By the margent of the sea</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 4.5em;">I would build myself a home."</span><br/> +<br/> +<br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Not by the margent of the sea,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">But on the hilltop I would be,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">My little house a mossy den,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Between me and the world of men.</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Beside me dips a wide ravine,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Covered with a flowery screen;</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Far round me rise a band of hills,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Whose voices reach me by their rills,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Or deep susurrus of the wood,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">That stands in stately brotherhood,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Upholding one vast web of green,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Whereunder foot has never been—</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The pine and elm, the birch and oak—</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And thus their voices me invoke:</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">"If you would on the hilltop be,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">We cannot share your misery;</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Cease, cease this moaning for the Past:</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The law of grief can never last."</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">When springtime brings anemones,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Upon the sod I take my ease,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Or search for Arethusa's pink,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Along the torrent's ragged brink;</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Or in the tinted April hours</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">I watch the curtain of the showers</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">That fall beneath a lurking cloud,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Which for a moment throws a shroud</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">On the sun's arrows in the west,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Till it blaze up a golden crest.</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The young moon bends her crescent horn</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Against the lingering summer morn;</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Then, riding down the starry sky,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">She follows me till night goes by.</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And when the dawn breaks on yon town,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">I think the sleepers lying down</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Must rise to shoulder dismal care</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Methinks that once was but my fare.</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">But I upon the hilltop yet</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Am free from every tangling fret;</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">So ever thus, in peace of mind,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">I give my pity to my kind.</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">For me this noble solitude!</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And as I face its varying mood,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Reflected in its every show,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Some higher self I come to know.</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">See, autumn here, with color glad,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Not like the poets—russet clad—</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">But scarlet, umber, green, and gold;</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Then in a breath I must behold</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The autumn winds tear down my screen,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And leave me not a leaf to glean.</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The snow will cover glen and height,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And all my hilltop glisten white;</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">I see the crystal atoms fly</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Under the dome of this gray sky.</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Like gnomes are they, these spectral gleams?</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Or shall I guess them only dreams?</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Whatever is the truth, I say,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">If up and down the world I stray,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Still on the hilltop I would be,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Not by the margent of the sea!</span><br/> +<br/> +<br/> +<br/> +<br/> +<a name="THEMESSAGE"><span style="margin-left: 1em;"><b>THE MESSAGE.</b></span><br/> +</a> <br/> + <span style="margin-left: 1em;">To you, my comrades, whether far or near,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">I send this message. Let our past revive;</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Come, sound reveille to our hearts once more.</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Expecting, I shall wait till at my door</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">I see you enter, each and every one</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Tumultuous, eager all, with clamorous speech,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">To hide my stammering welcome and my tears.</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">I am no host carousing long and late,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Enticing guests with epicurean hints;</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Nor am I Timon, sick of this sad world,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Who, jesting, cries, "The sky is overhead,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And underneath that famous rest, the earth:</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Show me the man who can have more at last."</span><br/> +<br/> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Without, the thunder of the city rolls;</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Within, the quiet of the student reigns.</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">There is a change. Time was a childish voice.</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Sweet as the lark's when from her nest she soars,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Thrilled over all, and vanished into heaven.</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Music once triumphed here: the skilful hand</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Of him who rarely struck the keys, and woke</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">My soul in harmony grand as his own,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Is folded on his breast, my soldier love.</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Here hangs his portrait, under it his sword;</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">He served his country, and his grave's afar.</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Dread not this place as one to relics given,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Though I have decked with amaranth my wall,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The testimony of a later loss—</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">His who long wandering in foreign lands,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Then dying, crossed the sea to die with me.</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Behold the sunrise and the morning clouds</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">On yonder canvas, misty mountain-peaks—</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The simple grandeur of a perfect art!</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Behold these vivid woods, that gleam beside</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The happy vision of an autumn eve,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">When red leaves fall, and redder sunsets fade!</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The world grows pensive sinking into night,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Whose melancholy space hides sighing winds:</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Can they reply to sadder human speech?</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">What centuries are counted here—my books!</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Shadows of mighty men; the chorus, hark!</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The antique chant vibrates, and Fate compels!</span><br/> +<br/> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Comrades, return; the midnight lamp shall gleam</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">As in old nights; the chaplets woven then—</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Withered, perhaps, by time—may grace us yet;</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The laurel faded is the laurel still,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And some of us are heroes to ourselves.</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And amber wine shall flow; the blue smoke wreathe</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">In droll disputes, with metaphysics mixed;</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Or float as lightly as the quick-spun verse,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Threading the circle round from thought to thought,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Sparkling and fresh as is the airy web</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Spread on the hedge at morn in silver dew.</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The scent of roses you remember well;</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">In the green vases they shall bloom again.</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And me—do you remember? I remain</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Unchanged, I think; though one I saw like me</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Some years ago, with hair that was not white;</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And she was with you then, as brave a soul</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">As souls can be whom Fate has not approached.</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">But seek and find me now, unchanged or changed,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Mirthful in tears, and in my laughter sad.</span><br/> +<br/> +<br/> +<br/> +<br/> +<a name="EXILE"><span style="margin-left: 1em;"><b>EXILE.</b></span><br/> +</a> <br/> + <span style="margin-left: 1em;">Blind in these stony streets, dumb in their crowds,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">What can I do but dream of other days?</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Whose is the love I had, and have not now?</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">If it be Nature's, let her answer me.</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">It wanders by the blue, monotonous sea,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Where rushes grow, or follows all the sweep</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Of shallow summer brooks and umber pools.</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Or does it linger in those hidden paths</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Where starlike blossoms blow among dead leaves,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And dark groves murmur over darker shrubs,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Birds with their fledgelings sleep, and pale moths flit?</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">With sunset's crimson flags perhaps it goes,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And reappears with yellow Jupiter,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Riding the West beside the crescent moon.</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Comes it with sunrise, when the sunrise floats</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">From Night's bold towers, vast in the East, and gray</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Till tower and wall flash into fiery clouds,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Moving along the verge, stately and slow,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Ordered by the old music of the spheres?</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Perchance it trembles in October's oaks;</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Or, twining with the brilliant, berried vine,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Would hide the tender, melancholy elm.</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Well might it rest within those solemn woods</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Where sunlight never falls—whose tops are green</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">With airs from heaven,—its balmy mists and rains,—</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">While underneath black, mossy, mammoth rocks</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Keep silence with the waste of blighted boughs.</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">If winter riots with the wreathing snow,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And ocean, tossing all his threatening plumes,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And winds, that tear the hollow, murky sky,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Can this, my love, which dwells no more with me,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Find dwelling there,—like some storm-driven bird,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">That knows not whence it flew, nor where to fly,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Between the world of sea and world of cloud,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">At last drops dead in the remorseless deep?</span><br/> +<br/> +<br/> +<br/> +<br/> +<a name="SEASIDEIDYL"><span style="margin-left: 1em;"><b>A SEASIDE IDYL.</b></span><br/> +</a> <br/> + <span style="margin-left: 1em;">I wandered to the shore, nor knew I then</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">What my desire,—whether for wild lament,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Or sweet regret, to fill the idle pause</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Of twilight, melancholy in my house,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And watch the flowing tide, the passing sails,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Or to implore the air, and sea, and sky,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">For that eternal passion in their power</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Which souls like mine who ponder on their fate</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">May feel, and be as they—gods to themselves.</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Thither I went, whatever was my mood.</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The sands, the rocks, and beds of bending sedge,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">I saw alone. Between the east and west,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Along the beach no creature moved besides.</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">High on the eastern point a lighthouse shone;</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Steered by its lamp a ship stood out to sea,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And vanished from its rays towards the deep,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">While in the west, above a wooded isle,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">An island-cloud hung in the emerald sky,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Hiding pale Venus in its sombre shade.</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">I wandered up and down the sands, I loitered</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Among the rocks, and trampled through the sedge:</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">But I grew weary of the stocks and stones.</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">"I will go hence," I thought; "the Elements</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Have lost their charm; my soul is dead to-night.</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Oh passive, creeping Sea, and stagnant Air,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Farewell! Dull sands, and rocks, and sedge, farewell."</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Homeward I turned my face, but stayed my feet.</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Should I go back but to revive again</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The ancient pain? Hark! suddenly there came</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">From over sea, a sound like that of speech;</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And suddenly I felt my pulses leap</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">As though some Presence were approaching me.</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Loud as the voice of Ocean's dark-haired king</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">A breeze came down the sea,—the sea rose high;</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The surging waves sang round me—this their song:</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">"Oh, yet your love will triumph! He shall come</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">In love's wild tumult; he shall come once more,—</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">By tracks of ocean or by paths of earth;</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The wanderer will reach you and remain."</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The breakers dashed among the rocks, and they</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Seemed full of life; the foam dissolved the sands,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And the sedge trembled in the swelling tide.</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Was this a promise of the vaunting Sea,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Or the illusion of a last despair?</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Either, or both, still homeward I must go,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And that way turned mine eyes, and thought they met</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">A picture,—surely so,—or I was mad.</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The crimson harvest-moon was rising full</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Above my roof, and glimmered on my walls.</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Within the doorway stood a man I knew—</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">No picture this. I saw approaching me</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Him I had hoped for, grieved for, and despaired.</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">"My ship is wrecked," he cried, "and I return</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Never to leave my love. You are my love?"</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">"I too am wrecked," I sighed, "by lonely years;</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Returning, you but find another wreck."</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">He bent his face to search my own, and spake:</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">"What I have traversed sea and land to find,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">I find. For liberty I fought, and life,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">On savage shores and wastes of unknown seas,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">While waiting for this hour. Oh, think you not</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Immortal love mates with immortal love</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Always? And now, at last, we know this love."</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">My soul was filling with a mighty joy</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">I could not show—yet must I show my love.</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">"From you whose will divided broke our hearts</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">I now demand a different kiss than that</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Which then you said should be our parting kiss.</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Given, I vow the past shall be forgot.</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The kiss—and we are one! Give me the kiss."</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Like the dark rocks upon the sands he stood,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">When on his breast I fell, and kissed his lips.</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">All the wild clangor of the sea was hushed;</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The rapid silver waves ran each to each,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Lapsed in the deep with joyous, murmured sighs.</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Years of repentance mine, forgiveness his,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">To tell. Happy, we paced the tranquil shores,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Till between sea and sky we saw the sun,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And all our wiser, loving days began.</span><br/> +<br/> +<br/> +<br/> +<br/> +<a name="CHIMNEYSWALLOWSIDYL"><span style="margin-left: 1em;"><b>THE CHIMNEY-SWALLOW'S IDYL.</b></span><br/> +</a> <br/> + <span style="margin-left: 1em;">From where I built the nest for my first young,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">In the high chimney of this ancient house,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">I saw the household fires burn and go down,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And know what was and is forever gone.</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">My dusky, swift-winged fledgelings, flying far</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">To seek their mates in clustered eaves or towers,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Would linger not to learn what I have learned,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Soaring through air or steering over sea—</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">These single, solitary walls must fade.</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">But I return, inhabiting my nest,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">A little simple bird, which still survives</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The noble souls now vanished from this hearth;</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And none are here besides but she who shares</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">My life, and pensive vigil holds with me.</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">No longer does she mourn; she lives serene;</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">I see her mother's beauty in her face,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">I see her father's quiet pride and power,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The linked traits and traces of her race;</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Her brothers dying, like strong sapling trees</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Hewn down by violent blows prone in dense woods,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Covered with aged boughs, decaying slow.</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">She muses thus: "Beauty once more abides;</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The rude alarm of death, its wild amaze</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Is over now. The chance of change has passed;</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">No doubtful hopes are mine, no restless dread,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">No last word to be spoken, kiss to give</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And take in passion's agony and end.</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">They cannot come to me, but in good time</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">I shall rejoin my silent company,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And melt among them, as the sunset clouds</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Melt in gray spaces of the coming night."</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">So she holds dear as I this tranquil spot,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And all the flowers that blow, and maze of green,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The meadows daisy-full, or brown and sere;</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The shore which bounds the waves I love to skim,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And dash my purple wings against the breeze.</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">When breaks the day I twitter loud and long,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">To make her rise and watch the vigorous sun</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Come from his sea-bed in the weltering deep,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And smell the dewy grass, still rank with sleep.</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">I hover through the twilight round her eaves,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And dart above, before her, in her path,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Till, with a smile, she gives me all her mind;</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And in the deep of night, lest she be sad</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">In sleepless thought, I stir me in my nest,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And murmur as I murmur to my young;</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">She makes no answer, but I know she hears;</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And all the cherished pictures in her thoughts</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Grow bright because of <i>me</i>, her swallow friend!</span><br/> +<br/> +<br/> +<br/> +<br/> +<a name="LASTDAYS"><span style="margin-left: 1em;"><b>LAST DAYS.</b></span><br/> +</a> <br/> + <span style="margin-left: 1em;">As one who follows a departing friend,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Destined to cross the great, dividing sea,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">I watch and follow these departing days,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">That go so grandly, lifting up their crowns</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Still regal, though their victor Autumn comes.</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Gifts they bestow, which I accept, return,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">As gifts exchanged between a loving pair,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Who may possess them as memorials</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Of pleasures ended by the shadow—Death.</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">What matter which shall vanish hence, if both</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Are transitory—me, and these bright hours—</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And of the future ignorant alike?</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">From all our social thralls I would be free.</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Let care go down the wind—as hounds afar,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Within their kennels baying unseen foes,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Give to calm sleepers only calmer dreams.</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Here will I rest alone: the morning mist</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Conceals no form but mine; the evening dew</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Freshens but faded flowers and my worn face.</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">When the noon basks among the wooded hills</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">I too will bask, as silent as the air</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">So thick with sun-motes, dyed like yellow gold,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Or colored purple like an unplucked plum.</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The thrush, now lonesome, for her young have flown,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">May flutter her brown wings across my path;</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And creatures of the sod with brilliant eyes</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">May leap beside me, and familiar grow.</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The moon shall rise among her floating clouds,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Black, vaporous fans, and crinkled globes of pearl,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And her sweet silver light be given to me.</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">To watch and follow these departing days</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Must be my choice; and let me mated be</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">With Solitude; may memory and hope</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Unite to give me faith that nothing dies;</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">To show me always, what I pray to know,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">That man alone may speak the word—<i>Farewell</i>.</span><br/> +</p> + +<div>*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 12391 ***</div> +</body> +</html> + diff --git a/LICENSE.txt b/LICENSE.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6312041 --- /dev/null +++ b/LICENSE.txt @@ -0,0 +1,11 @@ +This eBook, including all associated images, markup, improvements, +metadata, and any other content or labor, has been confirmed to be +in the PUBLIC DOMAIN IN THE UNITED STATES. + +Procedures for determining public domain status are described in +the "Copyright How-To" at https://www.gutenberg.org. + +No investigation has been made concerning possible copyrights in +jurisdictions other than the United States. Anyone seeking to utilize +this eBook outside of the United States should confirm copyright +status under the laws that apply to them. diff --git a/README.md b/README.md new file mode 100644 index 0000000..93fa3e6 --- /dev/null +++ b/README.md @@ -0,0 +1,2 @@ +Project Gutenberg (https://www.gutenberg.org) public repository for +eBook #12391 (https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/12391) diff --git a/old/12391-0.txt b/old/12391-0.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..71543b8 --- /dev/null +++ b/old/12391-0.txt @@ -0,0 +1,3144 @@ +The Project Gutenberg eBook of Poems, by Elizabeth Stoddard + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and +most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions +whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms +of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at +www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you +will have to check the laws of the country where you are located before +using this eBook. + +Title: Poems + +Author: Elizabeth Stoddard + +Release Date: May 20, 2004 [eBook #12391] +[Most recently updated: May 3, 2021] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: UTF-8 + +Produced by: Leah Moser and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team. + +*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK POEMS *** + + + + +POEMS + +BY + +ELIZABETH STODDARD + +1895 + + + + +CONTENTS + + THE POET'S SECRET + NOVEMBER + MUSIC IN A CROWD + "I LIVE WITHIN THE STRANGER'S GATE" + THE HOUSE OF YOUTH + THE HOUSE BY THE SEA + CHRISTMAS COMES AGAIN + MARCH + THE SPRING AFAR + WHY? + AUGUST + OCTOBER + "THE WILLOW BOUGHS ARE YELLOW NOW" + "IN THE STILL, STAR-LIT NIGHT" + AUTUMN + THE AUTUMN SHEAF + IN THE CITY + "I LOVE YOU, BUT A SENSE OF PAIN" + NAMELESS PAIN + A BABY SONG + THE WIFE SPEAKS + THE HUSBAND SPEAKS + "ONE MORN I LEFT HIM IN HIS BED" + BEFORE THE MIRROR + "THE SHADOWS ON THE WATER REACH" + A SUMMER NIGHT + "FAN ME WITH THESE LILIES FAIR" + "OH, THE WILD, WILD DAYS OF YOUTH!" + "ON MY BED OF A WINTER NIGHT" + "HALLO! MY FANCY, WHITHER WILT THOU GO?" + YOU LEFT ME + "O FRIEND, BEGIN A LOFTIER SONG" + "NOW THAT THE PAIN IS GONE, I TOO CAN SMILE" + THE COLONEL'S SHIELD + A FEW IDLE WORDS + VERS DE SOCIÉTÉ + THE RACE + THE WOLF-TAMER + THE ABBOT OF UNREASON + EL MANOLO + MERCEDES + THE BULL-FIGHT + ON THE CAMPAGNA + THE QUEEN DEPOSED + A UNIT + ZANTHON--MY FRIEND + ACHILLES IN ORCUS + ABOVE THE TREE + TO AN ARTIST + A LANDSCAPE + FROM THE HEADLAND + AS ONE + THE VISITINGS OF TRUTH KNOWN ELSEWHERE + WE MUST WAIT + UNRETURNING + CLOSED + MEMORY IS IMMORTAL + THE TRYST + NO ANSWER + ON THE HILLTOP + THE MESSAGE + EXILE + A SEASIDE IDYL + THE CHIMNEY-SWALLOW'S IDYL + LAST DAYS + + + + +POEMS + + + + + THE POET'S SECRET. + + + The poet's secret I must know, + If that will calm my restless mind. + I hail the seasons as they go, + I woo the sunshine, brave the wind. + + I scan the lily and the rose, + I nod to every nodding tree, + I follow every stream that flows, + And wait beside the steadfast sea. + + I question melancholy eyes, + I touch the lips of women fair: + Their lips and eyes may make me wise, + But what I seek for is not there. + + In vain I watch the day and night, + In vain the world through space may roll: + I never see the mystic light + Which fills the poet's happy soul. + + Through life I hear the rhythmic flow + Whose meaning into song must turn; + Revealing all he longs to know, + The secret each alone must learn. + + + + + NOVEMBER. + + + Much have I spoken of the faded leaf; + Long have I listened to the wailing wind, + And watched it ploughing through the heavy clouds, + For autumn charms my melancholy mind. + + When autumn comes, the poets sing a dirge: + The year must perish; all the flowers are dead; + The sheaves are gathered; and the mottled quail + Runs in the stubble, but the lark has fled! + + Still, autumn ushers in the Christmas cheer, + The holly-berries and the ivy-tree: + They weave a chaplet for the Old Year's bier + These waiting mourners do not sing for me! + + I find sweet peace in depths of autumn woods. + Where grow the ragged ferns and roughened moss; + The naked, silent trees have taught me this,-- + The loss of beauty is not always loss! + + + + + MUSIC IN A CROWD. + + + When I hear music, whether waltz or psalm, + Among a crowd, I find myself alone; + It does not touch me with a soothing balm, + But brings an echo like a moan + + From some far country where a palace rose, + In which I reigned with Cleopatra's pride: + "Come, Charmian! bring the asp for my repose." + And queenly, men shall say, she died. + + There lived and ruled a happy, noble race, + Primeval souls who held imperial power-- + My kindred, gone forever from their place, + And I am here without a dower! + + They were a Vision, though. And are these real, + These men and women, moving as in sleep, + Who, smiling, gesture to the same Ideal, + For which the music makes me weep? + + Have they my longings for that other world + New to them yet? I grant that Music's swell + Is like the sea; they may be thither hurled + By storms that thunder and compel; + + Or, like those voyagers in the land of streams, + Glide through its languid air, its languid wave, + To learn that _Here_ and _There_ are but two dreams, + That end in Nothing and the Grave! + + + + + "I LIVE WITHIN THE STRANGER'S GATE." + + + I. + + I live within the stranger's gate, + And count the hours + Since God let fall the bolt of fate! + Where the waves fall on yonder shore + In cloudy spray, + And where the winds forever roar, + The pillars of a mansion stand, + Without a roof; + The saddest ruin in the land! + + + II. + + When sunset strikes across the sea + The wreck looms up; + Then Memory comes, and touches me. + I see a pitiful white face + Break through the mould + Decaying at the pillar's base, + And hands that beckon me to prayer. + But I still curse, + And wake the Furies slumbering there! + + + III. + + In the strange drama of the Past + It was my part + To hold carousal to the last; + It was for me to hide the shame, + And brave the world + With lies about our ancient name! + I played it well, and played it long: + But let it pass, + The world has never known the 'wrong. + + + IV. + + Upheave, black mould, and totter all + The ruin down! + Fall, monumental pillars, fall, + Upon her grave! Above her breast + May ivy creep, + And roses blow! I choose to rest. + + + + + THE HOUSE OF YOUTH. + + + The rough north winds have left their icy caves + To growl and grope for prey + Upon the murky sea; + The lonely sea-gull skims the sullen waves + All the gray winter day. + + The mottled sand-bird runneth up and down, + Amongst the creaking sedge, + Along the crusted beach; + The time-stained houses of the sea-walled town + Seem tottering on its edge. + + An ancient dwelling, in this ancient place, + Stands in a garden drear, + A wreck with other wrecks; + The Past is there, but no one sees a face + Within, from year to year. + + The wiry rose-trees scratch the window-pane; + The window rattles loud; + The wind beats at the door, + But never gets an answer back again, + The silence is so proud. + + The last that lived there was an evil man; + A child the last that died, + Upon the mother's breast. + It seemed to die by some mysterious ban; + Its grave is by the side + + Of an old tree, whose notched and scanty leaves + Repeat the tale of woe, + And quiver day and night, + Till the snow cometh, and a cold shroud weaves, + Whiter than that below. + + This time of year a woman wanders there-- + They say from distant lands: + She wears a foreign dress, + With jewels on her breast, and her fair hair + In braided coils and bands. + + The ancient dwelling and the garden drear + At night know something more: + Without her foreign dress + Or blazing gems, this woman stealeth near + The threshold of the door. + + The shadow strikes against the window-pane; + She thrusts the thorns away: + Her eyes peer through the glass, + And down the glass her great tears drip, like rain, + In the gray winter day. + + The moon shines down the dismal garden track, + And lights the little mound; + But when she ventures there, + The black and threatening branches wave her back, + And guard the ghostly ground. + + What is the story of this buried Past? + Were all its doors flung wide, + For us to search its rooms, + And we to see the race, from first to last, + And how they lived and died:-- + + Still would it baffle and perplex the brain. + But show this bitter truth: + Man lives not in the past: + None but a woman ever comes again + Back to the House of Youth! + + + + + THE HOUSE BY THE SEA. + + + To-night I do the bidding of a ghost, + A ghost that knows my misery; + In the lone dark I hear his wailing boast, + "Now shalt thou speak with me." + + Must I go back where all is desolate, + Where reigns the terror of a curse, + To knock, a beggar, at my father's gate, + That closed upon a hearse? + + The old stone pier has crumbled in the sea; + The tide flows through the garden wall; + Where grew the lily, and where hummed the bee, + Black seaweeds rise and fall. + + I see the empty nests beneath the eaves; + No bird is near; the vines have died; + The orchard trees have lost the joy of leaves, + The oaks their lordly pride. + + Of what avail to set ajar the door + Through which, when ruin fell, I fled? + If on the threshold I should stand once more, + Shall I behold the dead? + + Shall I behold, as on that fatal night, + My mother from the window start, + When she was blasted by the evil sight,-- + The shame that broke her heart? + + The yellow grass grows on my sister's grave; + Her room is dark--she is not there; + I feel the rain, and hear the wild wind rave-- + My tears, and my despair. + + A white-haired man is singing a sad song + Amid the ashes on the hearth; + "Ashes to ashes, I have moaned so long + I am alone on earth." + + No more! no more! I cannot bear this pain; + Shut the foul annals of my race; + Accursed the hand that opens them again, + My dowry of disgrace. + + And so, farewell, thou bitter, bitter ghost! + When morning comes the shadows fly; + Before we part, I give this merry toast,-- + _The dead that do not die_! + + + + + CHRISTMAS COMES AGAIN. + + + Let me be merry now, 't is time; + The season is at hand + For Christmas rhyme and Christmas chime, + Close up, and form the band. + + The winter fires still burn as bright, + The lamp-light is as clear, + And since the dead are out of sight, + What hinders Christmas cheer? + + Why think or speak of that abyss + In which lies all my Past? + High festival I need not miss, + While song and jest shall last. + + We'll clink and drink on Christmas Eve, + Our ghosts can feel no wrong; + They revelled ere they took their leave-- + Hearken, my Soldier's Song: + + "The morning air doth coldly pass, + Comrades, to the saddle spring: + The night more bitter cold will bring + Ere dying--ere dying. + Sweetheart, come, the parting glass; + Glass and sabre, clash, clash, clash, + Ere dying--ere dying. + Stirrup-cup and stirrup-kiss-- + Do you hope the foe we'll miss, + Sweetheart, for this loving kiss, + Ere dying--ere dying?" + + The feasts and revels of the year + Do ghosts remember long? + Even in memory come they here? + Listen, my Sailor's Song: + + "O my hearties, yo heave ho! + Anchor's up in Jolly Bay-- + Hey! + Pipes and swipes, hob and nob-- + Hey! + Mermaid Bess and Dolphin Meg, + Paddle over Jolly Bay-- + Hey! + Tars, haul in for Christmas Day, + For round the 'varsal deep we go; + Never church, never bell, + For to tell + Of Christmas Day. + Yo heave ho, my hearties O! + Haul in, mates, here we lay-- + Hey!" + + His sword is rusting in its sheath, + His flag furled on the wall; + We'll twine them with a holly-wreath, + With green leaves cover all. + + So clink and drink when falls the eve; + But, comrades, hide from me + Their graves--I would not see them heave + Beside me, like the sea. + + Let not my brothers come again, + As men dead in their prime; + Then hold my hands, forget my pain, + And strike the Christmas chime. + + + + + MARCH. + + + Ho, wind of March, speed over sea, + From mountains where the snows lie deep + The cruel glaciers threatening creep, + And witness this, my jubilee! + + Roar from the surf of boreal isles, + Roar from the hidden, jagged steeps, + Where the destroyer never sleeps; + Ring through the iceberg's Gothic piles! + + Voyage through space with your wild train, + Harping its shrillest, searching tone, + Or wailing deep its ancient moan, + And learn how impotent your reign. + + Then hover by this garden bed, + With all your wilful power, behold, + Just breaking from the leafy mould, + My little primrose lift its head! + + + + + THE SPRING AFAR. + + + Far from the empire of my present days, + Where I perforce remain, + The wild, fresh airs of Spring blow to and fro, + Piping out Winter's reign. + + I know the rosy wind-flowers spread like clouds + Above the leafy mould, + And pollard willows over shallow pools + Stretch out their rods of gold. + + I hear the waters in the mossy swamps + Start on their ocean quest, + Gliding through meadows, murmuring in woods, + Till reaching final rest. + + Fixed in my thoughts is Spring, so long remote, + Though Spring cannot endow + As Summer can, or yield sweet Autumn's peace: + 'T is that my heart needs now; + + Or hope--maybe that Spring and Hope are one. + Therefore I should not ask + For leave from this my place: _both_ may be near, + Behind my daily mask. + + + + + WHY? + + + Why did I go where roses grew, + And meadow larks which skyward flew + From grasses sparkling in the dew, + The yellow sunshine pouring through? + What was there for me to find? + Were they to learn my froward mind? + From far across vast summer seas, + Rifling green marshes, bending trees, + Driving cloud-shadows down the air, + Keen breezes smote me here and there, + Keen breezes crying, _Why, why, why_? + And nothing had I to reply! + Beings with neither soul nor sense, + Convicting me with their pretence; + Beings of change,--but what am I,-- + Once more repeating, _Why, why, why_? + + + + + AUGUST. + + + Read by the wayside, read by the brook, + That this is the passion of the year; + Look at the fields, look at the woods, + Look upon me, and--draw near! + + Just as these days are, so is my heart; + Lilies are flaming, berries are ripe; + Alders blow sweet, acorns are full-- + And the bobolink's young ones pipe! + + Ponder the river, ponder the sky, + Hazy and gray, hazy and blue; + Study the trees wed to the wind-- + I promise you I'll be as true! + Yes, true as August--as the birds' song, + The sweet fern's scent, the weedy, blue shore, + The shine of vines, smilax, and grape-- + What can you ask for more? + + + + + OCTOBER. + + + Falling leaves and falling men! + When the snows of winter fall, + And the winds of winter blow, + Will be woven Nature's pall. + + Let us, then, forsake our dead, + For the dead will surely wait, + While we rush upon the foe, + Eager for the hero's fate. + + Leaves will come upon the trees, + Spring will show the happy race; + Mothers will give birth to sons, + Loyal souls to fill our place. + + Wherefore should we rest and rust? + Soldiers, we must fight and save + Freedom now, and give our foes + All their country should--a grave! + + + + + "THE WILLOW BOUGHS ARE YELLOW NOW." + + + The willow boughs are yellow now, + For spring has come again; + The peach-tree buds begin to swell, + Dripping with April rain. + + The gray-eyed twilight lingers long, + To meet the starry night; + I walk the darkening lanes alone, + And love the sombre light. + + The dream of other days returns, + When comes the blossomed spring; + But when the full leaved summer comes + My dream has taken wing; + + The twittering swallows in the lane + Were there a year ago; + The old nests in the tangled vines + Their next year's brood will know. + + A little brood of children fair, + Under the mother's wing, + Is in the dream of other days, + That flies when flies the spring! + + + + + "IN THE STILL, STAR-LIT NIGHT." + + + In the still, star-lit night, + By the full fountain and the willow-tree, + I walked, and not alone-- + A spirit walked with me! + + A shade fell on the grass; + Upon the water fell a deeper shade: + Something the willow stirred, + For to and fro it swayed. + + The grass was in a quiver, + The water trembled, and the willow-tree + Sighed softly; I sighed loud-- + The spirit taunted me. + + All the night long I walked + By the full fountain, dropping icy tears; + I tore the willow leaves, + I tore the long, green spears! + + I clutched the quaking grass, + And beat the rough bark of the willow-tree; + I shook the wreathed boughs, + To make the spirit flee. + + It haunted me till dawn, + By the full fountain and the willow-tree; + For with myself I walked-- + How could the spirit flee? + + + + + AUTUMN. + + + No melancholy days are these! + Not where the maple changing stands, + Not in the shade of fluttering oaks, + Nor in the bands + + Of twisting vines and sturdy shrubs, + Scarlet and yellow, green and brown, + Falling, or swinging on their stalks, + Is Sorrow's crown. + + The sparkling fields of dewy grass, + Woodpaths and roadsides decked with flowers, + Starred asters and the goldenrod, + Date Autumn's hours. + + The shining banks of snowy clouds, + Steadfast in the aerial blue, + The silent, shimmering, silver sea, + To Joy are true. + + My spirit in this happy air + Can thus embrace the dying year, + And with it wrap me in a shroud + As bright and clear! + + + + + THE AUTUMN SHEAF. + + + Still I remember only autumn days, + When golden leaves were floating in the air, + And reddening oaks stood sombre in the haze, + Till sunset struck them with its redder glare, + + And faded, leaving me by wood and field + In fragrant dew, and fragrant velvet mould, + To wait among the shades of night concealed, + And learn that story which but once is told. + + Though many seasons of the falling leaves + I watched my failing hopes, and watched their fall; + In memory they are gathered now like sheaves, + So withered that a touch would scatter all. + + Dead leaves, and dust more dead, to fall apart, + Leaves spreading once in arches over me, + And dust enclosing once a loving heart, + Still I am happy with youth's mystery. + + It cannot be unbound,--my autumn sheaf; + So let it stand, the ruin of my past; + Returning autumn brings the old belief, + Its mystery all its own, and it will last. + + + + + IN THE CITY. + + + The autumn morning sweetly calls to me, + And autumn days and nights in patience wait; + I answer not, because I am not free, + Although I chose my fate. + + The cold, gray mist that stains the city walls + Stands silver-columned where the river glides, + Or, slow dividing, on the valley falls, + Where one I love abides. + + The wind that trifles round my city door, + Or whirls before me all the city's dust, + By the sea borrows its triumphant roar, + And lends its savage gust; + + Or shrieking rushes where the sombre pines + Hold solemn converse in the ancient vale, + And while 't is dying in their dark confines + Babbles their mystic tale. + + Could I but climb a roof above my own, + And greet grave Autumn as he walks the earth + With secret signal that would make me known, + I should not feel my dearth. + + Then silver mist or loud triumphant wind + Might come in sad disguise and misery; + I would but ponder in my secret mind + How Autumn answers me. + + + + + "I LOVE YOU, BUT A SENSE OF PAIN." + + + I love you, but a sense of pain + Is in my heart and in my brain; + Now, when your voice and eyes are kind, + May I reveal my complex mind? + + Though I am yours, it is my curse + Some ideal passion to rehearse: + I dream of one that's not like you, + Never of one that's half so true. + + To quell these yearnings, vague and wild, + I often kneel by our dear child, + In still, dark nights (you are asleep), + And hold his hands, and try to weep. + + I cannot weep; I cannot pray-- + Why grow so pale, and turn away? + Do you expect to hold me fast + By pretty legends in the past? + + It is a woman's province, then, + To be content with what has been? + To wear the wreath of withered flowers, + That crowned her in the bridal hours? + + Still, I am yours: this idle strife + Stirs but the surface of my life: + And if you would but ask once more, + "How goes the heart?" or at the door + + Imploring stand, and knock again, + I might forget this sense of pain, + And down oblivion's sullen stream + Would float the memory of my dream! + + + + + NAMELESS PAIN. + + + I should be happy with my lot: + A wife and mother--is it not + Enough for me to be content? + What other blessing could be sent? + + A quiet house, and homely ways, + That make each day like other days; + I only see Time's shadow now + Darken the hair on baby's brow! + + No world's work ever comes to me, + No beggar brings his misery; + I have no power, no healing art + With bruisèd soul or broken heart. + + I read the poets of the age, + 'Tis lotus-eating in a cage; + I study Art, but Art is dead + To one who clamors to be fed + + With milk from Nature's rugged breast, + Who longs for Labor's lusty rest. + O foolish wish! I still should pine + If any other lot were mine. + + + + + A BABY SONG. + + + Come, white angels, to baby and me; + Touch his blue eyes with the image of sleep, + In his surprise he will cease to weep; + Hush, child, the angels are coming to thee! + + Come, white doves, to baby and me; + Softly whirr in the silent air, + Flutter about his golden hair: + Hark, child, the doves are cooing to thee! + + Come, white lilies, to baby and me; + Drowsily nod before his eyes, + So full of wonder, so round and wise: + Hist, child, the lily-bells tinkle for thee! + + Come, white moon, to baby and me; + Gently glide o'er the ocean of sleep, + Silver the waves of its shadowy deep: + Sleep, child, and the whitest of dreams to thee. + + + + + THE WIFE SPEAKS. + + + Husband, to-day could you and I behold + The sun that brought us to our bridal morn + Rising so splendid in the winter sky + (We thought fair spring returned), when we were wed; + Could the shades vanish from these fifteen years, + Which stand like columns guarding the approach + To that great temple of the double soul + That is as one--would you turn back, my dear, + And, for the sake of Love's mysterious dream, + As old as Adam and as sweet as Eve, + Take me, as I took you, and once more go + Towards that goal which none of us have reached? + Contesting battles which but prove a loss, + The victor vanquished by the wounded one; + Teaching each other sacrifice of self, + True immolation to the marriage bond; + Learning the joys of birth, the woe of death, + Leaving in chaos all the hopes of life-- + Heart-broken, yet with courage pressing on + For fame and fortune, artists needing both? + Or, would you rather--I will acquiesce-- + Since we must choose what is, and are grown gray, + Stay in life's desert, watch our setting sun, + Calm as those statues in Egyptian sands, + Hand clasping hand, with patience and with peace, + Wait for a future which contains no past? + + + + + THE HUSBAND SPEAKS. + + + Dearest, though I have sung a many songs, + Yet have I never sung one from my heart, + Save to thee only--and such private songs + Are as the silent, secret kiss of Love! + My heart, I say, so sacred was, and is, + I kept, I keep it, from all eyes but thine, + Because it is no longer mine, but thine, + Given thee forever, when I gave myself + That winter morning--was it years ago? + To me it seems the dream of yesterday! + You have not lost the face I married then, + Albeit a trifle paler--not to-night-- + Nor I the eyes that saw then, and see still, + What every man should see in her he weds! + I wander ... wisely, let me, since my words + Conceal what none but you and I should know,-- + The love I bear you, who have been, and are + Strong in the strength and weakness of your sex-- + Queen of my household, mistress of my heart, + My children's mother, and my always friend; + In one word, Sweet, sweetest of all words--Wife! + + + + + "ONE MORN I LEFT HIM IN HIS BED." + + + One morn I left him in his bed; + A moment after some one said, + "Your child is dying--he is dead." + + We made him ready for his rest, + Flowers in his hair, and on his breast + His little hands together prest. + + We sailed by night across the sea; + So, floating from the world were we, + Apart from sympathy, we Three. + + The wild sea moaned, the black clouds spread + Moving shadows on its bed, + But one of us lay midship dead. + + I saw his coffin sliding down + The yellow sand in yonder town, + Where I put on my sorrow's crown. + + And we returned; in this drear place + Never to see him face to face, + I thrust aside the living race. + + Mothers, who mourn with me to-day, + Oh, understand me, when I say, + I cannot weep, I cannot pray; + + I gaze upon a hidden store, + His books, his toys, the clothes he wore, + And cry, "Once more, to me, _once_ more!" + + Then take, from me, this simple verse, + That you may know what I rehearse-- + A grief--your and my Universe! + + + + + BEFORE THE MIRROR. + + + Now like the Lady of Shalott, + I dwell within an empty room, + And through the day and through the night + I sit before an ancient loom. + + And like the Lady of Shalott + I look into a mirror wide, + Where shadows come, and shadows go, + And ply my shuttle as they glide. + + Not as she wove the yellow wool, + Ulysses' wife, Penelope; + By day a queen among her maids, + But in the night a woman, she, + + Who, creeping from her lonely couch, + Unraveled all the slender woof; + Or, with a torch, she climbed the towers, + To fire the fagots on the roof! + + But weaving with a steady hand + The shadows, whether false or true, + I put aside a doubt which asks + "Among these phantoms what are you?" + + For not with altar, tomb, or urn, + Or long-haired Greek with hollow shield, + Or dark-prowed ship with banks of oars, + Or banquet in the tented field; + + Or Norman knight in armor clad, + Waiting a foe where four roads meet; + Or hawk and hound in bosky dell, + Where dame and page in secret greet; + + Or rose and lily, bud and flower, + My web is broidered. Nothing bright + Is woven here: the shadows grow + Still darker in the mirror's light! + + And as my web grows darker too, + Accursed seems this empty room; + For still I must forever weave + These phantoms by this ancient loom. + + + + + "THE SHADOWS ON THE WATER REACH." + + + The shadows on the water reach + My shadow on the beach; + I see the dark trees on the shore, + The fisher's oar. + + I met her by the sea last night, + A little maid in white; + I shall never meet her more + On the shore. + + Ho! fisher, hoist your idle sail, + And whistle for a gale; + My ship is waiting in the bay, + Row away! + + + + + A SUMMER NIGHT. + + + I feel the breath of the summer night, + Aromatic fire: + The trees, the vines, the flowers are astir + With tender desire. + + The white moths flutter about the lamp, + Enamoured with light; + And a thousand creatures softly sing + A song to the night! + + But I am alone, and how can I sing + Praises to thee? + Come, Night! unveil the beautiful soul + That waiteth for me. + + + + + "FAN ME WITH THESE LILIES FAIR." + + + Fan me with these lilies fair, + Twine their stems around your arm: + Put your feet upon these roses, + Then you'll please me to a charm. + + Charm me with your violet eyes, + Kneel, and with your sweet lips meet + The flaming buds of mine, athirst + In the roses at your feet! + + "Leave the lilies on the lake, + Do not break its pale repose: + Tear your heart with cruel thorns, + Such as grow beneath the rose. + + "So you love me? You are mine? + Break from yon dead tree a bough, + Lay it down among these roses-- + Ah! I do not charm you now!" + + + + + "OH, THE WILD, WILD DAYS OF YOUTH!" + + + Oh, the wild, wild days of youth! + My royal youth; + My blood was then my king: + Maybe a little mad, + But full of truth! + + Oh, my lips were like a rose! + And my heart, too; + It was torn out leaf by leaf: + Ah! there be none that know + How the leaves flew! + + Oh, they dropped in the wine! + The royal wine; + There were showers for the girls, + Crowns for their white brows, + And for mine! + + + + + "ON MY BED OF A WINTER NIGHT." + + + On my bed of a winter night, + Deep in a sleep and deep in a dream, + What care I for the wild wind's scream, + What to me is its crooked flight? + + On the sea of a summer day, + Wrapped in the folds of a snowy sail, + What care I for the fitful gale, + Now in earnest, now in play? + + What care I for the fitful wind, + That groans in a gorge, or sighs in a tree? + Groaning and sighing are nothing to me, + For I am a man of steadfast mind. + + + + + "HALLO! MY FANCY, WHITHER WILT THOU GO?" + + + Swift as the tide in the river + The blood flows through my heart, + At the curious little fancy + That to-morrow we must part. + + It seems to me all over, + The last words have been said; + And I have the curious fancy + To-morrow will find me dead! + + + + + YOU LEFT ME. + + + You left me, and the anguish passed, + And passed the day, and passed the night-- + A blank in which my senses failed; + Then slowly came an inward light. + + So plain it reproduced the hours + We lived as one,--the books we read, + Our quiet walks and pleasant talks-- + Love, by your spirit was I led? + + Oh, love, the vision grows too dear, + I live in visions--I pursue + Them only; come, your rival meet, + My future bring, it will be--_you!_ + + + + + "O FRIEND, BEGIN A LOFTIER SONG." + + + O friend, begin a loftier song. + Confusion falls upon your mind; + A sense of evil makes you blind; + "What use," you say, "is it to be? + I know not GOD, GOD knows not me!" + + O friend, begin a loftier song. + In other minds you place no trust: + You tread your laurels in the dust: + You see no Future, Hope has fled, + Youth had its dreams, but Youth is dead. + + O friend, begin a loftier song. + "The sweet ideal of past years + Speaks in my songs, they are my tears: + I'll weep no more, I'll sing no lays + To bury Youth for idle praise!" + + O friend, begin a loftier song. + Come through the gateway of the Past, + Dear friend. The world will hear at last + The little songs the poets sing: + Do thou with anthems make it ring! + + + + + "NOW THAT THE PAIN IS GONE, I TOO CAN SMILE." + + + Now that the pain is gone, I too can smile + At such a foolish picture; you and me + Together in that moonlit summer night, + Within the shadow of an aspen-tree. + + My hand was on your shoulder: I grew wild: + The blood seethed furiously through my heart! + But you--Oh, you were saintly calm, and cold; + You moved my hand, and said, "'T is best we part!" + + My face fell on the bands of your fair hair, + A moonbeam struck across my hungry eye, + And struck across your balmy crimson mouth: + I longed to kiss you, and I longed to die! + + Die in the shadow of the trembling tree, + Trembling my soul away upon your breast. + You smiled, and drifted both your snowy hands + Against my forehead, and your fingers pressed + + Faintly and slow adown my burning face; + A keen sense of the woman touched you then, + The nice dramatic sense you women have, + Playing upon the feelings of us men! + + Long years have passed since that midsummer night, + But still I feel the creeping of your hand + Along my face. If I return once more, + And in the shadow of that tree should stand + + With you there--Answer! Would you kiss me back? + Would you reject me if I sued again?-- + How strange this is! I think my madness lasts, + Although I'm sure I have forgot the pain! + + + + + THE COLONEL'S SHIELD. + + + Your picture, slung about my neck + The day we went afield, + Swung out before the trench; + It caught the eye of rank and file, + Who knew "The Colonel's Shield." + + I thrust it back, and with my men + (Our General rode ahead) + We stormed the great redoubt, + As if it were an easy thing, + But rows of us fell dead! + + Your picture hanging on my neck, + Up with my men I rushed; + We made an awful charge: + And then my horse, "The Lady Bess," + Dropped, and--my leg was crushed! + + The blood of battle in my veins + (A blue-coat dragged me out),-- + But I remembered you; + I kissed your picture--did you know? + And yelled, "For the redoubt!" + + The Twenty-fourth, my scarred old dogs, + Growled back, "He'll put us through; + We'll take him in our arms: + Our picture there--the girl he loves, + Shall see what we can do." + + The foe was silenced--so were we. + I lay upon the field, + Among the Twenty-fourth; + Your picture, shattered on my breast, + Had proved "The Colonel's Shield." + + + + + A FEW IDLE WORDS. + + + So, I must believe that I loved you once! + These letters say so; + And here is your picture--how you have changed! + It was long ago. + + The gloss is worn from this lock of black hair-- + You can have them all, + And with these treasures a few idle words, + That I will not recall. + + What a child I was when you met me first! + Was I handsome then? + I think you remember the very night, + It was half-past ten, + + When you came upstairs, so tired of the men, + And tired of the wine; + You said you loved lilies (my dress was white), + And hated to dine. + + The dowagers nodded behind their fans; + I played an old song; + You told an old tale, I thought it so new, + And I thought so long. + + True, I had read the "Arabian Nights," + And "Amadis de Gaul;" + But I never had found a modern knight + In our books at the Hall. + + You tore your hand with the thorns of the rose + That looped up my sleeve, + And a drop of red blood fell on my arm-- + You asked, "Do you grieve?" + + That drop of your blood made mine flow fast; + But you sipped your tea + With a nonchalant air, and balanced the spoon, + And balanced poor me, + + In the scale with my stocks, and farms, and mines. + Did it tremble at all? + When my cousin, the heir, turned up one day, + We both had a fall! + + Well, we meet again, and I look at you + With a quiet surprise; + I think your ennui possesses me now, + And am quite as wise. + + To me it was only a dream of love, + A defeat to you: + It was not your first, may be not your last-- + Here, take them--Adieu! + + + + + VERS DE SOCIÉTÉ. + + + This chain of white arms round the room-- + The demon waltz--bewilders me: + Or am I drunk with this good wine? + _Vive la compagnie_! + + "My friend, young Highboys, have you met?" + "O yes: how do? good brandy here!" + The wretch's mother, in her youth, + Was famous for her beer! + + Before his patent scraper sold + Old Highboys used to beat them all! + See what Society has done-- + He's holding her cashmere shawl! + + How is it, Madam, that I know + The guests at once? Wipe off the paint-- + Convention daubs us all alike, + Sinner as well as Saint! + + I see you in the crimson chair, + Behind your jewelled Spanish fan, + Slipping your bracelets up and down, + Flashing your eyes on the man + + Who plays the harp; he twangs an air + You understand--you've met before; + How many lessons did you take? + Madam, you need no more. + + Tiger of fifty! So you've bought + This pretty girl in the Honiton lace. + Now she's abroad, she quite forgets + She shudders in your embrace. + + Dowagers, stiff in black brocades, + Worry the waiters--sweep their trays: + How they scowl at the foolish men + Basking in Beauty's blaze! + + Saunters a poet, munching cake: + "Very distinguished." "Did you buy + Your lace at Beck's?" "Why, how he laughs!" + "But his verses make one cry!" + + Idle poet, a word with you: + You sing too much of love's sweet wrong, + Of rosy cheeks, and purple wine: + Give us a loftier song. + + The coachmen stamp upon the steps; + Our hostess looks towards the door; + Our host twists round his limp cravat, + Pronouncing the thing a bore! + + Our skeletons will be stirring soon; + Something already touches me: + Off, till I drain one bottle more! + _Vive la compagnie!_ + + + + + THE RACE. + + + The guests were gathered in the ancient park + Of my Lord Wynne, and he was now their mark + For wit and gossip--quite the usual way, + Where one bestows, and no one need repay. + "A stumbling-block his pride; his heart's in strife + Between two women, which to choose for wife. + He's always hovering round that lovely girl, + His lawyer's daughter, who will never furl + _Her_ flag of pride: she rivals Gilbert there. + Now watch their meeting; none more bravely wear + Their beauty, recognize a woman's own, + Than Clara Mercome. Gilbert Wynne has sown + His wild oats for her sake; yet he delays, + And with my Lady Bond divides his days. + Who bets on beauty, hedges in on age; + Which tries the flight to perch in Lord Wynne's cage? + Will Lady Bond or Clara be the queen? + For Lady Bond is certain of her lien." + He heard this talk while standing by a beech-- + Hugh Wynne--and planned how he might overreach + Gilbert and Clara, break the pride of both, + Part them for good, or make them plight their troth. + "Now for a race," he cried, "to Martin's Mill; + The boats are here; behold, the lake is still. + Here, Gilbert, take your oar; I'll follow soon, + Though sunset's nigh--to-night is harvest-moon. + Let go the rope, the knot's inside; take these, + Arrange a seat, adjust it at your ease. + _She's here_. Miss Mercome, you will help him win + The race, and will not count my wager sin." + And he was gone; the pair were face to face. + "I'll take the oars," he gasped; "we'll win this race." + He never felt his heart so in his breast. + "I hope you will forgive my cousin's jest?" + A haughty murmur was her sole reply. + No rowers followed. Never did swallows fly + So swift, or dip the lake like Gilbert's oars. + He was watchful, careless she. "There soars + A heron, quite a feature of your state: + Are gems and peacocks, tell me, still in date? + How deep the woods upon the water steal, + One to the other making soft appeal!" + "Not being human, wood and water meet + In their own speech, and soulless things are sweet + Together. So they are to me. I like + To watch the herons by the sedgy dike; + They keep me tranquil; and I love to feed + The pike in yon old pool; they help to lead-- + Why, here is Martin's Bridge, and yet no boats! + Shall we return?" Said Clara then, "There floats + A lily bed beyond; let's shoot beneath + The bridge, and lilies pull; I want a wreath." + He knew the channel narrow; it was dark; + But his heart leaped at this relenting mark. + He drew his oars up, pointed in the helm, + And shot in the cool gloom. He thought no realm + On which the sun had shone was half so bright. + And somehow Clara thought it nice as light. + The waters swirled so swift that in the noise + Clara grew dizzy; Gilbert lost his poise, + And lost an oar; with a confusing shock + The boat was grinding--stopped against a rock. + "Gilbert, my dear, are we not going down?" + "Dearest, my love, we were not born to drown. + Oh, kiss me; we are safe; and grant me now + Yourself. I'll gather lilies for your brow; + And Hugh will know that I have won the race, + And Clara, my dear wife, her rightful place." + + + + + THE WOLF-TAMER. + + + Through the gorge of snow we go, + Tracking, tramping soft and slow, + With our paws and sheathèd claws, + So we swing along the snow, + Crowding, crouching to your pipes-- + Shining serpents! Well you know, + When your lips shall cease to blow + Airs that lure us through the snow, + We shall fall upon your race + Who do wear a different face. + Who were spared in yonder vale? + Not a man to tell the tale! + Blow, blow, serpent pipes, + Slow we follow:--all our troop-- + Every wolf of wooded France, + Down from all the Pyrenees-- + Shall they follow, follow you, + In your dreadful music-trance? + Mark it by our tramping paws, + Hidden fangs, and sheathèd claws? + You have seen the robber bands + Tear men's tongues and cut their hands, + For ransom--we ask none--begone, + For the tramping of our paws, + Marking all your music's laws, + Numbs the lust of ear and eye; + Or--let us go beneath the snow, + And silent die--as wolves should die! + + + + + THE ABBOT OF UNREASON. + + + I looked over the balustrade-- + The twilight had come-- + And saw the pretty waiting-maid + Kiss Roland, the page. + + My lady heard the wolf-dog's chain + Clank on the floor; + Sly Roland caught it up again, + And whistled a song. + + Oh! they think that my heart is cold, + Under my gown; + Not till I blacken into mould + Will it cease to burn. + + Burn, burn for such sweet red lips! + I am almost mad, + Even to touch her finger tips, + When we meet alone. + + Roland, the page, goes here and there, + Loving, and loved, + Women like his devil-may-care, + Till they are forgot! + + Whether I am in castle or inn, + With sinner or saint, + Never can I a woman win,-- + I am but a priest! + + + + + EL MANOLO. + + + In the still, dark shade of the palace wall, + Where the peacocks strut, + Where the queen may have heard my madrigal, + Together we sat. + + My sombrero hid the fire in my eyes, + And shaded her own: + This serge cloak stifled her sweet little cries, + When I kissed her mouth! + + The pale olive trees on the distant plain, + The jagged blue rocks, + The vaporous sea-like mountain chain, + Dropped into the night. + + We saw the lights in the palace flare; + The musicians played: + The red guards slashed and sabred the stair, + And cursed the old king. + + In the long black shade of the palace wall, + We sat the night through; + Under my cloak--but I cannot tell all-- + The queen may have seen! + + + + + MERCEDES. + + + Under a sultry, yellow sky, + On the yellow sand I lie; + The crinkled vapors smite my brain, + I smoulder in a fiery pain. + + Above the crags the condor flies; + He knows where the red gold lies, + He knows where the diamonds shine;-- + If I knew, would she be mine? + + Mercedes in her hammock swings; + In her court a palm-tree flings + Its slender shadow on the ground, + The fountain falls with silver sound. + + Her lips are like this cactus cup; + With my hand I crush it up; + I tear its flaming leaves apart;-- + Would that I could tear her heart! + + Last night a man was at her gate; + In the hedge I lay in wait; + I saw Mercedes meet him there, + By the fireflies in her hair. + + I waited till the break of day, + Then I rose and stole away; + But left my dagger in the gate;-- + Now she knows her lover's fate! + + + + + THE BULL-FIGHT. + + + Eleven o'clock: + Here are our cups of chocolate. + Montez will fight the bulls to-day-- + All Madrid knows that: + Queen Christina is going in state: + Dolores will go with her little fan! + + Lace up my shoe; + Put on my Basquina; + Can you see my black eyes? + I am Manuel's duchess. + + In front of the box of the Queen and the Duke + Dolores sits, flirting her fan; + The church of St. Agnes stands on the right, + And its shadow falls on the picadors; + On their lean steeds they prance in the ring, + Hidalgo-fashion, their hands on their hips. + + "_Ha! Toro! Toro!_" + Hoh! the horses are gored; + Now for the men. + "_Ha! Toro! Toro!_" + Every man over the barrier! + + Not so; for there the bull-fighter stands; + Some little applause from the royal box, + And "_Montez! Montez!_" from a thousand throats! + + The bull bows fine, though snorting with rage, + His fore-leg makes little holes in the ground; + But Montez stands still; his ribbons don't flutter! + Saints, what a leap! + His rosette is on the bull's black horn; + Montez is pale; but his great eye shines + When Dolores cries--"_Kisses for Montez!_" + Fie! Manuel's duchess! + + A minute longer the fight is done, + The mule-bells tinkle, the bull rides off; + Montez twirls a new diamond ring, + And Dolores goes home for chocolate. + + + + + ON THE CAMPAGNA. + + + Stop on the Appian Way, + In the Roman Campagna; + Stop at my tomb, + The tomb of Cecilia Metella. + To-day as you see it, + Alaric saw it, ages ago, + When he, with his pale-visaged Goths, + Sat at the gates of Rome, + Reading his Runic shield. + Odin, thy curse remains! + + Beneath these battlements + My bones were stirred with Roman pride, + Though centuries before my Romans died + Now my bones are dust; the Goths are dust. + The river-bed is dry where sleeps the king, + My tomb remains! + + When Rome commanded the earth + Great were the Metelli: + I was Metella's wife; + I loved him--and I died. + Then with slow patience built he this memorial: + Each century marks his love. + + Pass by on the Appian Way + The tomb of Cecilia Metella; + Wild shepherds alone seek its shelter, + Wild buffaloes tramp at its base. + Deep is its desolation, + Deep as the shadow of Rome! + + + + + THE QUEEN DEPOSED. + + + I was the queen of Karl, a northern king: + Amazon Olga, and I rode his Ban, + A stallion in the royal ring + Who would not bear a man. + + And in Ban's saddle did I feel the pains + For my first-born, the king's sole hope, his heir; + My Karl himself would loose the reins, + Would take me up the stair. + + Low was the murmur of the royal troops + Below, I saw the tapers' twinkling light; + I heard a cry--"My queen, she droops!" + Then fell eternal night. + + No more was Olga queen for any king; + The pathway round a throne she could not tread, + Nor triumph in the royal ring-- + The boy she bore was dead! + + The cloister hers; she chose the cloak and hood, + And beads of olive-wood, a pouch for alms; + So begged she, Christ, for thy dear rood, + _Laus Deo_ sang thy psalms! + + Why am I here? This country is my king's; + The lovely river, wooded hills above; + Old St. Sebastian's church-bell rings-- + There flies the silver dove + + That flitted by the day we came to praise + Our gracious Mary for a granted prayer; + Heralds, trumps, the same gay maze + Of troops--King Karl is there! + + _Laus Deo_ with a child, and with his mate-- + She wins the throne by bringing him a son: + Babes make or mar our queenly fate-- + My woman's life is done. + + + + + A UNIT. + + + When I was camping on the Volga's banks, + The trader Zanthon with a leash of mares + Went by my tent. I knew the wily Jew, + And he knew me. He muttered as he passed, + "The last Bathony, and his tusks are grown. + A broken 'scutcheon is a 'scutcheon still, + And Amine's token in my caftan lies,-- + Amine, who weeps and wails for his return." + He caught my eye, and slipped inside the tent. + "Haw, Zanthon, up from Poland, at your tricks! + How veer the boars on old Bathony's towers? + True to the winds that blow on Poland's plains?" + "They bite the dust, my lord, as beast to beast. + When Poles conspire, conspiracy alone + Survives to hover in the murky air. + My lord, Bathony's gates are left ajar + For you to enter, or--remain outside; + The forest holds the secret you surprised, + And men are there, to dare as they have dared." + "Haw, Zanthon, tell me of the palatine. + The air of Russia makes a man forget + He was a man elsewhere: the trumpets' squeal + I follow, and the thud of drums. You spoke + As if I were of princely birth: hark ye, + _Battalion_ is the call I listen to." + "My lord, the cranes that plunder in your fens, + The doves that nest within your woods I saw + Fly round the gaping walls, and plume their wings + Upon your father's grave. Do you know this?" + "A token, Zanthon? so--a withered flower! + You think I wore one in my sword-hilt once? + Methinks there is no perfume in this flower. + Watch, while I fling it on the Volga's tide. + The chief, my father, sent me with a curse + To travel in the steppes, and so I do. + The air of Russia makes a man forget + He was a man elsewhere, for love or hope, + And as he marches, he becomes but this. + Haw, Zanthon, would you learn the reason why? + Search on the Caucasus, the northern seas, + Look in the sky or over earth, then ask, + The answer everywhere will be, _The Tzar_." + + + + + ZANTHON--MY FRIEND. + + + I, knight-at-arms, in my own forest lost! + Count of the empire, heir to crags and caves, + And brother to the eagle and the fox! + The music of the thunder, and the wind + Among the arches of the oaks, may choir + A requiem for my passing soul. But hist! + A footstep in the leaves--some poaching hind + Or gypsy trapping game--Holà ! holà ! + Perhaps the kobolds are abroad to-night. + Zanthon knows well these mountain-folk entice. + The woods divide, dawn breaks, I see the verge; + Bathony's stronghold on the Polish plains + Should top the wilderness: were Zanthon here, + To boast his prowess in our hunting bouts, + I would not cuff nor flout him, could we sight + In the old way, with fanfaron, the boars + On the old battlements, our ancient badge. + That lie to Zanthon on the Volga's banks, + When Amine sent the wild rose by his hand, + Was Satan's wile. I played the Cossack well. + With shame my mustache bristled when I said, + "Troopers must forage where the grain is grown: + I share my kopecks with the village priest, + Who winnows peccadillos by the sheaf." + Then Zanthon, laughing in his foxy beard: + "When Amine meets me in the plane-tree walk + (Where pairing little finches seek to build, + We saw the cuckoo thieve their nests when boys), + Shall I then tell her, in my peasant way, + Your broken promise, and her troth denied?" + And he was gone--gone, with the stud he bought + From Schamyl's son, up by Caucasus way, + Leaving me solitude to reason with. + Around me, then, an odor swept--the rose! + It plagued my nostrils day and night, in gusts + It blew, but one way only--towards Amine. + At cards it smote me, in the saddle puffed, + Through my tent walls at night its withered blast + Pierced, and changed me in my wavering dreams. + What spell was this, by love or friendship sent? + Across the steppes I followed Zanthon, close,-- + He might have heard the whinny of my mare; + Verst after verst, the measure of her hoofs + Beat out a rhythm, like a cackling laugh. + But on the frontier my poor Sesma fell: + I heard the ravens croaking from the hills. + The sun has burned away the valley's mist. + And in the silent, tranquil morning air + A mirage rises of my ruined walls: + Gold-colored, crystal-edged, the banners flash. + The rooks are stringing for the old beech copse. + This gully crossed, the bridge that spans the stream-- + But halte-lâ, my heart crowds up my breast, + For this is Poland, Mother of my Soul! + Quoth Zanthon, watching in the plane-tree walk, + "My fine Bathony comes to join the feast, + And raise the conopeum for my bride. + I pay the kopecks to the priest to-day, + But Amine in his sheaf will not be bound." + + + + + ACHILLES IN ORCUS. + + + From thy translucent waves, great Thetis, rise! + Mother divine, hear, and take back the gift + Thou gavest me of valor and renown, + And then seek Zeus, but not with loosened zone + For dalliance; entreat him to restore + Me, Achilles, to the earth, to the black earth, + The nourisher of men, not these pale shades, + Whose shapes have learned the presage of thy doom; + They flit between me and the wind-swept plain + Of Troy, the banners over Ilion's walls, + The zenith of my prowess, and my fate. + Give me again the breath of life, not death. + Would I could tarry in the timbered tent, + As when I wept Patroclus, when, by night, + Old Priam crept, kissing my knees with tears + For Hector's corse, the hero I laid low. + My panoply was like the gleam of fire + When in the dust I dragged him at my wheels, + My heart was iron,--he despoiled my friend. + Cast on these borders of eternal gloom, + Now comes Odysseus with his wandering crew; + He pours libations in the deep-dug trench, + While airy forms in multitudes press near, + And listen to the echoes of my praise. + His consolation vain, he hails me, "Prince!" + Vain is his speech: "No man before thy time, + Achilles, lived more honored; here thou art + Supreme, the ruler in these dread abodes." + Speak not so easily to me of death, + Great Odysseus! Rather would I be + The meanest hind, and bring the bleating lambs + From down the grassy hills, or with a goad + To prod the hungry swine in beechen woods, + Than over the departed to bear sway. + Then from the clouds to note the warning cry + Of the harsh crane; to see the Pleiads rise, + The vine and fig-tree shoot, the olive bud; + To hear the chirping swallows in the dawn, + The thieving cuckoo laughing in the leaves! + So, may Achilles pass his palace gate, + And later heroes strike Achilles' lyre! + + + + + ABOVE THE TREE. + + + Why should I tarry here, to be but one + To eke out doubt, and suffer with the rest? + Why should I labor to become a name, + And vaunt, as did Ulysses to his mates, + "I am a part of all that I have met." + A wily seeker to suffice myself! + As when the oak's young leaves push off the old, + So from this tree of life man drops away, + And all the boughs are peopled quick by spring + Above the furrows of forgotten graves. + The one we thought had made the nation's creed, + Whose death would rive us like a thunderbolt, + Dropped down--a sudden rustling in the leaves, + A knowledge of the gap, and that was all! + The robin flitting on his frozen mound + Is more than he. Whoever dies, gives up + Unfinished work, which others, tempted, claim + And carry on. I would go free, and change + Into a star above the multitude, + To shine afar, and penetrate where those + Who in the darkling boughs are prisoned close, + But when they catch my rays, will borrow light, + Believing it their own, and it will serve. + + + + + TO AN ARTIST. + + + To me, long absent from the world of art, + You bring the clouded mountains, my desire, + The tranquil river, and the stormy sea, + The far, pale morning, and the crimson eve, + And silent days, that brood among lush leaves, + When, in the afternoon, the summer sun + Is gliding down the hazy yellow west, + And my soul's atmosphere rests in the scene, + Until I dream the boundaries of my life + May hold an unknown, coming happiness. + How shall I, then, to show my gratitude, + But offer you a picture drawn in words-- + With all the art I have,--in black and white! + + + + + A LANDSCAPE. + + + Between me and the woods along the bay + The swallows circle through the darkling mist, + The robins breast the grass, and they divide + This solitude with me. The rippling sea + And sunset clouds, the sea gulls' flashing flight + From looming isles beyond--I watch them now + With a new sense. Where are the swallows' young, + And where the robins' nests? Year after year + They hover round this ancient house, and I, + Within as heedless, saw the long years pass, + Nor ever dreamed a day like this might come-- + A day when mourners go about the street + For one who always loved his fellow-men. + The windflower trembles in the woods, the sod + Is full of violets, the orchards rain + Their scented blossoms. May unfolds its leaves-- + Nature's eternal mystery to renew. + Must man be less than leaf or flower, and end? + If I go hence, when this departed soul + Has left no human tie to bind me now, + When spring unfolds, and I recall his past, + Will their remembrance lead me here again, + To teach me that his spirit comes to show + That Nature is eternal for man's sake? + + + + + FROM THE HEADLAND. + + + I hear the waters of some inlet now + Come lapping to the fringe of yonder wood, + The storm-bent firs, and oaks along the cliff. + The yellow leaves are glistening in the grass, + The grassy slope I climb this autumn day. + Ensnaring me, the brambles clutch my feet, + As if constraining me to be a guest + To the wild, silent populace they shield. + It cannot say, nor I, why we are here. + What is my recompense upon this soil, + For other paths are mine if I go hence, + Still must I make the mystery my quest? + For here or there, I think, one sways my will. + There is no show of beauty to delight + The vision here, or strike the electric chord + Which makes the present and the past as one. + No thickets where the thrushes sing in maze + Of green, no silver-threaded waterfalls + In vales, where summer sleeps in darkling woods + With sunlit glades, and pools where lilies blow. + Here, but the wiry grass and sorrel beds, + The gaping edges of the sand ravines, + Whose shifting sides are tufted with dull herbs, + Drooping above a brook, that sluggish creeps + Down to the whispering rushes in the marsh. + And this is all, until I reach the cliff, + And on the headland's verge I stand, enthralled + Before the gulf of the unquenchable sea-- + The sea, inexorable in its might, + Circling the pebbly beach with limpid tides, + Storming in bays whose margins fade in mist; + Now blue and silent as a noonday sky, + At twilight now the pearly rollers shake + The sunset's trail of violet and gold; + Or black, when rushing on the rocky isles + Anchored in waves that bellow to the winds. + I watch till comes the night; the moonlight falls, + The silvery deep on some far journey goes, + To solve for me, I think, this mystery. + + + + + AS ONE. + + + When I, enclosed within the city's walls, + Behold the multitudes that come and go, + Hands clenched on gain, and nature all denied, + Then I recall, recall the drift of time. + + But when she proffered all her wealth to me, + The first faint blossom of the spring I share, + The latest autumn leaf, the last green blade, + Then I forget, forget the drift of time. + + The months go by, and take me in their train, + The vesture wrapping them enfolds me too, + And all the journey through we seem as one, + And I forget, forget the drift of time. + + I hear the bluebird's call in windy dawns, + The robin's cheery note from dewy fields, + The swallow's cry along the pool at eve, + And I forget, forget the drift of time. + + When hedges give the prophecy of birds, + And sunbeams play on the expectant boughs, + The leaves uncurl and fill their veins with life, + And I forget, forget the drift of time. + + I watch a tumult in the summer skies, + A blur of sunshine, and the rush of rain, + The tempest dying in the twilight's hush, + And I forget, forget the drift of time. + + When winter woods are armored by the frost, + And all the highways filled with soundless snows, + Then comes the sun to show his golden palm, + And I forget, forget the drift of time. + + The mountains look upon me and the sea-- + I hover on their crests in silver mists, + And with the waters pass beyond their verge, + And I forget, forget the drift of time. + + + + + THE VISITINGS OF TRUTH KNOWN ELSEWHERE. + + + Spending abroad these varied autumn days, + Their melancholy legend I deny. + They keep a vanished treasure I will seek, + And follow on a track of mystic hopes. + While watching in thy atmosphere, I see + The form of beauty changes, not its soul. + When with the Spring, the flying feet of youth + Spurning the present as it passed, and me, + I thought the world a mere environment + To hold my wishes and my happiness. + I have forgot that foolish, vain belief, + Now in my sere and yellow leaf, serene, + I offer Autumn all my homage now. + The eddies, whirling, rustling in my path, + Lure me like sprites, and from the leaves a voice: + "Say not our lesson is decay; we fall, + And lo, the naked trees in beauty lift + Their delicate tracery against the sky. + On the pale verdure of the grass we spread + A shining web of scarlet, bronze, and gold; + When the rain comes, the oaks uphold us still. + The holly shines, and waits the Christmas chimes, + Beneath the branches of the evergreens." + November's clouds without a shadow lift + The purple mountains of its airy sphere, + And all my purpose waits upon them now. + Day fades--a rose above the darkling sea, + And from the amber sky clear twilight falls; + The orange woods grow black, and I go forth, + And as I go, the noiseless airs pass by, + And touch me like the petals of a flower; + The cricket chirps me in the warm, dry sod, + Drowsy, and I would pipe a cheery strain; + But from the pines I hear the call of night, + And round the quiet earth the stars wheel up, + With me eternal, and I stay beneath, + Until I fade into the fading plain. + + + + + WE MUST WAIT. + + + The testimony of my loss and gain + Will I give utterance to, though none may hear. + When long ago, bereft of all I loved, + I sought in Nature recompense, implored + For pity, solace, or forgetfulness, + "The dear, familiar seasons as they pass, + The seal of memory on every place," + I said, "will give the sympathy I seek, + The restoration which they owe to me." + By day and night I prayed as futile prayers + As the wind's shriek in lonesome winter nights; + By the sea they fell as empty as the shells + Upon its sands, uncertain as its mists. + With them I tracked the shadows of the woods, + And sowed them in the fields among the seed; + Whoso reaped harvest, I could gather none. + I wandered in the thickets, giving tongue + Like a lost hound, dazed by their solitude, + The while birds called their mates, the lilies blazed, + And roses opened to the wandering airs. + They vanished with the leaves that voyaged the brook, + Which babbled of no story but its own. + How blind I was to Nature's liberty! + Grief stalked beside me, I was sore beset, + And could not hear the turning of Time's wheel. + Still were the skies serene, the earth most fair, + When with the doleful chant of dust to dust + Mingled the laughter of this sunlit sea; + And through my tears I saw the ripples dance, + And June's sweet breezes kiss the swaying elms. + As he who turns the key within his door + And gazes at his walls before he goes, + Then forward sets his steps--so I set mine + To join a band whose purpose was to find + A world of action; but my heart was cold, + My mind supine. Yet I remained with them, + And answered to the roll called Honor, Fame! + Where were my memories and my ardent prayers? + The years stood far behind, their columns graved + Deep with the adage which youth names _No More_. + Like one who enters some old storied hall, + And down its vista suddenly beholds + A banner waving out its old device + Of victory--so suddenly I felt + My later life a void. I was recalled! + My prayers were answered, and behold me here; + Within the pale of all my loss and gain, + The dear, familiar seasons as they pass, + The seal of memory on every place, + Bestow the restoration which I sought. + At peace, I know, as those who suffer know, + There is no secret we can wrest at will + From Nature. Time must bring and share with her + The gift of resignation, cure for grief, + And cast upon our ways this ray of hope-- + That I, the lost, and Nature may be one. + + + + + UNRETURNING. + + + Now all the flowers that ornament the grass, + Wherever meadows are and placid brooks, + Must fall--the "glory of the grass" must fall. + Year after year I see them sprout and spread-- + The golden, glossy, tossing buttercups, + The tall, straight daisies and red clover globes, + The swinging bellwort and the blue-eyed bent, + With nameless plants as perfect in their hues-- + Perfect in root and branch, their plan of life, + As if the intention of a soul were there: + I see them flourish as I see them fall! + But he, who once was growing with the grass, + And blooming with the flowers, my little son, + Fell, withered--dead, nor has revived again! + Perfect and lovely, needful to my sight, + Why comes he not to ornament my days? + The barren fields forget their barrenness, + The soulless earth mates with these soulless things, + Why should I not obtain _my_ recompense? + The budding spring should bring, or summer's prime, + At least a vision of the vanished child, + And let his heart commune with mine again, + Though in a dream--his life was but a dream; + Then might I wait with patient cheerfulness, + That cheerfulness which keeps one's tears unshed, + And blinds the eyes with pain--the passage slow + Of other seasons, and be still and cold + As the earth is when shrouded in the snow, + Or passive, like it, when the boughs are stripped + In autumn, and the leaves roll everywhere. + And he should go again; for winter's snows, + And autumn's melancholy voice, in winds, + In waters, and in woods, belong to me, + To me--a faded soul; for, as I said, + The sense of all his beauty, sweetness, comes + When blossoms are the sweetest; when the sea, + Sparkling and blue, cries to the sun in joy, + Or, silent, pale, and misty waits the night, + Till the moon, pushing through the veiling cloud, + Hangs naked in its heaving solitude: + When feathery pines wave up and down the shore, + And the vast deep above holds gentle stars, + And the vast world beneath hides him from me! + + + + + CLOSED. + + + The crimson dawn breaks through the clouded east, + And waking breezes round the casement pipe; + They blow the globes of dew from opening buds, + And steal the odors of the sleeping flowers. + The swallow calls its young ones from the eaves, + To dart above their shadows on the lake, + Till its long rollers redden in the sun, + And bend the lances of the mirrored pines. + Who knows the miracle that brings the morn? + Still in my house I linger, though the night-- + The night that hides me from myself is gone. + Light robes the world, but strips me bare again. + I will not follow on the paths of day. + I know the dregs within its crystal hours; + The bearers of my cups have served me well; + I drained them, and the bearers come no more. + Rise, morning, rise, for those believing souls + Who seek completion in day's garish light. + My casement I will close, keep shut my door, + Till day and night are only dreams to me. + + + + + MEMORY IS IMMORTAL. + + + Time passed, as passes time with common souls, + Whose thoughts and wishes end with every day; + For whom no future is, whose present hours + Reveal no looming shade of that which was. + + But Memory is immortal, for she comes + To me, from heaven or hell, to me, once more! + As birds that migrate choose the ocean wind + That beats them helpless, while it steers them home, + So I was this way driven--I chose this way-- + Of old my dwelling-place, where all my race + Are buried. At first I was enchanted here; + Impossible appeared the pall, the shroud; + And in my spell I trod the grassy streets, + Where in the summer days mild oxen drew + The bristling hay, and in the winter snows + The creaking masts and knees for mighty ships, + Whose hulls were parted on the coral reefs, + Or foundered in the depth of Arctic nights. + I wandered through the gardens rank and waste, + Wonderful once, when I was like the flowers; + Along the weedy paths grew roses still, + Surviving empire, but remaining queens. + + My mood established by the slumbrous town-- + (Slumber with slumber, dream with dream should be) + I sought a mansion on the lonely shore, + From which, his feet made level with his head, + Its occupant was gone. I lived alone. + Whoso, beneath this roof, had played his part + In life's deep tragedy, not here again + Could be rehearsed its scenes of love or hate. + Upon the ancient walls my pictures hung, + Of men and women, strong and beautiful, + Whose shoulders pushed along the world's great wheel; + Landscapes, where cloud and mountain rose as one, + Where rivers crept in secret vales, or rolled + Past city walls, whose towers and palaces + By slaves were builded, and by princes fallen! + And books whose pages ever told one tale, + The tale of human love, in joy or pain, + The seed of our last hope--Eternity. + Days glided by, this mirage cheating all; + Morn came, eve went, and we were tranquil still. + If form, and sound, and color fail to show, + By poet's, painter's, sculptor's noble touch, + The subtle truth of Nature, can I tell + How Nature poised my mind in light and shade? + + But Memory is immortal, and to me + She advanced, silent, slow, a muffled shape. + One moonlight night I walked through long white lanes; + The sky and sea were like a frosted web; + The air was heavy with familiar scents, + Which travelled down the wind, I knew from where-- + The fragrance of a grove of Northern pines. + My feet were hastening thither--and my heart! + At last I stood before a funeral mound, + From which I fled when vanished love and life-- + Long years ago--fled from my father's house; + Banished myself, to banish him I loved-- + His broken history and his early grave. + And in the moonlight Memory floated on, + Immortal, with my now immortal Love! + + + + + THE TRYST. + + + Impelled by memory in a wayward mood, + Reluctant, yearning, with a faithless mind, + I sought once more a long neglected spot, + A wooded upland bordered by the sea, + Whose tides were swirling up the reedy sands, + Or floating noiseless in the yellow marsh. + My way was wild. The winds, awaking, smote + My face, but as I passed a ruined wall + Brambles and vines and waving blossoms dashed + A frolic-welcome, like a summer rain. + Shouldering the hills against the murky east + Stood stalwart oaks, and in the mossy sod + Below the trembling birches whispered me, + "Not here!" I reached the silence-loving pines, + And lingered. The mists swept from the wooded hills, + And, rolling seaward, hid the anchored ships. + So, happy, dreaming an old dream again, + Of keeping tryst in secret on the knoll, + I wandered on, listening in dreamy maze + To sounds I thought familiar,--the approach + Of well-known footsteps in the leafy path,-- + A murmuring voice calling me by name! + Through the pine shafts the sunless light of dawn + Stole. Day was come. My dream would be fulfilled! + Above the hills the sky began to blaze, + And ushering morn the west flushed rosy-red; + Then, the Sun leaping from his bed of gold, + Scattered cloud-banners, crimson, gray, and white. + There was my shadow in the leafy path + Alone,--none was to keep the tryst with me! + No voice, no step among the hills I heard. + The joyous swallows from their nestlings flew, + Mad in the light with song. Far out at sea + The white sails fluttered in the eager breeze, + But Day was silent holding tryst with me,-- + My pilgrimage rewarded--faith restored. + + + + + NO ANSWER. + + + You tell me not, green multitude of leaves, + Mingling and whirling with the willful breeze, + Nor you, bright grasses, trembling blade to blade, + What meaneth June, to hap us every year? + + The spirit of the flowers is watching now, + As winking in the sun they suck the dew, + The thickets parley with the splendid fields-- + What meaneth June, to hap us every year? + + Up where the brook laps round the shining flags, + And tinkling foam bells pass the weedy shore, + And where the willow swings above the trout-- + What meaneth June, to hap us every year? + + The clouds hold knowledge in their snowy peaks, + They hide it in their moving fleecy folds, + They share it with the sunset's golden isles-- + What meaneth June, to hap us every year? + + Fullness and sweetness, and the power of life, + Must I in ignorance remain alone, + And yield the quest of speech for certain proof? + What meaneth June, to hap us every year? + + Sweetness and beauty, and the power of life, + Is it creation's anthem--parts for all? + Is this the knowledge--will you answer me + What meaneth June, to hap us every year? + + + + + ON THE HILLTOP. + + "By the margent of the sea + I would build myself a home." + + + Not by the margent of the sea, + But on the hilltop I would be, + My little house a mossy den, + Between me and the world of men. + Beside me dips a wide ravine, + Covered with a flowery screen; + Far round me rise a band of hills, + Whose voices reach me by their rills, + Or deep susurrus of the wood, + That stands in stately brotherhood, + Upholding one vast web of green, + Whereunder foot has never been-- + The pine and elm, the birch and oak-- + And thus their voices me invoke: + "If you would on the hilltop be, + We cannot share your misery; + Cease, cease this moaning for the Past: + The law of grief can never last." + When springtime brings anemones, + Upon the sod I take my ease, + Or search for Arethusa's pink, + Along the torrent's ragged brink; + Or in the tinted April hours + I watch the curtain of the showers + That fall beneath a lurking cloud, + Which for a moment throws a shroud + On the sun's arrows in the west, + Till it blaze up a golden crest. + The young moon bends her crescent horn + Against the lingering summer morn; + Then, riding down the starry sky, + She follows me till night goes by. + And when the dawn breaks on yon town, + I think the sleepers lying down + Must rise to shoulder dismal care + Methinks that once was but my fare. + But I upon the hilltop yet + Am free from every tangling fret; + So ever thus, in peace of mind, + I give my pity to my kind. + For me this noble solitude! + And as I face its varying mood, + Reflected in its every show, + Some higher self I come to know. + See, autumn here, with color glad, + Not like the poets--russet clad-- + But scarlet, umber, green, and gold; + Then in a breath I must behold + The autumn winds tear down my screen, + And leave me not a leaf to glean. + The snow will cover glen and height, + And all my hilltop glisten white; + I see the crystal atoms fly + Under the dome of this gray sky. + Like gnomes are they, these spectral gleams? + Or shall I guess them only dreams? + Whatever is the truth, I say, + If up and down the world I stray, + Still on the hilltop I would be, + Not by the margent of the sea! + + + + + THE MESSAGE. + + + To you, my comrades, whether far or near, + I send this message. Let our past revive; + Come, sound reveille to our hearts once more. + Expecting, I shall wait till at my door + I see you enter, each and every one + Tumultuous, eager all, with clamorous speech, + To hide my stammering welcome and my tears. + I am no host carousing long and late, + Enticing guests with epicurean hints; + Nor am I Timon, sick of this sad world, + Who, jesting, cries, "The sky is overhead, + And underneath that famous rest, the earth: + Show me the man who can have more at last." + + Without, the thunder of the city rolls; + Within, the quiet of the student reigns. + There is a change. Time was a childish voice. + Sweet as the lark's when from her nest she soars, + Thrilled over all, and vanished into heaven. + Music once triumphed here: the skilful hand + Of him who rarely struck the keys, and woke + My soul in harmony grand as his own, + Is folded on his breast, my soldier love. + Here hangs his portrait, under it his sword; + He served his country, and his grave's afar. + Dread not this place as one to relics given, + Though I have decked with amaranth my wall, + The testimony of a later loss-- + His who long wandering in foreign lands, + Then dying, crossed the sea to die with me. + Behold the sunrise and the morning clouds + On yonder canvas, misty mountain-peaks-- + The simple grandeur of a perfect art! + Behold these vivid woods, that gleam beside + The happy vision of an autumn eve, + When red leaves fall, and redder sunsets fade! + The world grows pensive sinking into night, + Whose melancholy space hides sighing winds: + Can they reply to sadder human speech? + What centuries are counted here--my books! + Shadows of mighty men; the chorus, hark! + The antique chant vibrates, and Fate compels! + + Comrades, return; the midnight lamp shall gleam + As in old nights; the chaplets woven then-- + Withered, perhaps, by time--may grace us yet; + The laurel faded is the laurel still, + And some of us are heroes to ourselves. + And amber wine shall flow; the blue smoke wreathe + In droll disputes, with metaphysics mixed; + Or float as lightly as the quick-spun verse, + Threading the circle round from thought to thought, + Sparkling and fresh as is the airy web + Spread on the hedge at morn in silver dew. + The scent of roses you remember well; + In the green vases they shall bloom again. + And me--do you remember? I remain + Unchanged, I think; though one I saw like me + Some years ago, with hair that was not white; + And she was with you then, as brave a soul + As souls can be whom Fate has not approached. + But seek and find me now, unchanged or changed, + Mirthful in tears, and in my laughter sad. + + + + + EXILE. + + + Blind in these stony streets, dumb in their crowds, + What can I do but dream of other days? + Whose is the love I had, and have not now? + If it be Nature's, let her answer me. + It wanders by the blue, monotonous sea, + Where rushes grow, or follows all the sweep + Of shallow summer brooks and umber pools. + Or does it linger in those hidden paths + Where starlike blossoms blow among dead leaves, + And dark groves murmur over darker shrubs, + Birds with their fledgelings sleep, and pale moths flit? + With sunset's crimson flags perhaps it goes, + And reappears with yellow Jupiter, + Riding the West beside the crescent moon. + Comes it with sunrise, when the sunrise floats + From Night's bold towers, vast in the East, and gray + Till tower and wall flash into fiery clouds, + Moving along the verge, stately and slow, + Ordered by the old music of the spheres? + Perchance it trembles in October's oaks; + Or, twining with the brilliant, berried vine, + Would hide the tender, melancholy elm. + Well might it rest within those solemn woods + Where sunlight never falls--whose tops are green + With airs from heaven,--its balmy mists and rains,-- + While underneath black, mossy, mammoth rocks + Keep silence with the waste of blighted boughs. + If winter riots with the wreathing snow, + And ocean, tossing all his threatening plumes, + And winds, that tear the hollow, murky sky, + Can this, my love, which dwells no more with me, + Find dwelling there,--like some storm-driven bird, + That knows not whence it flew, nor where to fly, + Between the world of sea and world of cloud, + At last drops dead in the remorseless deep? + + + + + A SEASIDE IDYL. + + + I wandered to the shore, nor knew I then + What my desire,--whether for wild lament, + Or sweet regret, to fill the idle pause + Of twilight, melancholy in my house, + And watch the flowing tide, the passing sails, + Or to implore the air, and sea, and sky, + For that eternal passion in their power + Which souls like mine who ponder on their fate + May feel, and be as they--gods to themselves. + Thither I went, whatever was my mood. + The sands, the rocks, and beds of bending sedge, + I saw alone. Between the east and west, + Along the beach no creature moved besides. + High on the eastern point a lighthouse shone; + Steered by its lamp a ship stood out to sea, + And vanished from its rays towards the deep, + While in the west, above a wooded isle, + An island-cloud hung in the emerald sky, + Hiding pale Venus in its sombre shade. + I wandered up and down the sands, I loitered + Among the rocks, and trampled through the sedge: + But I grew weary of the stocks and stones. + "I will go hence," I thought; "the Elements + Have lost their charm; my soul is dead to-night. + Oh passive, creeping Sea, and stagnant Air, + Farewell! Dull sands, and rocks, and sedge, farewell." + Homeward I turned my face, but stayed my feet. + Should I go back but to revive again + The ancient pain? Hark! suddenly there came + From over sea, a sound like that of speech; + And suddenly I felt my pulses leap + As though some Presence were approaching me. + Loud as the voice of Ocean's dark-haired king + A breeze came down the sea,--the sea rose high; + The surging waves sang round me--this their song: + "Oh, yet your love will triumph! He shall come + In love's wild tumult; he shall come once more,-- + By tracks of ocean or by paths of earth; + The wanderer will reach you and remain." + The breakers dashed among the rocks, and they + Seemed full of life; the foam dissolved the sands, + And the sedge trembled in the swelling tide. + Was this a promise of the vaunting Sea, + Or the illusion of a last despair? + Either, or both, still homeward I must go, + And that way turned mine eyes, and thought they met + A picture,--surely so,--or I was mad. + The crimson harvest-moon was rising full + Above my roof, and glimmered on my walls. + Within the doorway stood a man I knew-- + No picture this. I saw approaching me + Him I had hoped for, grieved for, and despaired. + "My ship is wrecked," he cried, "and I return + Never to leave my love. You are my love?" + "I too am wrecked," I sighed, "by lonely years; + Returning, you but find another wreck." + He bent his face to search my own, and spake: + "What I have traversed sea and land to find, + I find. For liberty I fought, and life, + On savage shores and wastes of unknown seas, + While waiting for this hour. Oh, think you not + Immortal love mates with immortal love + Always? And now, at last, we know this love." + My soul was filling with a mighty joy + I could not show--yet must I show my love. + "From you whose will divided broke our hearts + I now demand a different kiss than that + Which then you said should be our parting kiss. + Given, I vow the past shall be forgot. + The kiss--and we are one! Give me the kiss." + Like the dark rocks upon the sands he stood, + When on his breast I fell, and kissed his lips. + All the wild clangor of the sea was hushed; + The rapid silver waves ran each to each, + Lapsed in the deep with joyous, murmured sighs. + Years of repentance mine, forgiveness his, + To tell. Happy, we paced the tranquil shores, + Till between sea and sky we saw the sun, + And all our wiser, loving days began. + + + + + THE CHIMNEY-SWALLOW'S IDYL. + + + From where I built the nest for my first young, + In the high chimney of this ancient house, + I saw the household fires burn and go down, + And know what was and is forever gone. + My dusky, swift-winged fledgelings, flying far + To seek their mates in clustered eaves or towers, + Would linger not to learn what I have learned, + Soaring through air or steering over sea-- + These single, solitary walls must fade. + But I return, inhabiting my nest, + A little simple bird, which still survives + The noble souls now vanished from this hearth; + And none are here besides but she who shares + My life, and pensive vigil holds with me. + No longer does she mourn; she lives serene; + I see her mother's beauty in her face, + I see her father's quiet pride and power, + The linked traits and traces of her race; + Her brothers dying, like strong sapling trees + Hewn down by violent blows prone in dense woods, + Covered with aged boughs, decaying slow. + She muses thus: "Beauty once more abides; + The rude alarm of death, its wild amaze + Is over now. The chance of change has passed; + No doubtful hopes are mine, no restless dread, + No last word to be spoken, kiss to give + And take in passion's agony and end. + They cannot come to me, but in good time + I shall rejoin my silent company, + And melt among them, as the sunset clouds + Melt in gray spaces of the coming night." + So she holds dear as I this tranquil spot, + And all the flowers that blow, and maze of green, + The meadows daisy-full, or brown and sere; + The shore which bounds the waves I love to skim, + And dash my purple wings against the breeze. + When breaks the day I twitter loud and long, + To make her rise and watch the vigorous sun + Come from his sea-bed in the weltering deep, + And smell the dewy grass, still rank with sleep. + I hover through the twilight round her eaves, + And dart above, before her, in her path, + Till, with a smile, she gives me all her mind; + And in the deep of night, lest she be sad + In sleepless thought, I stir me in my nest, + And murmur as I murmur to my young; + She makes no answer, but I know she hears; + And all the cherished pictures in her thoughts + Grow bright because of _me_, her swallow friend! + + + + + LAST DAYS. + + + As one who follows a departing friend, + Destined to cross the great, dividing sea, + I watch and follow these departing days, + That go so grandly, lifting up their crowns + Still regal, though their victor Autumn comes. + Gifts they bestow, which I accept, return, + As gifts exchanged between a loving pair, + Who may possess them as memorials + Of pleasures ended by the shadow--Death. + What matter which shall vanish hence, if both + Are transitory--me, and these bright hours-- + And of the future ignorant alike? + From all our social thralls I would be free. + Let care go down the wind--as hounds afar, + Within their kennels baying unseen foes, + Give to calm sleepers only calmer dreams. + Here will I rest alone: the morning mist + Conceals no form but mine; the evening dew + Freshens but faded flowers and my worn face. + When the noon basks among the wooded hills + I too will bask, as silent as the air + So thick with sun-motes, dyed like yellow gold, + Or colored purple like an unplucked plum. + The thrush, now lonesome, for her young have flown, + May flutter her brown wings across my path; + And creatures of the sod with brilliant eyes + May leap beside me, and familiar grow. + The moon shall rise among her floating clouds, + Black, vaporous fans, and crinkled globes of pearl, + And her sweet silver light be given to me. + To watch and follow these departing days + Must be my choice; and let me mated be + With Solitude; may memory and hope + Unite to give me faith that nothing dies; + To show me always, what I pray to know, + That man alone may speak the word--_Farewell_. + + + + +*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK POEMS *** + +***** This file should be named 12391-0.txt or 12391-0.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + https://www.gutenberg.org/1/2/3/9/12391/ + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions will +be renamed. + +Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright +law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, +so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the +United States without permission and without paying copyright +royalties. 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You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms +of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online +at <a href="https://www.gutenberg.org">www.gutenberg.org</a>. If you +are not located in the United States, you will have to check the laws of the +country where you are located before using this eBook. +</div> +<div style='display:block; margin-top:1em; margin-bottom:1em; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Title: Poems</div> +<div style='display:block; margin-top:1em; margin-bottom:1em; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Author: Elizabeth Stoddard</div> +<div style='display:block;margin:1em 0'>Release Date: May 20, 2004 [eBook #12391]<br /> +[Most recently updated: May 3, 2021]</div> +<div style='display:block;margin:1em 0'>Language: English</div> +<div style='display:block;margin:1em 0'>Character set encoding: UTF-8</div> +<div style='display:block; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Produced by: Leah Moser and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team.</div> +<div style='margin-top:2em;margin-bottom:4em'>*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK POEMS ***</div> + +<h1>POEMS</h1> + +<h3>BY</h3> + +<h2>ELIZABETH STODDARD</h2> + +<p class="center"> +1895 +</p> + +<hr /> + +<h2><a name="CONTENT"></a>CONTENTS</h2> + +<p class="noindent"> +<a href="#POETSSECRET"><span style="margin-left: 1em;">THE POET'S SECRET</span></a><br/> +<a href="#NOVEMBER"><span style="margin-left: 1em;">NOVEMBER</span></a><br/> +<a href="#MUSICINACROWD"><span style="margin-left: 1em;">MUSIC IN A CROWD</span></a><br/> +<a href="#STRANGERSGATE"><span style="margin-left: 1em;">"I LIVE WITHIN THE STRANGER'S GATE"</span></a><br/> +<a href="#HOUSEOFYOUTH"><span style="margin-left: 1em;">THE HOUSE OF YOUTH</span></a><br/> +<a href="#HOUSEBYTHESEA"><span style="margin-left: 1em;">THE HOUSE BY THE SEA</span></a><br/> +<a href="#CHRISTMAS"><span style="margin-left: 1em;">CHRISTMAS COMES AGAIN</span></a><br/> +<a href="#MARCH"><span style="margin-left: 1em;">MARCH</span></a><br/> +<a href="#SPRINGAFAR"><span style="margin-left: 1em;">THE SPRING AFAR</span></a><br/> +<a href="#WHY"><span style="margin-left: 1em;">WHY?</span></a><br/> +<a href="#AUGUST"><span style="margin-left: 1em;">AUGUST</span></a><br/> +<a href="#OCTOBER"><span style="margin-left: 1em;">OCTOBER</span></a><br/> +<a href="#WILLOWBOUGHS"><span style="margin-left: 1em;">"THE WILLOW BOUGHS ARE YELLOW NOW"</span></a><br/> +<a href="#STILLSTARLIT"><span style="margin-left: 1em;">"IN THE STILL, STAR-LIT NIGHT"</span></a><br/> +<a href="#AUTUMN"><span style="margin-left: 1em;">AUTUMN</span></a><br/> +<a href="#AUTUMNSHEAF"><span style="margin-left: 1em;">THE AUTUMN SHEAF</span></a><br/> +<a href="#INTHECITY"><span style="margin-left: 1em;">IN THE CITY</span></a><br/> +<a href="#LOVEYOUPAIN"><span style="margin-left: 1em;">"I LOVE YOU, BUT A SENSE OF PAIN"</span></a><br/> +<a href="#NAMELESSPAIN"><span style="margin-left: 1em;">NAMELESS PAIN</span></a><br/> +<a href="#BABYSONG"><span style="margin-left: 1em;">A BABY SONG</span></a><br/> +<a href="#WIFESPEAKS"><span style="margin-left: 1em;">THE WIFE SPEAKS</span></a><br/> +<a href="#HUSBANDSPEAKS"><span style="margin-left: 1em;">THE HUSBAND SPEAKS</span></a><br/> +<a href="#ONEMORN"><span style="margin-left: 1em;">"ONE MORN I LEFT HIM IN HIS BED"</span></a><br/> +<a href="#MIRROR"><span style="margin-left: 1em;">BEFORE THE MIRROR</span></a><br/> +<a href="#SHADOWSOFWATER"><span style="margin-left: 1em;">"THE SHADOWS ON THE WATER REACH"</span></a><br/> +<a href="#SUMMERNIGHT"><span style="margin-left: 1em;">A SUMMER NIGHT</span></a><br/> +<a href="#FANME"><span style="margin-left: 1em;">"FAN ME WITH THESE LILIES FAIR"</span></a><br/> +<a href="#WILDWILDDAYS"><span style="margin-left: 1em;">"OH, THE WILD, WILD DAYS OF YOUTH!"</span></a><br/> +<a href="#ONMYBED"><span style="margin-left: 1em;">"ON MY BED OF A WINTER NIGHT"</span></a><br/> +<a href="#HALLO"><span style="margin-left: 1em;">"HALLO! MY FANCY, WHITHER WILT THOU GO?"</span></a><br/> +<a href="#YOULEFTME"><span style="margin-left: 1em;">YOU LEFT ME</span></a><br/> +<a href="#OFRIEND"><span style="margin-left: 1em;">"O FRIEND, BEGIN A LOFTIER SONG"</span></a><br/> +<a href="#NOWTHATTHEPAIN"><span style="margin-left: 1em;">"NOW THAT THE PAIN IS GONE, I TOO CAN SMILE"</span></a><br/> +<a href="#COLONELSSHIELD"><span style="margin-left: 1em;">THE COLONEL'S SHIELD</span></a><br/> +<a href="#FEWIDLEWORDS"><span style="margin-left: 1em;">A FEW IDLE WORDS</span></a><br/> +<a href="#VERS"><span style="margin-left: 1em;">VERS DE SOCIÉTÉ</span></a><br/> +<a href="#RACE"><span style="margin-left: 1em;">THE RACE</span></a><br/> +<a href="#WOLFTAMER"><span style="margin-left: 1em;">THE WOLF-TAMER</span></a><br/> +<a href="#ABBOTOFUNREASON"><span style="margin-left: 1em;">THE ABBOT OF UNREASON</span></a><br/> +<a href="#ELMANOLO"><span style="margin-left: 1em;">EL MANOLO</span></a><br/> +<a href="#MERCEDES"><span style="margin-left: 1em;">MERCEDES</span></a><br/> +<a href="#BULLFIGHT"><span style="margin-left: 1em;">THE BULL-FIGHT</span></a><br/> +<a href="#CAMPAGNA"><span style="margin-left: 1em;">ON THE CAMPAGNA</span></a><br/> +<a href="#QUEENDEPOSED"><span style="margin-left: 1em;">THE QUEEN DEPOSED</span></a><br/> +<a href="#AUNIT"><span style="margin-left: 1em;">A UNIT</span></a><br/> +<a href="#ZANTHON"><span style="margin-left: 1em;">ZANTHON—MY FRIEND</span></a><br/> +<a href="#ACHILLESINORCUS"><span style="margin-left: 1em;">ACHILLES IN ORCUS</span></a><br/> +<a href="#ABOVETHETREE"><span style="margin-left: 1em;">ABOVE THE TREE</span></a><br/> +<a href="#TOANARTIST"><span style="margin-left: 1em;">TO AN ARTIST</span></a><br/> +<a href="#LANDSCAPE"><span style="margin-left: 1em;">A LANDSCAPE</span></a><br/> +<a href="#HEADLAND"><span style="margin-left: 1em;">FROM THE HEADLAND</span></a><br/> +<a href="#ASONE"><span style="margin-left: 1em;">AS ONE</span></a><br/> +<a href="#VISITINGS"><span style="margin-left: 1em;">THE VISITINGS OF TRUTH KNOWN ELSEWHERE</span></a><br/> +<a href="#WEMUSTWAIT"><span style="margin-left: 1em;">WE MUST WAIT</span></a><br/> +<a href="#UNRETURNING"><span style="margin-left: 1em;">UNRETURNING</span></a><br/> +<a href="#CLOSED"><span style="margin-left: 1em;">CLOSED</span></a><br/> +<a href="#MEMORYISIMMORTAL"><span style="margin-left: 1em;">MEMORY IS IMMORTAL</span></a><br/> +<a href="#THETRYST"><span style="margin-left: 1em;">THE TRYST</span></a><br/> +<a href="#NOANSWER"><span style="margin-left: 1em;">NO ANSWER</span></a><br/> +<a href="#ONTHEHILLTOP"><span style="margin-left: 1em;">ON THE HILLTOP</span></a><br/> +<a href="#THEMESSAGE"><span style="margin-left: 1em;">THE MESSAGE</span></a><br/> +<a href="#EXILE"><span style="margin-left: 1em;">EXILE</span></a><br/> +<a href="#SEASIDEIDYL"><span style="margin-left: 1em;">A SEASIDE IDYL</span></a><br/> +<a href="#CHIMNEYSWALLOWSIDYL"><span style="margin-left: 1em;">THE CHIMNEY-SWALLOW'S IDYL</span></a><br/> +<a href="#LASTDAYS"><span style="margin-left: 1em;">LAST DAYS</span></a><br/> +</p> + +<hr /> + +<h2><a name="POEMS"></a>POEMS</h2> + + +<p class="noindent"> +<a name="POETSSECRET"><span style="margin-left: 1em;"><b>THE POET'S SECRET.</b></span><br/> +</a> <br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The poet's secret I must know,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">If that will calm my restless mind.</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">I hail the seasons as they go,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">I woo the sunshine, brave the wind.</span><br/> +<br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">I scan the lily and the rose,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">I nod to every nodding tree,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">I follow every stream that flows,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">And wait beside the steadfast sea.</span><br/> +<br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">I question melancholy eyes,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">I touch the lips of women fair:</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Their lips and eyes may make me wise,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">But what I seek for is not there.</span><br/> +<br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">In vain I watch the day and night,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">In vain the world through space may roll:</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">I never see the mystic light</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Which fills the poet's happy soul.</span><br/> +<br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Through life I hear the rhythmic flow</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Whose meaning into song must turn;</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Revealing all he longs to know,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">The secret each alone must learn.</span><br/> +<br/> +<br/> +<br/> +<br/> + <a name="NOVEMBER"><span style="margin-left: 1em;"><b>NOVEMBER.</b></span><br/> +</a> <br/> + <span style="margin-left: 1em;">Much have I spoken of the faded leaf;</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Long have I listened to the wailing wind,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And watched it ploughing through the heavy clouds,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">For autumn charms my melancholy mind.</span><br/> +<br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">When autumn comes, the poets sing a dirge:</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">The year must perish; all the flowers are dead;</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The sheaves are gathered; and the mottled quail</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Runs in the stubble, but the lark has fled!</span><br/> +<br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Still, autumn ushers in the Christmas cheer,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">The holly-berries and the ivy-tree:</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">They weave a chaplet for the Old Year's bier</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">These waiting mourners do not sing for me!</span><br/> +<br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">I find sweet peace in depths of autumn woods.</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Where grow the ragged ferns and roughened moss;</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The naked, silent trees have taught me this,—</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">The loss of beauty is not always loss!</span><br/> +<br/> +<br/> +<br/> +<br/> + <a name="MUSICINACROWD"><span style="margin-left: 1em;"><b>MUSIC IN A CROWD.</b></span><br/> +</a> <br/> + <span style="margin-left: 1em;">When I hear music, whether waltz or psalm,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Among a crowd, I find myself alone;</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">It does not touch me with a soothing balm,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">But brings an echo like a moan</span><br/> +<br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">From some far country where a palace rose,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">In which I reigned with Cleopatra's pride:</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">"Come, Charmian! bring the asp for my repose."</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">And queenly, men shall say, she died.</span><br/> +<br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">There lived and ruled a happy, noble race,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Primeval souls who held imperial power—</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">My kindred, gone forever from their place,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">And I am here without a dower!</span><br/> +<br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">They were a Vision, though. And are these real,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">These men and women, moving as in sleep,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Who, smiling, gesture to the same Ideal,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">For which the music makes me weep?</span><br/> +<br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Have they my longings for that other world</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">New to them yet? I grant that Music's swell</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Is like the sea; they may be thither hurled</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">By storms that thunder and compel;</span><br/> +<br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Or, like those voyagers in the land of streams,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Glide through its languid air, its languid wave,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">To learn that <i>Here</i> and <i>There</i> are but two dreams,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">That end in Nothing and the Grave!</span><br/> +<br/> +<br/> +<br/> +<br/> + <a name="STRANGERSGATE"><span style="margin-left: 1em;"><b>"I LIVE WITHIN THE STRANGER'S GATE."</b></span><br/> +</a> <br/> + <span style="margin-left: 1em;">I.</span><br/> +<br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">I live within the stranger's gate,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">And count the hours</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Since God let fall the bolt of fate!</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Where the waves fall on yonder shore</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">In cloudy spray,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And where the winds forever roar,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The pillars of a mansion stand,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Without a roof;</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The saddest ruin in the land!</span><br/> + <br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">II.</span><br/> +<br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">When sunset strikes across the sea</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">The wreck looms up;</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Then Memory comes, and touches me.</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">I see a pitiful white face</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Break through the mould</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Decaying at the pillar's base,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And hands that beckon me to prayer.</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">But I still curse,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And wake the Furies slumbering there!</span><br/> + <br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">III.</span><br/> +<br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">In the strange drama of the Past</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">It was my part</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">To hold carousal to the last;</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">It was for me to hide the shame,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">And brave the world</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">With lies about our ancient name!</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">I played it well, and played it long:</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">But let it pass,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The world has never known the 'wrong.</span><br/> + <br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">IV.</span><br/> +<br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Upheave, black mould, and totter all</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">The ruin down!</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Fall, monumental pillars, fall,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Upon her grave! Above her breast</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">May ivy creep,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And roses blow! I choose to rest.</span><br/> +<br/> +<br/> +<br/> +<br/> + <a name="HOUSEOFYOUTH"><span style="margin-left: 1em;"><b>THE HOUSE OF YOUTH.</b></span><br/> +</a> <br/> + <span style="margin-left: 1em;">The rough north winds have left their icy caves</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">To growl and grope for prey</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">Upon the murky sea;</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The lonely sea-gull skims the sullen waves</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">All the gray winter day.</span><br/> +<br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The mottled sand-bird runneth up and down,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Amongst the creaking sedge,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">Along the crusted beach;</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The time-stained houses of the sea-walled town</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Seem tottering on its edge.</span><br/> +<br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">An ancient dwelling, in this ancient place,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Stands in a garden drear,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">A wreck with other wrecks;</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The Past is there, but no one sees a face</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Within, from year to year.</span><br/> +<br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The wiry rose-trees scratch the window-pane;</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">The window rattles loud;</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">The wind beats at the door,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">But never gets an answer back again,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">The silence is so proud.</span><br/> +<br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The last that lived there was an evil man;</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">A child the last that died,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">Upon the mother's breast.</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">It seemed to die by some mysterious ban;</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Its grave is by the side</span><br/> +<br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Of an old tree, whose notched and scanty leaves</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Repeat the tale of woe,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">And quiver day and night,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Till the snow cometh, and a cold shroud weaves,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Whiter than that below.</span><br/> +<br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">This time of year a woman wanders there—</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">They say from distant lands:</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">She wears a foreign dress,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">With jewels on her breast, and her fair hair</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">In braided coils and bands.</span><br/> +<br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The ancient dwelling and the garden drear</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">At night know something more:</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">Without her foreign dress</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Or blazing gems, this woman stealeth near</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">The threshold of the door.</span><br/> +<br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The shadow strikes against the window-pane;</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">She thrusts the thorns away:</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">Her eyes peer through the glass,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And down the glass her great tears drip, like rain,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">In the gray winter day.</span><br/> +<br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The moon shines down the dismal garden track,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">And lights the little mound;</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">But when she ventures there,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The black and threatening branches wave her back,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">And guard the ghostly ground.</span><br/> +<br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">What is the story of this buried Past?</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Were all its doors flung wide,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">For us to search its rooms,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And we to see the race, from first to last,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">And how they lived and died:—</span><br/> +<br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Still would it baffle and perplex the brain.</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">But show this bitter truth:</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">Man lives not in the past:</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">None but a woman ever comes again</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Back to the House of Youth!</span><br/> +<br/> +<br/> +<br/> +<br/> +<a name="HOUSEBYTHESEA"><span style="margin-left: 1em;"><b>THE HOUSE BY THE SEA.</b></span><br/> +</a> <br/> + <span style="margin-left: 1em;">To-night I do the bidding of a ghost,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">A ghost that knows my misery;</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">In the lone dark I hear his wailing boast,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">"Now shalt thou speak with me."</span><br/> +<br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Must I go back where all is desolate,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Where reigns the terror of a curse,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">To knock, a beggar, at my father's gate,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">That closed upon a hearse?</span><br/> +<br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The old stone pier has crumbled in the sea;</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">The tide flows through the garden wall;</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Where grew the lily, and where hummed the bee,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Black seaweeds rise and fall.</span><br/> +<br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">I see the empty nests beneath the eaves;</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">No bird is near; the vines have died;</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The orchard trees have lost the joy of leaves,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">The oaks their lordly pride.</span><br/> +<br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Of what avail to set ajar the door</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Through which, when ruin fell, I fled?</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">If on the threshold I should stand once more,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Shall I behold the dead?</span><br/> +<br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Shall I behold, as on that fatal night,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">My mother from the window start,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">When she was blasted by the evil sight,—</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">The shame that broke her heart?</span><br/> +<br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The yellow grass grows on my sister's grave;</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Her room is dark—she is not there;</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">I feel the rain, and hear the wild wind rave—</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">My tears, and my despair.</span><br/> +<br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">A white-haired man is singing a sad song</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Amid the ashes on the hearth;</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">"Ashes to ashes, I have moaned so long</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">I am alone on earth."</span><br/> +<br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">No more! no more! I cannot bear this pain;</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Shut the foul annals of my race;</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Accursed the hand that opens them again,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">My dowry of disgrace.</span><br/> +<br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And so, farewell, thou bitter, bitter ghost!</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">When morning comes the shadows fly;</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Before we part, I give this merry toast,—</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;"><i>The dead that do not die</i>!</span><br/> +<br/> +<br/> +<br/> +<br/> +<a name="CHRISTMAS"><span style="margin-left: 1em;"><b>CHRISTMAS COMES AGAIN.</b></span><br/> +</a> <br/> + <span style="margin-left: 1em;">Let me be merry now, 't is time;</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">The season is at hand</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">For Christmas rhyme and Christmas chime,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Close up, and form the band.</span><br/> +<br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The winter fires still burn as bright,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">The lamp-light is as clear,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And since the dead are out of sight,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">What hinders Christmas cheer?</span><br/> +<br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Why think or speak of that abyss</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">In which lies all my Past?</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">High festival I need not miss,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">While song and jest shall last.</span><br/> +<br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">We'll clink and drink on Christmas Eve,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Our ghosts can feel no wrong;</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">They revelled ere they took their leave—</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Hearken, my Soldier's Song:</span><br/> +<br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">"The morning air doth coldly pass,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Comrades, to the saddle spring:</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The night more bitter cold will bring</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Ere dying—ere dying.</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Sweetheart, come, the parting glass;</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Glass and sabre, clash, clash, clash,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Ere dying—ere dying.</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Stirrup-cup and stirrup-kiss—</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Do you hope the foe we'll miss,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Sweetheart, for this loving kiss,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Ere dying—ere dying?"</span><br/> +<br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The feasts and revels of the year</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Do ghosts remember long?</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Even in memory come they here?</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Listen, my Sailor's Song:</span><br/> +<br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">"O my hearties, yo heave ho!</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Anchor's up in Jolly Bay—</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Hey!</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Pipes and swipes, hob and nob—</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Hey!</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Mermaid Bess and Dolphin Meg,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Paddle over Jolly Bay—</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Hey!</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Tars, haul in for Christmas Day,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">For round the 'varsal deep we go;</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Never church, never bell,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">For to tell</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Of Christmas Day.</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Yo heave ho, my hearties O!</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Haul in, mates, here we lay—</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Hey!"</span><br/> +<br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">His sword is rusting in its sheath,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">His flag furled on the wall;</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">We'll twine them with a holly-wreath,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">With green leaves cover all.</span><br/> +<br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">So clink and drink when falls the eve;</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">But, comrades, hide from me</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Their graves—I would not see them heave</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Beside me, like the sea.</span><br/> +<br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Let not my brothers come again,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">As men dead in their prime;</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Then hold my hands, forget my pain,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">And strike the Christmas chime.</span><br/> +<br/> +<br/> +<br/> +<br/> +<a name="MARCH"><span style="margin-left: 1em;"><b>MARCH.</b></span><br/> +</a> <br/> + <span style="margin-left: 1em;">Ho, wind of March, speed over sea,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">From mountains where the snows lie deep</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">The cruel glaciers threatening creep,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And witness this, my jubilee!</span><br/> +<br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Roar from the surf of boreal isles,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Roar from the hidden, jagged steeps,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Where the destroyer never sleeps;</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Ring through the iceberg's Gothic piles!</span><br/> +<br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Voyage through space with your wild train,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Harping its shrillest, searching tone,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Or wailing deep its ancient moan,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And learn how impotent your reign.</span><br/> +<br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Then hover by this garden bed,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">With all your wilful power, behold,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Just breaking from the leafy mould,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">My little primrose lift its head!</span><br/> +<br/> +<br/> +<br/> +<br/> +<a name="SPRINGAFAR"><span style="margin-left: 1em;"><b>THE SPRING AFAR.</b></span><br/> +</a> <br/> + <span style="margin-left: 1em;">Far from the empire of my present days,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Where I perforce remain,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The wild, fresh airs of Spring blow to and fro,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Piping out Winter's reign.</span><br/> +<br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">I know the rosy wind-flowers spread like clouds</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Above the leafy mould,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And pollard willows over shallow pools</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Stretch out their rods of gold.</span><br/> +<br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">I hear the waters in the mossy swamps</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Start on their ocean quest,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Gliding through meadows, murmuring in woods,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Till reaching final rest.</span><br/> +<br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Fixed in my thoughts is Spring, so long remote,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Though Spring cannot endow</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">As Summer can, or yield sweet Autumn's peace:</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">'T is that my heart needs now;</span><br/> +<br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Or hope—maybe that Spring and Hope are one.</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Therefore I should not ask</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">For leave from this my place: <i>both</i> may be near,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Behind my daily mask.</span><br/> +<br/> +<br/> +<br/> +<br/> +<a name="WHY"><span style="margin-left: 1em;"><b>WHY?</b></span><br/> +</a> <br/> + <span style="margin-left: 1em;">Why did I go where roses grew,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And meadow larks which skyward flew</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">From grasses sparkling in the dew,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The yellow sunshine pouring through?</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">What was there for me to find?</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Were they to learn my froward mind?</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">From far across vast summer seas,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Rifling green marshes, bending trees,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Driving cloud-shadows down the air,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Keen breezes smote me here and there,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Keen breezes crying, <i>Why, why, why</i>?</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And nothing had I to reply!</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Beings with neither soul nor sense,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Convicting me with their pretence;</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Beings of change,—but what am I,—</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Once more repeating, <i>Why, why, why</i>?</span><br/> +<br/> +<br/> +<br/> +<br/> +<a name="AUGUST"><span style="margin-left: 1em;"><b>AUGUST.</b></span><br/> +</a> <br/> + <span style="margin-left: 1em;">Read by the wayside, read by the brook,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">That this is the passion of the year;</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Look at the fields, look at the woods,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Look upon me, and—draw near!</span><br/> +<br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Just as these days are, so is my heart;</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Lilies are flaming, berries are ripe;</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Alders blow sweet, acorns are full—</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">And the bobolink's young ones pipe!</span><br/> +<br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Ponder the river, ponder the sky,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Hazy and gray, hazy and blue;</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Study the trees wed to the wind—</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">I promise you I'll be as true!</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Yes, true as August—as the birds' song,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">The sweet fern's scent, the weedy, blue shore,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The shine of vines, smilax, and grape—</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">What can you ask for more?</span><br/> +<br/> +<br/> +<br/> +<br/> +<a name="OCTOBER"><span style="margin-left: 1em;"><b>OCTOBER.</b></span><br/> +</a> <br/> + <span style="margin-left: 1em;">Falling leaves and falling men!</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">When the snows of winter fall,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And the winds of winter blow,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Will be woven Nature's pall.</span><br/> +<br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Let us, then, forsake our dead,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">For the dead will surely wait,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">While we rush upon the foe,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Eager for the hero's fate.</span><br/> +<br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Leaves will come upon the trees,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Spring will show the happy race;</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Mothers will give birth to sons,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Loyal souls to fill our place.</span><br/> +<br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Wherefore should we rest and rust?</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Soldiers, we must fight and save</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Freedom now, and give our foes</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">All their country should—a grave!</span><br/> +<br/> +<br/> +<br/> +<br/> +<a name="WILLOWBOUGHS"><span style="margin-left: 1em;"><b>"THE WILLOW BOUGHS ARE YELLOW NOW."</b></span><br/> +</a> <br/> + <span style="margin-left: 1em;">The willow boughs are yellow now,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">For spring has come again;</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The peach-tree buds begin to swell,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Dripping with April rain.</span><br/> +<br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The gray-eyed twilight lingers long,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">To meet the starry night;</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">I walk the darkening lanes alone,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">And love the sombre light.</span><br/> +<br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The dream of other days returns,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">When comes the blossomed spring;</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">But when the full leaved summer comes</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">My dream has taken wing;</span><br/> +<br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The twittering swallows in the lane</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Were there a year ago;</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The old nests in the tangled vines</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Their next year's brood will know.</span><br/> +<br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">A little brood of children fair,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Under the mother's wing,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Is in the dream of other days,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">That flies when flies the spring!</span><br/> +<br/> +<br/> +<br/> +<br/> +<a name="STILLSTARLIT"><span style="margin-left: 1em;"><b>"IN THE STILL, STAR-LIT NIGHT."</b></span><br/> +</a> <br/> + <span style="margin-left: 2em;">In the still, star-lit night,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">By the full fountain and the willow-tree,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">I walked, and not alone—</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">A spirit walked with me!</span><br/> +<br/> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">A shade fell on the grass;</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Upon the water fell a deeper shade:</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Something the willow stirred,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">For to and fro it swayed.</span><br/> +<br/> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">The grass was in a quiver,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The water trembled, and the willow-tree</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Sighed softly; I sighed loud—</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The spirit taunted me.</span><br/> +<br/> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">All the night long I walked</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">By the full fountain, dropping icy tears;</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">I tore the willow leaves,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">I tore the long, green spears!</span><br/> +<br/> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">I clutched the quaking grass,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And beat the rough bark of the willow-tree;</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">I shook the wreathed boughs,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">To make the spirit flee.</span><br/> +<br/> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">It haunted me till dawn,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">By the full fountain and the willow-tree;</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">For with myself I walked—</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">How could the spirit flee?</span><br/> +<br/> +<br/> +<br/> +<br/> +<a name="AUTUMN"><span style="margin-left: 1em;"><b>AUTUMN.</b></span><br/> +</a> <br/> + <span style="margin-left: 1em;">No melancholy days are these!</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Not where the maple changing stands,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Not in the shade of fluttering oaks,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Nor in the bands</span><br/> +<br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Of twisting vines and sturdy shrubs,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Scarlet and yellow, green and brown,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Falling, or swinging on their stalks,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Is Sorrow's crown.</span><br/> +<br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The sparkling fields of dewy grass,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Woodpaths and roadsides decked with flowers,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Starred asters and the goldenrod,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Date Autumn's hours.</span><br/> +<br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The shining banks of snowy clouds,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Steadfast in the aerial blue,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The silent, shimmering, silver sea,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">To Joy are true.</span><br/> +<br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">My spirit in this happy air</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Can thus embrace the dying year,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And with it wrap me in a shroud</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">As bright and clear!</span><br/> +<br/> +<br/> +<br/> +<br/> +<a name="AUTUMNSHEAF"><span style="margin-left: 1em;"><b>THE AUTUMN SHEAF.</b></span><br/> +</a> <br/> + <span style="margin-left: 1em;">Still I remember only autumn days,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">When golden leaves were floating in the air,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And reddening oaks stood sombre in the haze,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Till sunset struck them with its redder glare,</span><br/> +<br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And faded, leaving me by wood and field</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">In fragrant dew, and fragrant velvet mould,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">To wait among the shades of night concealed,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">And learn that story which but once is told.</span><br/> +<br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Though many seasons of the falling leaves</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">I watched my failing hopes, and watched their fall;</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">In memory they are gathered now like sheaves,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">So withered that a touch would scatter all.</span><br/> +<br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Dead leaves, and dust more dead, to fall apart,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Leaves spreading once in arches over me,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And dust enclosing once a loving heart,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Still I am happy with youth's mystery.</span><br/> +<br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">It cannot be unbound,—my autumn sheaf;</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">So let it stand, the ruin of my past;</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Returning autumn brings the old belief,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Its mystery all its own, and it will last.</span><br/> +<br/> +<br/> +<br/> +<br/> +<a name="INTHECITY"><span style="margin-left: 1em;"><b>IN THE CITY.</b></span><br/> +</a> <br/> + <span style="margin-left: 1em;">The autumn morning sweetly calls to me,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">And autumn days and nights in patience wait;</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">I answer not, because I am not free,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">Although I chose my fate.</span><br/> +<br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The cold, gray mist that stains the city walls</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Stands silver-columned where the river glides,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Or, slow dividing, on the valley falls,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">Where one I love abides.</span><br/> +<br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The wind that trifles round my city door,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Or whirls before me all the city's dust,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">By the sea borrows its triumphant roar,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">And lends its savage gust;</span><br/> +<br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Or shrieking rushes where the sombre pines</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Hold solemn converse in the ancient vale,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And while 't is dying in their dark confines</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">Babbles their mystic tale.</span><br/> +<br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Could I but climb a roof above my own,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">And greet grave Autumn as he walks the earth</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">With secret signal that would make me known,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">I should not feel my dearth.</span><br/> +<br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Then silver mist or loud triumphant wind</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Might come in sad disguise and misery;</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">I would but ponder in my secret mind</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">How Autumn answers me.</span><br/> +<br/> +<br/> +<br/> +<br/> +<a name="LOVEYOUPAIN"><span style="margin-left: 1em;"><b>"I LOVE YOU, BUT A SENSE OF PAIN."</b></span><br/> +</a> <br/> + <span style="margin-left: 1em;">I love you, but a sense of pain</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Is in my heart and in my brain;</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Now, when your voice and eyes are kind,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">May I reveal my complex mind?</span><br/> +<br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Though I am yours, it is my curse</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Some ideal passion to rehearse:</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">I dream of one that's not like you,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Never of one that's half so true.</span><br/> +<br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">To quell these yearnings, vague and wild,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">I often kneel by our dear child,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">In still, dark nights (you are asleep),</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And hold his hands, and try to weep.</span><br/> +<br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">I cannot weep; I cannot pray—</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Why grow so pale, and turn away?</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Do you expect to hold me fast</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">By pretty legends in the past?</span><br/> +<br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">It is a woman's province, then,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">To be content with what has been?</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">To wear the wreath of withered flowers,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">That crowned her in the bridal hours?</span><br/> +<br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Still, I am yours: this idle strife</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Stirs but the surface of my life:</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And if you would but ask once more,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">"How goes the heart?" or at the door</span><br/> +<br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Imploring stand, and knock again,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">I might forget this sense of pain,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And down oblivion's sullen stream</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Would float the memory of my dream!</span><br/> +<br/> +<br/> +<br/> +<br/> +<a name="NAMELESSPAIN"><span style="margin-left: 1em;"><b>NAMELESS PAIN.</b></span><br/> +</a> <br/> + <span style="margin-left: 1em;">I should be happy with my lot:</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">A wife and mother—is it not</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Enough for me to be content?</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">What other blessing could be sent?</span><br/> +<br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">A quiet house, and homely ways,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">That make each day like other days;</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">I only see Time's shadow now</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Darken the hair on baby's brow!</span><br/> +<br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">No world's work ever comes to me,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">No beggar brings his misery;</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">I have no power, no healing art</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">With bruisèd soul or broken heart.</span><br/> +<br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">I read the poets of the age,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">'Tis lotus-eating in a cage;</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">I study Art, but Art is dead</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">To one who clamors to be fed</span><br/> +<br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">With milk from Nature's rugged breast,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Who longs for Labor's lusty rest.</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">O foolish wish! I still should pine</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">If any other lot were mine.</span><br/> +<br/> +<br/> +<br/> +<br/> +<a name="BABYSONG"><span style="margin-left: 1em;"><b>A BABY SONG.</b></span><br/> +</a> <br/> + <span style="margin-left: 1em;">Come, white angels, to baby and me;</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Touch his blue eyes with the image of sleep,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">In his surprise he will cease to weep;</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Hush, child, the angels are coming to thee!</span><br/> +<br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Come, white doves, to baby and me;</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Softly whirr in the silent air,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Flutter about his golden hair:</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Hark, child, the doves are cooing to thee!</span><br/> +<br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Come, white lilies, to baby and me;</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Drowsily nod before his eyes,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">So full of wonder, so round and wise:</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Hist, child, the lily-bells tinkle for thee!</span><br/> +<br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Come, white moon, to baby and me;</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Gently glide o'er the ocean of sleep,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Silver the waves of its shadowy deep:</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Sleep, child, and the whitest of dreams to thee.</span><br/> +<br/> +<br/> +<br/> +<br/> +<a name="WIFESPEAKS"><span style="margin-left: 1em;"><b>THE WIFE SPEAKS.</b></span><br/> +</a> <br/> + <span style="margin-left: 1em;">Husband, to-day could you and I behold</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The sun that brought us to our bridal morn</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Rising so splendid in the winter sky</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">(We thought fair spring returned), when we were wed;</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Could the shades vanish from these fifteen years,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Which stand like columns guarding the approach</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">To that great temple of the double soul</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">That is as one—would you turn back, my dear,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And, for the sake of Love's mysterious dream,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">As old as Adam and as sweet as Eve,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Take me, as I took you, and once more go</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Towards that goal which none of us have reached?</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Contesting battles which but prove a loss,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The victor vanquished by the wounded one;</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Teaching each other sacrifice of self,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">True immolation to the marriage bond;</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Learning the joys of birth, the woe of death,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Leaving in chaos all the hopes of life—</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Heart-broken, yet with courage pressing on</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">For fame and fortune, artists needing both?</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Or, would you rather—I will acquiesce—</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Since we must choose what is, and are grown gray,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Stay in life's desert, watch our setting sun,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Calm as those statues in Egyptian sands,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Hand clasping hand, with patience and with peace,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Wait for a future which contains no past?</span><br/> +<br/> +<br/> +<br/> +<br/> +<a name="HUSBANDSPEAKS"><span style="margin-left: 1em;"><b>THE HUSBAND SPEAKS.</b></span><br/> +</a> <br/> + <span style="margin-left: 1em;">Dearest, though I have sung a many songs,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Yet have I never sung one from my heart,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Save to thee only—and such private songs</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Are as the silent, secret kiss of Love!</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">My heart, I say, so sacred was, and is,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">I kept, I keep it, from all eyes but thine,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Because it is no longer mine, but thine,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Given thee forever, when I gave myself</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">That winter morning—was it years ago?</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">To me it seems the dream of yesterday!</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">You have not lost the face I married then,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Albeit a trifle paler—not to-night—</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Nor I the eyes that saw then, and see still,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">What every man should see in her he weds!</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">I wander ... wisely, let me, since my words</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Conceal what none but you and I should know,—</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The love I bear you, who have been, and are</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Strong in the strength and weakness of your sex—</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Queen of my household, mistress of my heart,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">My children's mother, and my always friend;</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">In one word, Sweet, sweetest of all words—Wife!</span><br/> +<br/> +<br/> +<br/> +<br/> +<a name="ONEMORN"><span style="margin-left: 1em;"><b>"ONE MORN I LEFT HIM IN HIS BED."</b></span><br/> +</a> <br/> + <span style="margin-left: 1em;">One morn I left him in his bed;</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">A moment after some one said,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">"Your child is dying—he is dead."</span><br/> +<br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">We made him ready for his rest,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Flowers in his hair, and on his breast</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">His little hands together prest.</span><br/> +<br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">We sailed by night across the sea;</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">So, floating from the world were we,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Apart from sympathy, we Three.</span><br/> +<br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The wild sea moaned, the black clouds spread</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Moving shadows on its bed,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">But one of us lay midship dead.</span><br/> +<br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">I saw his coffin sliding down</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The yellow sand in yonder town,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Where I put on my sorrow's crown.</span><br/> +<br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And we returned; in this drear place</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Never to see him face to face,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">I thrust aside the living race.</span><br/> +<br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Mothers, who mourn with me to-day,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Oh, understand me, when I say,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">I cannot weep, I cannot pray;</span><br/> +<br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">I gaze upon a hidden store,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">His books, his toys, the clothes he wore,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And cry, "Once more, to me, <i>once</i> more!"</span><br/> +<br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Then take, from me, this simple verse,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">That you may know what I rehearse—</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">A grief—your and my Universe!</span><br/> +<br/> +<br/> +<br/> +<br/> +<a name="MIRROR"><span style="margin-left: 1em;"><b>BEFORE THE MIRROR.</b></span><br/> +</a> <br/> + <span style="margin-left: 1em;">Now like the Lady of Shalott,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">I dwell within an empty room,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And through the day and through the night</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">I sit before an ancient loom.</span><br/> +<br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And like the Lady of Shalott</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">I look into a mirror wide,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Where shadows come, and shadows go,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">And ply my shuttle as they glide.</span><br/> +<br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Not as she wove the yellow wool,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Ulysses' wife, Penelope;</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">By day a queen among her maids,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">But in the night a woman, she,</span><br/> +<br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Who, creeping from her lonely couch,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Unraveled all the slender woof;</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Or, with a torch, she climbed the towers,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">To fire the fagots on the roof!</span><br/> +<br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">But weaving with a steady hand</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">The shadows, whether false or true,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">I put aside a doubt which asks</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">"Among these phantoms what are you?"</span><br/> +<br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">For not with altar, tomb, or urn,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Or long-haired Greek with hollow shield,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Or dark-prowed ship with banks of oars,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Or banquet in the tented field;</span><br/> +<br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Or Norman knight in armor clad,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Waiting a foe where four roads meet;</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Or hawk and hound in bosky dell,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Where dame and page in secret greet;</span><br/> +<br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Or rose and lily, bud and flower,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">My web is broidered. Nothing bright</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Is woven here: the shadows grow</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Still darker in the mirror's light!</span><br/> +<br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And as my web grows darker too,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Accursed seems this empty room;</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">For still I must forever weave</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">These phantoms by this ancient loom.</span><br/> +<br/> +<br/> +<br/> +<br/> +<a name="SHADOWSOFWATER"><span style="margin-left: 1em;"><b>"THE SHADOWS ON THE WATER REACH."</b></span><br/> +</a> <br/> + <span style="margin-left: 1em;">The shadows on the water reach</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">My shadow on the beach;</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">I see the dark trees on the shore,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">The fisher's oar.</span><br/> +<br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">I met her by the sea last night,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">A little maid in white;</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">I shall never meet her more</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">On the shore.</span><br/> +<br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Ho! fisher, hoist your idle sail,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">And whistle for a gale;</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">My ship is waiting in the bay,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Row away!</span><br/> +<br/> +<br/> +<br/> +<br/> +<a name="SUMMERNIGHT"><span style="margin-left: 1em;"><b>A SUMMER NIGHT.</b></span><br/> +</a> <br/> + <span style="margin-left: 1em;">I feel the breath of the summer night,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">Aromatic fire:</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The trees, the vines, the flowers are astir</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">With tender desire.</span><br/> +<br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The white moths flutter about the lamp,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">Enamoured with light;</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And a thousand creatures softly sing</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">A song to the night!</span><br/> +<br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">But I am alone, and how can I sing</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">Praises to thee?</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Come, Night! unveil the beautiful soul</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">That waiteth for me.</span><br/> +<br/> +<br/> +<br/> +<br/> +<a name="FANME"><span style="margin-left: 1em;"><b>"FAN ME WITH THESE LILIES FAIR."</b></span><br/> +</a> <br/> + <span style="margin-left: 1em;">Fan me with these lilies fair,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Twine their stems around your arm:</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Put your feet upon these roses,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Then you'll please me to a charm.</span><br/> +<br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Charm me with your violet eyes,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Kneel, and with your sweet lips meet</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The flaming buds of mine, athirst</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">In the roses at your feet!</span><br/> +<br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">"Leave the lilies on the lake,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Do not break its pale repose:</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Tear your heart with cruel thorns,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Such as grow beneath the rose.</span><br/> +<br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">"So you love me? You are mine?</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Break from yon dead tree a bough,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Lay it down among these roses—</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Ah! I do not charm you now!"</span><br/> +<br/> +<br/> +<br/> +<br/> +<a name="WILDWILDDAYS"><span style="margin-left: 1em;"><b>"OH, THE WILD, WILD DAYS OF YOUTH!"</b></span><br/> +</a> <br/> + <span style="margin-left: 1em;">Oh, the wild, wild days of youth!</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">My royal youth;</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">My blood was then my king:</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Maybe a little mad,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">But full of truth!</span><br/> +<br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Oh, my lips were like a rose!</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">And my heart, too;</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">It was torn out leaf by leaf:</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Ah! there be none that know</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">How the leaves flew!</span><br/> +<br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Oh, they dropped in the wine!</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">The royal wine;</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">There were showers for the girls,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Crowns for their white brows,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">And for mine!</span><br/> +<br/> +<br/> +<br/> +<br/> +<a name="ONMYBED"><span style="margin-left: 1em;"><b>"ON MY BED OF A WINTER NIGHT."</b></span><br/> +</a> <br/> + <span style="margin-left: 2em;">On my bed of a winter night,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Deep in a sleep and deep in a dream,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">What care I for the wild wind's scream,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">What to me is its crooked flight?</span><br/> +<br/> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">On the sea of a summer day,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Wrapped in the folds of a snowy sail,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">What care I for the fitful gale,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Now in earnest, now in play?</span><br/> +<br/> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">What care I for the fitful wind,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">That groans in a gorge, or sighs in a tree?</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Groaning and sighing are nothing to me,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">For I am a man of steadfast mind.</span><br/> +<br/> +<br/> +<br/> +<br/> +<a name="HALLO"><span style="margin-left: 1em;"><b>"HALLO! MY FANCY, WHITHER WILT THOU GO?"</b></span><br/> +</a> <br/> + <span style="margin-left: 1em;">Swift as the tide in the river</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">The blood flows through my heart,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">At the curious little fancy</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">That to-morrow we must part.</span><br/> +<br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">It seems to me all over,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">The last words have been said;</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And I have the curious fancy</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">To-morrow will find me dead!</span><br/> +<br/> +<br/> +<br/> +<br/> +<a name="YOULEFTME"><span style="margin-left: 1em;"><b>YOU LEFT ME.</b></span><br/> +</a> <br/> + <span style="margin-left: 1em;">You left me, and the anguish passed,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">And passed the day, and passed the night—</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">A blank in which my senses failed;</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Then slowly came an inward light.</span><br/> +<br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">So plain it reproduced the hours</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">We lived as one,—the books we read,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Our quiet walks and pleasant talks—</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Love, by your spirit was I led?</span><br/> +<br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Oh, love, the vision grows too dear,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">I live in visions—I pursue</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Them only; come, your rival meet,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">My future bring, it will be—<i>you!</i></span><br/> +<br/> +<br/> +<br/> +<br/> +<a name="OFRIEND"><span style="margin-left: 1em;"><b>"O FRIEND, BEGIN A LOFTIER SONG."</b></span><br/> +</a> <br/> + <span style="margin-left: 1em;">O friend, begin a loftier song.</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Confusion falls upon your mind;</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">A sense of evil makes you blind;</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">"What use," you say, "is it to be?</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">I know not GOD, GOD knows not me!"</span><br/> +<br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">O friend, begin a loftier song.</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">In other minds you place no trust:</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">You tread your laurels in the dust:</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">You see no Future, Hope has fled,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Youth had its dreams, but Youth is dead.</span><br/> +<br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">O friend, begin a loftier song.</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">"The sweet ideal of past years</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Speaks in my songs, they are my tears:</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">I'll weep no more, I'll sing no lays</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">To bury Youth for idle praise!"</span><br/> +<br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">O friend, begin a loftier song.</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Come through the gateway of the Past,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Dear friend. The world will hear at last</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The little songs the poets sing:</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Do thou with anthems make it ring!</span><br/> +<br/> +<br/> +<br/> +<br/> +<a name="NOWTHATTHEPAIN"><span style="margin-left: 1em;"><b>"NOW THAT THE PAIN IS GONE, I TOO CAN SMILE."</b></span><br/> +</a> <br/> + <span style="margin-left: 1em;">Now that the pain is gone, I too can smile</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">At such a foolish picture; you and me</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Together in that moonlit summer night,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Within the shadow of an aspen-tree.</span><br/> +<br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">My hand was on your shoulder: I grew wild:</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">The blood seethed furiously through my heart!</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">But you—Oh, you were saintly calm, and cold;</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">You moved my hand, and said, "'T is best we part!"</span><br/> +<br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">My face fell on the bands of your fair hair,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">A moonbeam struck across my hungry eye,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And struck across your balmy crimson mouth:</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">I longed to kiss you, and I longed to die!</span><br/> +<br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Die in the shadow of the trembling tree,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Trembling my soul away upon your breast.</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">You smiled, and drifted both your snowy hands</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Against my forehead, and your fingers pressed</span><br/> +<br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Faintly and slow adown my burning face;</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">A keen sense of the woman touched you then,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The nice dramatic sense you women have,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Playing upon the feelings of us men!</span><br/> +<br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Long years have passed since that midsummer night,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">But still I feel the creeping of your hand</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Along my face. If I return once more,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">And in the shadow of that tree should stand</span><br/> +<br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">With you there—Answer! Would you kiss me back?</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Would you reject me if I sued again?—</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">How strange this is! I think my madness lasts,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Although I'm sure I have forgot the pain!</span><br/> +<br/> +<br/> +<br/> +<br/> +<a name="COLONELSSHIELD"><span style="margin-left: 1em;"><b>THE COLONEL'S SHIELD.</b></span><br/> +</a> <br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Your picture, slung about my neck</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">The day we went afield,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Swung out before the trench;</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">It caught the eye of rank and file,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Who knew "The Colonel's Shield."</span><br/> +<br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">I thrust it back, and with my men</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">(Our General rode ahead)</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">We stormed the great redoubt,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">As if it were an easy thing,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">But rows of us fell dead!</span><br/> +<br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Your picture hanging on my neck,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Up with my men I rushed;</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">We made an awful charge:</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And then my horse, "The Lady Bess,"</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Dropped, and—my leg was crushed!</span><br/> +<br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The blood of battle in my veins</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">(A blue-coat dragged me out),—</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">But I remembered you;</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">I kissed your picture—did you know?</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">And yelled, "For the redoubt!"</span><br/> +<br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The Twenty-fourth, my scarred old dogs,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Growled back, "He'll put us through;</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">We'll take him in our arms:</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Our picture there—the girl he loves,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Shall see what we can do."</span><br/> +<br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The foe was silenced—so were we.</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">I lay upon the field,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Among the Twenty-fourth;</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Your picture, shattered on my breast,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Had proved "The Colonel's Shield."</span><br/> +<br/> +<br/> +<br/> +<br/> +<a name="FEWIDLEWORDS"><span style="margin-left: 1em;"><b>A FEW IDLE WORDS.</b></span><br/> +</a> <br/> + <span style="margin-left: 1em;">So, I must believe that I loved you once!</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">These letters say so;</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And here is your picture—how you have changed!</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">It was long ago.</span><br/> +<br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The gloss is worn from this lock of black hair—</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">You can have them all,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And with these treasures a few idle words,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">That I will not recall.</span><br/> +<br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">What a child I was when you met me first!</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Was I handsome then?</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">I think you remember the very night,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">It was half-past ten,</span><br/> +<br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">When you came upstairs, so tired of the men,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">And tired of the wine;</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">You said you loved lilies (my dress was white),</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">And hated to dine.</span><br/> +<br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The dowagers nodded behind their fans;</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">I played an old song;</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">You told an old tale, I thought it so new,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">And I thought so long.</span><br/> +<br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">True, I had read the "Arabian Nights,"</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">And "Amadis de Gaul;"</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">But I never had found a modern knight</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">In our books at the Hall.</span><br/> +<br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">You tore your hand with the thorns of the rose</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">That looped up my sleeve,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And a drop of red blood fell on my arm—</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">You asked, "Do you grieve?"</span><br/> +<br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">That drop of your blood made mine flow fast;</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">But you sipped your tea</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">With a nonchalant air, and balanced the spoon,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">And balanced poor me,</span><br/> +<br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">In the scale with my stocks, and farms, and mines.</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Did it tremble at all?</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">When my cousin, the heir, turned up one day,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">We both had a fall!</span><br/> +<br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Well, we meet again, and I look at you</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">With a quiet surprise;</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">I think your ennui possesses me now,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">And am quite as wise.</span><br/> +<br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">To me it was only a dream of love,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">A defeat to you:</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">It was not your first, may be not your last—</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Here, take them—Adieu!</span><br/> +<br/> +<br/> +<br/> +<br/> +<a name="VERS"><span style="margin-left: 1em;"><b>VERS DE SOCIÉTÉ.</b></span><br/> +</a> <br/> + <span style="margin-left: 1em;">This chain of white arms round the room—</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">The demon waltz—bewilders me:</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Or am I drunk with this good wine?</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;"><i>Vive la compagnie</i>!</span><br/> +<br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">"My friend, young Highboys, have you met?"</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">"O yes: how do? good brandy here!"</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The wretch's mother, in her youth,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">Was famous for her beer!</span><br/> +<br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Before his patent scraper sold</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Old Highboys used to beat them all!</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">See what Society has done—</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">He's holding her cashmere shawl!</span><br/> +<br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">How is it, Madam, that I know</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">The guests at once? Wipe off the paint—</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Convention daubs us all alike,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">Sinner as well as Saint!</span><br/> +<br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">I see you in the crimson chair,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Behind your jewelled Spanish fan,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Slipping your bracelets up and down,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">Flashing your eyes on the man</span><br/> +<br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Who plays the harp; he twangs an air</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">You understand—you've met before;</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">How many lessons did you take?</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">Madam, you need no more.</span><br/> +<br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Tiger of fifty! So you've bought</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">This pretty girl in the Honiton lace.</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Now she's abroad, she quite forgets</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">She shudders in your embrace.</span><br/> +<br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Dowagers, stiff in black brocades,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Worry the waiters—sweep their trays:</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">How they scowl at the foolish men</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">Basking in Beauty's blaze!</span><br/> +<br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Saunters a poet, munching cake:</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">"Very distinguished." "Did you buy</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Your lace at Beck's?" "Why, how he laughs!"</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">"But his verses make one cry!"</span><br/> +<br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Idle poet, a word with you:</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">You sing too much of love's sweet wrong,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Of rosy cheeks, and purple wine:</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">Give us a loftier song.</span><br/> +<br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The coachmen stamp upon the steps;</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Our hostess looks towards the door;</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Our host twists round his limp cravat,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">Pronouncing the thing a bore!</span><br/> +<br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Our skeletons will be stirring soon;</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Something already touches me:</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Off, till I drain one bottle more!</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;"><i>Vive la compagnie!</i></span><br/> +<br/> +<br/> +<br/> +<br/> +<a name="RACE"><span style="margin-left: 1em;"><b>THE RACE.</b></span><br/> +</a> <br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The guests were gathered in the ancient park</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Of my Lord Wynne, and he was now their mark</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">For wit and gossip—quite the usual way,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Where one bestows, and no one need repay.</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">"A stumbling-block his pride; his heart's in strife</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Between two women, which to choose for wife.</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">He's always hovering round that lovely girl,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">His lawyer's daughter, who will never furl</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><i>Her</i> flag of pride: she rivals Gilbert there.</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Now watch their meeting; none more bravely wear</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Their beauty, recognize a woman's own,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Than Clara Mercome. Gilbert Wynne has sown</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">His wild oats for her sake; yet he delays,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And with my Lady Bond divides his days.</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Who bets on beauty, hedges in on age;</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Which tries the flight to perch in Lord Wynne's cage?</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Will Lady Bond or Clara be the queen?</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">For Lady Bond is certain of her lien."</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">He heard this talk while standing by a beech—</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Hugh Wynne—and planned how he might overreach</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Gilbert and Clara, break the pride of both,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Part them for good, or make them plight their troth.</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">"Now for a race," he cried, "to Martin's Mill;</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The boats are here; behold, the lake is still.</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Here, Gilbert, take your oar; I'll follow soon,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Though sunset's nigh—to-night is harvest-moon.</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Let go the rope, the knot's inside; take these,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Arrange a seat, adjust it at your ease.</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><i>She's here</i>. Miss Mercome, you will help him win</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The race, and will not count my wager sin."</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And he was gone; the pair were face to face.</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">"I'll take the oars," he gasped; "we'll win this race."</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">He never felt his heart so in his breast.</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">"I hope you will forgive my cousin's jest?"</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">A haughty murmur was her sole reply.</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">No rowers followed. Never did swallows fly</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">So swift, or dip the lake like Gilbert's oars.</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">He was watchful, careless she. "There soars</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">A heron, quite a feature of your state:</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Are gems and peacocks, tell me, still in date?</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">How deep the woods upon the water steal,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">One to the other making soft appeal!"</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">"Not being human, wood and water meet</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">In their own speech, and soulless things are sweet</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Together. So they are to me. I like</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">To watch the herons by the sedgy dike;</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">They keep me tranquil; and I love to feed</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The pike in yon old pool; they help to lead—</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Why, here is Martin's Bridge, and yet no boats!</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Shall we return?" Said Clara then, "There floats</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">A lily bed beyond; let's shoot beneath</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The bridge, and lilies pull; I want a wreath."</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">He knew the channel narrow; it was dark;</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">But his heart leaped at this relenting mark.</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">He drew his oars up, pointed in the helm,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And shot in the cool gloom. He thought no realm</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">On which the sun had shone was half so bright.</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And somehow Clara thought it nice as light.</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The waters swirled so swift that in the noise</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Clara grew dizzy; Gilbert lost his poise,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And lost an oar; with a confusing shock</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The boat was grinding—stopped against a rock.</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">"Gilbert, my dear, are we not going down?"</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">"Dearest, my love, we were not born to drown.</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Oh, kiss me; we are safe; and grant me now</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Yourself. I'll gather lilies for your brow;</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And Hugh will know that I have won the race,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And Clara, my dear wife, her rightful place."</span><br/> +<br/> +<br/> +<br/> +<br/> +<a name="WOLFTAMER"><span style="margin-left: 1em;"><b>THE WOLF-TAMER.</b></span><br/> +</a> <br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Through the gorge of snow we go,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Tracking, tramping soft and slow,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">With our paws and sheathèd claws,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">So we swing along the snow,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Crowding, crouching to your pipes—</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Shining serpents! Well you know,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">When your lips shall cease to blow</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Airs that lure us through the snow,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">We shall fall upon your race</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Who do wear a different face.</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Who were spared in yonder vale?</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Not a man to tell the tale!</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Blow, blow, serpent pipes,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Slow we follow:—all our troop—</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Every wolf of wooded France,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Down from all the Pyrenees—</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Shall they follow, follow you,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">In your dreadful music-trance?</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Mark it by our tramping paws,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Hidden fangs, and sheathèd claws?</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">You have seen the robber bands</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Tear men's tongues and cut their hands,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">For ransom—we ask none—begone,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">For the tramping of our paws,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Marking all your music's laws,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Numbs the lust of ear and eye;</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Or—let us go beneath the snow,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And silent die—as wolves should die!</span><br/> +<br/> +<br/> +<br/> +<br/> +<a name="ABBOTOFUNREASON"><span style="margin-left: 1em;"><b>THE ABBOT OF UNREASON.</b></span><br/> +</a> <br/> + <span style="margin-left: 1em;">I looked over the balustrade—</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">The twilight had come—</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And saw the pretty waiting-maid</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Kiss Roland, the page.</span><br/> +<br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">My lady heard the wolf-dog's chain</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Clank on the floor;</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Sly Roland caught it up again,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">And whistled a song.</span><br/> +<br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Oh! they think that my heart is cold,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Under my gown;</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Not till I blacken into mould</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Will it cease to burn.</span><br/> +<br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Burn, burn for such sweet red lips!</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">I am almost mad,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Even to touch her finger tips,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">When we meet alone.</span><br/> +<br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Roland, the page, goes here and there,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Loving, and loved,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Women like his devil-may-care,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Till they are forgot!</span><br/> +<br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Whether I am in castle or inn,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">With sinner or saint,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Never can I a woman win,—</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">I am but a priest!</span><br/> +<br/> +<br/> +<br/> +<br/> +<a name="ELMANOLO"><span style="margin-left: 1em;"><b>EL MANOLO.</b></span><br/> +</a> <br/> + <span style="margin-left: 1em;">In the still, dark shade of the palace wall,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 4em;">Where the peacocks strut,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Where the queen may have heard my madrigal,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 4em;">Together we sat.</span><br/> +<br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">My sombrero hid the fire in my eyes,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 4em;">And shaded her own:</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">This serge cloak stifled her sweet little cries,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 4em;">When I kissed her mouth!</span><br/> +<br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The pale olive trees on the distant plain,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 4em;">The jagged blue rocks,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The vaporous sea-like mountain chain,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 4em;">Dropped into the night.</span><br/> +<br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">We saw the lights in the palace flare;</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 4em;">The musicians played:</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The red guards slashed and sabred the stair,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 4em;">And cursed the old king.</span><br/> +<br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">In the long black shade of the palace wall,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 4em;">We sat the night through;</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Under my cloak—but I cannot tell all—</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 4em;">The queen may have seen!</span><br/> +<br/> +<br/> +<br/> +<br/> +<a name="MERCEDES"><span style="margin-left: 1em;"><b>MERCEDES.</b></span><br/> +</a> <br/> + <span style="margin-left: 1em;">Under a sultry, yellow sky,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">On the yellow sand I lie;</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The crinkled vapors smite my brain,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">I smoulder in a fiery pain.</span><br/> +<br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Above the crags the condor flies;</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">He knows where the red gold lies,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">He knows where the diamonds shine;—</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">If I knew, would she be mine?</span><br/> +<br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Mercedes in her hammock swings;</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">In her court a palm-tree flings</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Its slender shadow on the ground,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The fountain falls with silver sound.</span><br/> +<br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Her lips are like this cactus cup;</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">With my hand I crush it up;</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">I tear its flaming leaves apart;—</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Would that I could tear her heart!</span><br/> +<br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Last night a man was at her gate;</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">In the hedge I lay in wait;</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">I saw Mercedes meet him there,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">By the fireflies in her hair.</span><br/> +<br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">I waited till the break of day,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Then I rose and stole away;</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">But left my dagger in the gate;—</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Now she knows her lover's fate!</span><br/> +<br/> +<br/> +<br/> +<br/> +<a name="BULLFIGHT"><span style="margin-left: 1em;"><b>THE BULL-FIGHT.</b></span><br/> +</a> <br/> + <span style="margin-left: 1em;">Eleven o'clock:</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Here are our cups of chocolate.</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Montez will fight the bulls to-day—</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">All Madrid knows that:</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Queen Christina is going in state:</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Dolores will go with her little fan!</span><br/> +<br/> +<span style="margin-left: 4em;">Lace up my shoe;</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Put on my Basquina;</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 4em;">Can you see my black eyes?</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 5em;">I am Manuel's duchess.</span><br/> +<br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">In front of the box of the Queen and the Duke</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Dolores sits, flirting her fan;</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The church of St. Agnes stands on the right,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And its shadow falls on the picadors;</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">On their lean steeds they prance in the ring,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Hidalgo-fashion, their hands on their hips.</span><br/> +<br/> +<span style="margin-left: 5em;">"<i>Ha! Toro! Toro!</i>"</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 4em;">Hoh! the horses are gored;</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 4em;">Now for the men.</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 5em;">"<i>Ha! Toro! Toro!</i>"</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 4em;">Every man over the barrier!</span><br/> +<br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Not so; for there the bull-fighter stands;</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Some little applause from the royal box,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And "<i>Montez! Montez!</i>" from a thousand throats!</span><br/> +<br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The bull bows fine, though snorting with rage,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">His fore-leg makes little holes in the ground;</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">But Montez stands still; his ribbons don't flutter!</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">Saints, what a leap!</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">His rosette is on the bull's black horn;</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Montez is pale; but his great eye shines</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">When Dolores cries—"<i>Kisses for Montez!</i>"</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">Fie! Manuel's duchess!</span><br/> +<br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">A minute longer the fight is done,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The mule-bells tinkle, the bull rides off;</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Montez twirls a new diamond ring,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And Dolores goes home for chocolate.</span><br/> +<br/> +<br/> +<br/> +<br/> +<a name="CAMPAGNA"><span style="margin-left: 1em;"><b>ON THE CAMPAGNA.</b></span><br/> +</a> <br/> + <span style="margin-left: 2em;">Stop on the Appian Way,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">In the Roman Campagna;</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">Stop at my tomb,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">The tomb of Cecilia Metella.</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">To-day as you see it,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Alaric saw it, ages ago,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">When he, with his pale-visaged Goths,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Sat at the gates of Rome,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Reading his Runic shield.</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Odin, thy curse remains!</span><br/> +<br/> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Beneath these battlements</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">My bones were stirred with Roman pride,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Though centuries before my Romans died</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Now my bones are dust; the Goths are dust.</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The river-bed is dry where sleeps the king,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">My tomb remains!</span><br/> +<br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">When Rome commanded the earth</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Great were the Metelli:</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">I was Metella's wife;</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">I loved him—and I died.</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Then with slow patience built he this memorial:</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Each century marks his love.</span><br/> +<br/> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Pass by on the Appian Way</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">The tomb of Cecilia Metella;</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Wild shepherds alone seek its shelter,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Wild buffaloes tramp at its base.</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Deep is its desolation,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Deep as the shadow of Rome!</span><br/> +<br/> +<br/> +<br/> +<br/> +<a name="QUEENDEPOSED"><span style="margin-left: 1em;"><b>THE QUEEN DEPOSED.</b></span><br/> +</a> <br/> + <span style="margin-left: 1em;">I was the queen of Karl, a northern king:</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Amazon Olga, and I rode his Ban,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">A stallion in the royal ring</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Who would not bear a man.</span><br/> +<br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And in Ban's saddle did I feel the pains</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">For my first-born, the king's sole hope, his heir;</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">My Karl himself would loose the reins,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Would take me up the stair.</span><br/> +<br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Low was the murmur of the royal troops</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Below, I saw the tapers' twinkling light;</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">I heard a cry—"My queen, she droops!"</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Then fell eternal night.</span><br/> +<br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">No more was Olga queen for any king;</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">The pathway round a throne she could not tread,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Nor triumph in the royal ring—</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">The boy she bore was dead!</span><br/> +<br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The cloister hers; she chose the cloak and hood,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">And beads of olive-wood, a pouch for alms;</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">So begged she, Christ, for thy dear rood,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;"><i>Laus Deo</i> sang thy psalms!</span><br/> +<br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Why am I here? This country is my king's;</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">The lovely river, wooded hills above;</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Old St. Sebastian's church-bell rings—</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">There flies the silver dove</span><br/> +<br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">That flitted by the day we came to praise</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Our gracious Mary for a granted prayer;</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Heralds, trumps, the same gay maze</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Of troops—King Karl is there!</span><br/> +<br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><i>Laus Deo</i> with a child, and with his mate—</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">She wins the throne by bringing him a son:</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Babes make or mar our queenly fate—</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">My woman's life is done.</span><br/> +<br/> +<br/> +<br/> +<br/> +<a name="AUNIT"><span style="margin-left: 1em;"><b>A UNIT.</b></span><br/> +</a> <br/> + <span style="margin-left: 1em;">When I was camping on the Volga's banks,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The trader Zanthon with a leash of mares</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Went by my tent. I knew the wily Jew,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And he knew me. He muttered as he passed,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">"The last Bathony, and his tusks are grown.</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">A broken 'scutcheon is a 'scutcheon still,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And Amine's token in my caftan lies,—</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Amine, who weeps and wails for his return."</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">He caught my eye, and slipped inside the tent.</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">"Haw, Zanthon, up from Poland, at your tricks!</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">How veer the boars on old Bathony's towers?</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">True to the winds that blow on Poland's plains?"</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">"They bite the dust, my lord, as beast to beast.</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">When Poles conspire, conspiracy alone</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Survives to hover in the murky air.</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">My lord, Bathony's gates are left ajar</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">For you to enter, or—remain outside;</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The forest holds the secret you surprised,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And men are there, to dare as they have dared."</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">"Haw, Zanthon, tell me of the palatine.</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The air of Russia makes a man forget</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">He was a man elsewhere: the trumpets' squeal</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">I follow, and the thud of drums. You spoke</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">As if I were of princely birth: hark ye,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><i>Battalion</i> is the call I listen to."</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">"My lord, the cranes that plunder in your fens,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The doves that nest within your woods I saw</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Fly round the gaping walls, and plume their wings</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Upon your father's grave. Do you know this?"</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">"A token, Zanthon? so—a withered flower!</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">You think I wore one in my sword-hilt once?</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Methinks there is no perfume in this flower.</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Watch, while I fling it on the Volga's tide.</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The chief, my father, sent me with a curse</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">To travel in the steppes, and so I do.</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The air of Russia makes a man forget</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">He was a man elsewhere, for love or hope,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And as he marches, he becomes but this.</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Haw, Zanthon, would you learn the reason why?</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Search on the Caucasus, the northern seas,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Look in the sky or over earth, then ask,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The answer everywhere will be, <i>The Tzar</i>."</span><br/> +<br/> +<br/> +<br/> +<br/> +<a name="ZANTHON"><span style="margin-left: 1em;"><b>ZANTHON—MY FRIEND.</b></span><br/> +</a> <br/> + <span style="margin-left: 1em;">I, knight-at-arms, in my own forest lost!</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Count of the empire, heir to crags and caves,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And brother to the eagle and the fox!</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The music of the thunder, and the wind</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Among the arches of the oaks, may choir</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">A requiem for my passing soul. But hist!</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">A footstep in the leaves—some poaching hind</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Or gypsy trapping game—Holà! holà!</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Perhaps the kobolds are abroad to-night.</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Zanthon knows well these mountain-folk entice.</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The woods divide, dawn breaks, I see the verge;</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Bathony's stronghold on the Polish plains</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Should top the wilderness: were Zanthon here,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">To boast his prowess in our hunting bouts,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">I would not cuff nor flout him, could we sight</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">In the old way, with fanfaron, the boars</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">On the old battlements, our ancient badge.</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">That lie to Zanthon on the Volga's banks,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">When Amine sent the wild rose by his hand,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Was Satan's wile. I played the Cossack well.</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">With shame my mustache bristled when I said,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">"Troopers must forage where the grain is grown:</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">I share my kopecks with the village priest,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Who winnows peccadillos by the sheaf."</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Then Zanthon, laughing in his foxy beard:</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">"When Amine meets me in the plane-tree walk</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">(Where pairing little finches seek to build,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">We saw the cuckoo thieve their nests when boys),</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Shall I then tell her, in my peasant way,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Your broken promise, and her troth denied?"</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And he was gone—gone, with the stud he bought</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">From Schamyl's son, up by Caucasus way,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Leaving me solitude to reason with.</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Around me, then, an odor swept—the rose!</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">It plagued my nostrils day and night, in gusts</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">It blew, but one way only—towards Amine.</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">At cards it smote me, in the saddle puffed,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Through my tent walls at night its withered blast</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Pierced, and changed me in my wavering dreams.</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">What spell was this, by love or friendship sent?</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Across the steppes I followed Zanthon, close,—</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">He might have heard the whinny of my mare;</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Verst after verst, the measure of her hoofs</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Beat out a rhythm, like a cackling laugh.</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">But on the frontier my poor Sesma fell:</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">I heard the ravens croaking from the hills.</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">The sun has burned away the valley's mist.</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And in the silent, tranquil morning air</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">A mirage rises of my ruined walls:</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Gold-colored, crystal-edged, the banners flash.</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The rooks are stringing for the old beech copse.</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">This gully crossed, the bridge that spans the stream—</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">But halte-lâ, my heart crowds up my breast,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">For this is Poland, Mother of my Soul!</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Quoth Zanthon, watching in the plane-tree walk,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">"My fine Bathony comes to join the feast,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And raise the conopeum for my bride.</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">I pay the kopecks to the priest to-day,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">But Amine in his sheaf will not be bound."</span><br/> +<br/> +<br/> +<br/> +<br/> +<a name="ACHILLESINORCUS"><span style="margin-left: 1em;"><b>ACHILLES IN ORCUS.</b></span><br/> +</a> <br/> + <span style="margin-left: 1em;">From thy translucent waves, great Thetis, rise!</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Mother divine, hear, and take back the gift</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Thou gavest me of valor and renown,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And then seek Zeus, but not with loosened zone</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">For dalliance; entreat him to restore</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Me, Achilles, to the earth, to the black earth,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The nourisher of men, not these pale shades,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Whose shapes have learned the presage of thy doom;</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">They flit between me and the wind-swept plain</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Of Troy, the banners over Ilion's walls,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The zenith of my prowess, and my fate.</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Give me again the breath of life, not death.</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Would I could tarry in the timbered tent,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">As when I wept Patroclus, when, by night,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Old Priam crept, kissing my knees with tears</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">For Hector's corse, the hero I laid low.</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">My panoply was like the gleam of fire</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">When in the dust I dragged him at my wheels,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">My heart was iron,—he despoiled my friend.</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Cast on these borders of eternal gloom,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Now comes Odysseus with his wandering crew;</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">He pours libations in the deep-dug trench,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">While airy forms in multitudes press near,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And listen to the echoes of my praise.</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">His consolation vain, he hails me, "Prince!"</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Vain is his speech: "No man before thy time,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Achilles, lived more honored; here thou art</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Supreme, the ruler in these dread abodes."</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Speak not so easily to me of death,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Great Odysseus! Rather would I be</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The meanest hind, and bring the bleating lambs</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">From down the grassy hills, or with a goad</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">To prod the hungry swine in beechen woods,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Than over the departed to bear sway.</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Then from the clouds to note the warning cry</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Of the harsh crane; to see the Pleiads rise,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The vine and fig-tree shoot, the olive bud;</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">To hear the chirping swallows in the dawn,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The thieving cuckoo laughing in the leaves!</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">So, may Achilles pass his palace gate,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And later heroes strike Achilles' lyre!</span><br/> +<br/> +<br/> +<br/> +<br/> +<a name="ABOVETHETREE"><span style="margin-left: 1em;"><b>ABOVE THE TREE.</b></span><br/> +</a> <br/> + <span style="margin-left: 1em;">Why should I tarry here, to be but one</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">To eke out doubt, and suffer with the rest?</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Why should I labor to become a name,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And vaunt, as did Ulysses to his mates,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">"I am a part of all that I have met."</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">A wily seeker to suffice myself!</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">As when the oak's young leaves push off the old,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">So from this tree of life man drops away,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And all the boughs are peopled quick by spring</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Above the furrows of forgotten graves.</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The one we thought had made the nation's creed,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Whose death would rive us like a thunderbolt,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Dropped down—a sudden rustling in the leaves,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">A knowledge of the gap, and that was all!</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The robin flitting on his frozen mound</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Is more than he. Whoever dies, gives up</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Unfinished work, which others, tempted, claim</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And carry on. I would go free, and change</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Into a star above the multitude,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">To shine afar, and penetrate where those</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Who in the darkling boughs are prisoned close,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">But when they catch my rays, will borrow light,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Believing it their own, and it will serve.</span><br/> +<br/> +<br/> +<br/> +<br/> +<a name="TOANARTIST"><span style="margin-left: 1em;"><b>TO AN ARTIST.</b></span><br/> +</a> <br/> + <span style="margin-left: 1em;">To me, long absent from the world of art,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">You bring the clouded mountains, my desire,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The tranquil river, and the stormy sea,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The far, pale morning, and the crimson eve,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And silent days, that brood among lush leaves,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">When, in the afternoon, the summer sun</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Is gliding down the hazy yellow west,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And my soul's atmosphere rests in the scene,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Until I dream the boundaries of my life</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">May hold an unknown, coming happiness.</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">How shall I, then, to show my gratitude,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">But offer you a picture drawn in words—</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">With all the art I have,—in black and white!</span><br/> +<br/> +<br/> +<br/> +<br/> +<a name="LANDSCAPE"><span style="margin-left: 1em;"><b>A LANDSCAPE.</b></span><br/> +</a> <br/> + <span style="margin-left: 1em;">Between me and the woods along the bay</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The swallows circle through the darkling mist,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The robins breast the grass, and they divide</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">This solitude with me. The rippling sea</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And sunset clouds, the sea gulls' flashing flight</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">From looming isles beyond—I watch them now</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">With a new sense. Where are the swallows' young,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And where the robins' nests? Year after year</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">They hover round this ancient house, and I,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Within as heedless, saw the long years pass,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Nor ever dreamed a day like this might come—</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">A day when mourners go about the street</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">For one who always loved his fellow-men.</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The windflower trembles in the woods, the sod</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Is full of violets, the orchards rain</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Their scented blossoms. May unfolds its leaves—</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Nature's eternal mystery to renew.</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Must man be less than leaf or flower, and end?</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">If I go hence, when this departed soul</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Has left no human tie to bind me now,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">When spring unfolds, and I recall his past,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Will their remembrance lead me here again,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">To teach me that his spirit comes to show</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">That Nature is eternal for man's sake?</span><br/> +<br/> +<br/> +<br/> +<br/> +<a name="HEADLAND"><span style="margin-left: 1em;"><b>FROM THE HEADLAND.</b></span><br/> +</a> <br/> + <span style="margin-left: 1em;">I hear the waters of some inlet now</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Come lapping to the fringe of yonder wood,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The storm-bent firs, and oaks along the cliff.</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The yellow leaves are glistening in the grass,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The grassy slope I climb this autumn day.</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Ensnaring me, the brambles clutch my feet,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">As if constraining me to be a guest</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">To the wild, silent populace they shield.</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">It cannot say, nor I, why we are here.</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">What is my recompense upon this soil,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">For other paths are mine if I go hence,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Still must I make the mystery my quest?</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">For here or there, I think, one sways my will.</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">There is no show of beauty to delight</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The vision here, or strike the electric chord</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Which makes the present and the past as one.</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">No thickets where the thrushes sing in maze</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Of green, no silver-threaded waterfalls</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">In vales, where summer sleeps in darkling woods</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">With sunlit glades, and pools where lilies blow.</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Here, but the wiry grass and sorrel beds,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The gaping edges of the sand ravines,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Whose shifting sides are tufted with dull herbs,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Drooping above a brook, that sluggish creeps</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Down to the whispering rushes in the marsh.</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And this is all, until I reach the cliff,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And on the headland's verge I stand, enthralled</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Before the gulf of the unquenchable sea—</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The sea, inexorable in its might,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Circling the pebbly beach with limpid tides,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Storming in bays whose margins fade in mist;</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Now blue and silent as a noonday sky,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">At twilight now the pearly rollers shake</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The sunset's trail of violet and gold;</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Or black, when rushing on the rocky isles</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Anchored in waves that bellow to the winds.</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">I watch till comes the night; the moonlight falls,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The silvery deep on some far journey goes,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">To solve for me, I think, this mystery.</span><br/> +<br/> +<br/> +<br/> +<br/> +<a name="ASONE"><span style="margin-left: 1em;"><b>AS ONE.</b></span><br/> +</a> <br/> + <span style="margin-left: 1em;">When I, enclosed within the city's walls,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Behold the multitudes that come and go,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Hands clenched on gain, and nature all denied,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">Then I recall, recall the drift of time.</span><br/> +<br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">But when she proffered all her wealth to me,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The first faint blossom of the spring I share,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The latest autumn leaf, the last green blade,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">Then I forget, forget the drift of time.</span><br/> +<br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The months go by, and take me in their train,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The vesture wrapping them enfolds me too,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And all the journey through we seem as one,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">And I forget, forget the drift of time.</span><br/> +<br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">I hear the bluebird's call in windy dawns,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The robin's cheery note from dewy fields,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The swallow's cry along the pool at eve,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">And I forget, forget the drift of time.</span><br/> +<br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">When hedges give the prophecy of birds,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And sunbeams play on the expectant boughs,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The leaves uncurl and fill their veins with life,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">And I forget, forget the drift of time.</span><br/> +<br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">I watch a tumult in the summer skies,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">A blur of sunshine, and the rush of rain,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The tempest dying in the twilight's hush,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">And I forget, forget the drift of time.</span><br/> +<br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">When winter woods are armored by the frost,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And all the highways filled with soundless snows,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Then comes the sun to show his golden palm,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">And I forget, forget the drift of time.</span><br/> +<br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The mountains look upon me and the sea—</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">I hover on their crests in silver mists,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And with the waters pass beyond their verge,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">And I forget, forget the drift of time.</span><br/> +<br/> +<br/> +<br/> +<br/> +<a name="VISITINGS"><span style="margin-left: 1em;"><b>THE VISITINGS OF TRUTH KNOWN ELSEWHERE.</b></span><br/> +</a> <br/> + <span style="margin-left: 1em;">Spending abroad these varied autumn days,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Their melancholy legend I deny.</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">They keep a vanished treasure I will seek,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And follow on a track of mystic hopes.</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">While watching in thy atmosphere, I see</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The form of beauty changes, not its soul.</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">When with the Spring, the flying feet of youth</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Spurning the present as it passed, and me,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">I thought the world a mere environment</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">To hold my wishes and my happiness.</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">I have forgot that foolish, vain belief,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Now in my sere and yellow leaf, serene,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">I offer Autumn all my homage now.</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The eddies, whirling, rustling in my path,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Lure me like sprites, and from the leaves a voice:</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">"Say not our lesson is decay; we fall,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And lo, the naked trees in beauty lift</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Their delicate tracery against the sky.</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">On the pale verdure of the grass we spread</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">A shining web of scarlet, bronze, and gold;</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">When the rain comes, the oaks uphold us still.</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The holly shines, and waits the Christmas chimes,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Beneath the branches of the evergreens."</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">November's clouds without a shadow lift</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The purple mountains of its airy sphere,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And all my purpose waits upon them now.</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Day fades—a rose above the darkling sea,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And from the amber sky clear twilight falls;</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The orange woods grow black, and I go forth,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And as I go, the noiseless airs pass by,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And touch me like the petals of a flower;</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The cricket chirps me in the warm, dry sod,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Drowsy, and I would pipe a cheery strain;</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">But from the pines I hear the call of night,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And round the quiet earth the stars wheel up,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">With me eternal, and I stay beneath,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Until I fade into the fading plain.</span><br/> +<br/> +<br/> +<br/> +<br/> +<a name="WEMUSTWAIT"><span style="margin-left: 1em;"><b>WE MUST WAIT.</b></span><br/> +</a> <br/> + <span style="margin-left: 1em;">The testimony of my loss and gain</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Will I give utterance to, though none may hear.</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">When long ago, bereft of all I loved,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">I sought in Nature recompense, implored</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">For pity, solace, or forgetfulness,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">"The dear, familiar seasons as they pass,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The seal of memory on every place,"</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">I said, "will give the sympathy I seek,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The restoration which they owe to me."</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">By day and night I prayed as futile prayers</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">As the wind's shriek in lonesome winter nights;</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">By the sea they fell as empty as the shells</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Upon its sands, uncertain as its mists.</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">With them I tracked the shadows of the woods,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And sowed them in the fields among the seed;</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Whoso reaped harvest, I could gather none.</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">I wandered in the thickets, giving tongue</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Like a lost hound, dazed by their solitude,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The while birds called their mates, the lilies blazed,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And roses opened to the wandering airs.</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">They vanished with the leaves that voyaged the brook,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Which babbled of no story but its own.</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">How blind I was to Nature's liberty!</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Grief stalked beside me, I was sore beset,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And could not hear the turning of Time's wheel.</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Still were the skies serene, the earth most fair,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">When with the doleful chant of dust to dust</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Mingled the laughter of this sunlit sea;</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And through my tears I saw the ripples dance,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And June's sweet breezes kiss the swaying elms.</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">As he who turns the key within his door</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And gazes at his walls before he goes,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Then forward sets his steps—so I set mine</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">To join a band whose purpose was to find</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">A world of action; but my heart was cold,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">My mind supine. Yet I remained with them,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And answered to the roll called Honor, Fame!</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Where were my memories and my ardent prayers?</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The years stood far behind, their columns graved</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Deep with the adage which youth names <i>No More</i>.</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Like one who enters some old storied hall,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And down its vista suddenly beholds</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">A banner waving out its old device</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Of victory—so suddenly I felt</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">My later life a void. I was recalled!</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">My prayers were answered, and behold me here;</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Within the pale of all my loss and gain,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The dear, familiar seasons as they pass,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The seal of memory on every place,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Bestow the restoration which I sought.</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">At peace, I know, as those who suffer know,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">There is no secret we can wrest at will</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">From Nature. Time must bring and share with her</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The gift of resignation, cure for grief,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And cast upon our ways this ray of hope—</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">That I, the lost, and Nature may be one.</span><br/> +<br/> +<br/> +<br/> +<br/> +<a name="UNRETURNING"><span style="margin-left: 1em;"><b>UNRETURNING.</b></span><br/> +</a> <br/> + <span style="margin-left: 1em;">Now all the flowers that ornament the grass,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Wherever meadows are and placid brooks,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Must fall—the "glory of the grass" must fall.</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Year after year I see them sprout and spread—</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The golden, glossy, tossing buttercups,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The tall, straight daisies and red clover globes,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The swinging bellwort and the blue-eyed bent,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">With nameless plants as perfect in their hues—</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Perfect in root and branch, their plan of life,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">As if the intention of a soul were there:</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">I see them flourish as I see them fall!</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">But he, who once was growing with the grass,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And blooming with the flowers, my little son,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Fell, withered—dead, nor has revived again!</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Perfect and lovely, needful to my sight,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Why comes he not to ornament my days?</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The barren fields forget their barrenness,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The soulless earth mates with these soulless things,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Why should I not obtain <i>my</i> recompense?</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The budding spring should bring, or summer's prime,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">At least a vision of the vanished child,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And let his heart commune with mine again,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Though in a dream—his life was but a dream;</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Then might I wait with patient cheerfulness,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">That cheerfulness which keeps one's tears unshed,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And blinds the eyes with pain—the passage slow</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Of other seasons, and be still and cold</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">As the earth is when shrouded in the snow,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Or passive, like it, when the boughs are stripped</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">In autumn, and the leaves roll everywhere.</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">And he should go again; for winter's snows,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And autumn's melancholy voice, in winds,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">In waters, and in woods, belong to me,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">To me—a faded soul; for, as I said,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The sense of all his beauty, sweetness, comes</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">When blossoms are the sweetest; when the sea,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Sparkling and blue, cries to the sun in joy,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Or, silent, pale, and misty waits the night,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Till the moon, pushing through the veiling cloud,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Hangs naked in its heaving solitude:</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">When feathery pines wave up and down the shore,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And the vast deep above holds gentle stars,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And the vast world beneath hides him from me!</span><br/> +<br/> +<br/> +<br/> +<br/> +<a name="CLOSED"><span style="margin-left: 1em;"><b>CLOSED.</b></span><br/> +</a> <br/> + <span style="margin-left: 1em;">The crimson dawn breaks through the clouded east,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And waking breezes round the casement pipe;</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">They blow the globes of dew from opening buds,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And steal the odors of the sleeping flowers.</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The swallow calls its young ones from the eaves,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">To dart above their shadows on the lake,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Till its long rollers redden in the sun,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And bend the lances of the mirrored pines.</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Who knows the miracle that brings the morn?</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Still in my house I linger, though the night—</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The night that hides me from myself is gone.</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Light robes the world, but strips me bare again.</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">I will not follow on the paths of day.</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">I know the dregs within its crystal hours;</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The bearers of my cups have served me well;</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">I drained them, and the bearers come no more.</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Rise, morning, rise, for those believing souls</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Who seek completion in day's garish light.</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">My casement I will close, keep shut my door,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Till day and night are only dreams to me.</span><br/> +<br/> +<br/> +<br/> +<br/> +<a name="MEMORYISIMMORTAL"><span style="margin-left: 1em;"><b>MEMORY IS IMMORTAL.</b></span><br/> +</a> <br/> + <span style="margin-left: 1em;">Time passed, as passes time with common souls,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Whose thoughts and wishes end with every day;</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">For whom no future is, whose present hours</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Reveal no looming shade of that which was.</span><br/> +<br/> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">But Memory is immortal, for she comes</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">To me, from heaven or hell, to me, once more!</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">As birds that migrate choose the ocean wind</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">That beats them helpless, while it steers them home,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">So I was this way driven—I chose this way—</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Of old my dwelling-place, where all my race</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Are buried. At first I was enchanted here;</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Impossible appeared the pall, the shroud;</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And in my spell I trod the grassy streets,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Where in the summer days mild oxen drew</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The bristling hay, and in the winter snows</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The creaking masts and knees for mighty ships,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Whose hulls were parted on the coral reefs,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Or foundered in the depth of Arctic nights.</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">I wandered through the gardens rank and waste,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Wonderful once, when I was like the flowers;</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Along the weedy paths grew roses still,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Surviving empire, but remaining queens.</span><br/> +<br/> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">My mood established by the slumbrous town—</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">(Slumber with slumber, dream with dream should be)</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">I sought a mansion on the lonely shore,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">From which, his feet made level with his head,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Its occupant was gone. I lived alone.</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Whoso, beneath this roof, had played his part</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">In life's deep tragedy, not here again</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Could be rehearsed its scenes of love or hate.</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Upon the ancient walls my pictures hung,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Of men and women, strong and beautiful,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Whose shoulders pushed along the world's great wheel;</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Landscapes, where cloud and mountain rose as one,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Where rivers crept in secret vales, or rolled</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Past city walls, whose towers and palaces</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">By slaves were builded, and by princes fallen!</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And books whose pages ever told one tale,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The tale of human love, in joy or pain,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The seed of our last hope—Eternity.</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Days glided by, this mirage cheating all;</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Morn came, eve went, and we were tranquil still.</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">If form, and sound, and color fail to show,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">By poet's, painter's, sculptor's noble touch,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The subtle truth of Nature, can I tell</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">How Nature poised my mind in light and shade?</span><br/> +<br/> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">But Memory is immortal, and to me</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">She advanced, silent, slow, a muffled shape.</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">One moonlight night I walked through long white lanes;</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The sky and sea were like a frosted web;</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The air was heavy with familiar scents,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Which travelled down the wind, I knew from where—</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The fragrance of a grove of Northern pines.</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">My feet were hastening thither—and my heart!</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">At last I stood before a funeral mound,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">From which I fled when vanished love and life—</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Long years ago—fled from my father's house;</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Banished myself, to banish him I loved—</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">His broken history and his early grave.</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And in the moonlight Memory floated on,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Immortal, with my now immortal Love!</span><br/> +<br/> +<br/> +<br/> +<br/> +<a name="THETRYST"><span style="margin-left: 1em;"><b>THE TRYST.</b></span><br/> +</a> <br/> + <span style="margin-left: 1em;">Impelled by memory in a wayward mood,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Reluctant, yearning, with a faithless mind,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">I sought once more a long neglected spot,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">A wooded upland bordered by the sea,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Whose tides were swirling up the reedy sands,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Or floating noiseless in the yellow marsh.</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">My way was wild. The winds, awaking, smote</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">My face, but as I passed a ruined wall</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Brambles and vines and waving blossoms dashed</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">A frolic-welcome, like a summer rain.</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Shouldering the hills against the murky east</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Stood stalwart oaks, and in the mossy sod</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Below the trembling birches whispered me,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">"Not here!" I reached the silence-loving pines,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And lingered. The mists swept from the wooded hills,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And, rolling seaward, hid the anchored ships.</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">So, happy, dreaming an old dream again,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Of keeping tryst in secret on the knoll,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">I wandered on, listening in dreamy maze</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">To sounds I thought familiar,—the approach</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Of well-known footsteps in the leafy path,—</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">A murmuring voice calling me by name!</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Through the pine shafts the sunless light of dawn</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Stole. Day was come. My dream would be fulfilled!</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Above the hills the sky began to blaze,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And ushering morn the west flushed rosy-red;</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Then, the Sun leaping from his bed of gold,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Scattered cloud-banners, crimson, gray, and white.</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">There was my shadow in the leafy path</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Alone,—none was to keep the tryst with me!</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">No voice, no step among the hills I heard.</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The joyous swallows from their nestlings flew,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Mad in the light with song. Far out at sea</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The white sails fluttered in the eager breeze,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">But Day was silent holding tryst with me,—</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">My pilgrimage rewarded—faith restored.</span><br/> +<br/> +<br/> +<br/> +<br/> +<a name="NOANSWER"><span style="margin-left: 1em;"><b>NO ANSWER.</b></span><br/> +</a> <br/> + <span style="margin-left: 1em;">You tell me not, green multitude of leaves,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Mingling and whirling with the willful breeze,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Nor you, bright grasses, trembling blade to blade,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">What meaneth June, to hap us every year?</span><br/> +<br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The spirit of the flowers is watching now,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">As winking in the sun they suck the dew,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The thickets parley with the splendid fields—</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">What meaneth June, to hap us every year?</span><br/> +<br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Up where the brook laps round the shining flags,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And tinkling foam bells pass the weedy shore,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And where the willow swings above the trout—</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">What meaneth June, to hap us every year?</span><br/> +<br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The clouds hold knowledge in their snowy peaks,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">They hide it in their moving fleecy folds,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">They share it with the sunset's golden isles—</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">What meaneth June, to hap us every year?</span><br/> +<br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Fullness and sweetness, and the power of life,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Must I in ignorance remain alone,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And yield the quest of speech for certain proof?</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">What meaneth June, to hap us every year?</span><br/> +<br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Sweetness and beauty, and the power of life,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Is it creation's anthem—parts for all?</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Is this the knowledge—will you answer me</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">What meaneth June, to hap us every year?</span><br/> +<br/> +<br/> +<br/> +<br/> +<a name="ONTHEHILLTOP"><span style="margin-left: 1em;"><b>ON THE HILLTOP.</b></span><br/> +</a> <br/> +<span style="margin-left: 4em;">"By the margent of the sea</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 4.5em;">I would build myself a home."</span><br/> +<br/> +<br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Not by the margent of the sea,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">But on the hilltop I would be,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">My little house a mossy den,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Between me and the world of men.</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Beside me dips a wide ravine,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Covered with a flowery screen;</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Far round me rise a band of hills,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Whose voices reach me by their rills,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Or deep susurrus of the wood,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">That stands in stately brotherhood,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Upholding one vast web of green,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Whereunder foot has never been—</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The pine and elm, the birch and oak—</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And thus their voices me invoke:</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">"If you would on the hilltop be,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">We cannot share your misery;</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Cease, cease this moaning for the Past:</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The law of grief can never last."</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">When springtime brings anemones,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Upon the sod I take my ease,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Or search for Arethusa's pink,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Along the torrent's ragged brink;</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Or in the tinted April hours</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">I watch the curtain of the showers</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">That fall beneath a lurking cloud,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Which for a moment throws a shroud</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">On the sun's arrows in the west,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Till it blaze up a golden crest.</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The young moon bends her crescent horn</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Against the lingering summer morn;</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Then, riding down the starry sky,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">She follows me till night goes by.</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And when the dawn breaks on yon town,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">I think the sleepers lying down</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Must rise to shoulder dismal care</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Methinks that once was but my fare.</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">But I upon the hilltop yet</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Am free from every tangling fret;</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">So ever thus, in peace of mind,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">I give my pity to my kind.</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">For me this noble solitude!</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And as I face its varying mood,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Reflected in its every show,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Some higher self I come to know.</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">See, autumn here, with color glad,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Not like the poets—russet clad—</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">But scarlet, umber, green, and gold;</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Then in a breath I must behold</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The autumn winds tear down my screen,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And leave me not a leaf to glean.</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The snow will cover glen and height,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And all my hilltop glisten white;</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">I see the crystal atoms fly</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Under the dome of this gray sky.</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Like gnomes are they, these spectral gleams?</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Or shall I guess them only dreams?</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Whatever is the truth, I say,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">If up and down the world I stray,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Still on the hilltop I would be,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Not by the margent of the sea!</span><br/> +<br/> +<br/> +<br/> +<br/> +<a name="THEMESSAGE"><span style="margin-left: 1em;"><b>THE MESSAGE.</b></span><br/> +</a> <br/> + <span style="margin-left: 1em;">To you, my comrades, whether far or near,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">I send this message. Let our past revive;</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Come, sound reveille to our hearts once more.</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Expecting, I shall wait till at my door</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">I see you enter, each and every one</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Tumultuous, eager all, with clamorous speech,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">To hide my stammering welcome and my tears.</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">I am no host carousing long and late,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Enticing guests with epicurean hints;</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Nor am I Timon, sick of this sad world,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Who, jesting, cries, "The sky is overhead,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And underneath that famous rest, the earth:</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Show me the man who can have more at last."</span><br/> +<br/> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Without, the thunder of the city rolls;</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Within, the quiet of the student reigns.</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">There is a change. Time was a childish voice.</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Sweet as the lark's when from her nest she soars,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Thrilled over all, and vanished into heaven.</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Music once triumphed here: the skilful hand</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Of him who rarely struck the keys, and woke</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">My soul in harmony grand as his own,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Is folded on his breast, my soldier love.</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Here hangs his portrait, under it his sword;</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">He served his country, and his grave's afar.</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Dread not this place as one to relics given,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Though I have decked with amaranth my wall,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The testimony of a later loss—</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">His who long wandering in foreign lands,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Then dying, crossed the sea to die with me.</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Behold the sunrise and the morning clouds</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">On yonder canvas, misty mountain-peaks—</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The simple grandeur of a perfect art!</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Behold these vivid woods, that gleam beside</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The happy vision of an autumn eve,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">When red leaves fall, and redder sunsets fade!</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The world grows pensive sinking into night,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Whose melancholy space hides sighing winds:</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Can they reply to sadder human speech?</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">What centuries are counted here—my books!</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Shadows of mighty men; the chorus, hark!</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The antique chant vibrates, and Fate compels!</span><br/> +<br/> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Comrades, return; the midnight lamp shall gleam</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">As in old nights; the chaplets woven then—</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Withered, perhaps, by time—may grace us yet;</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The laurel faded is the laurel still,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And some of us are heroes to ourselves.</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And amber wine shall flow; the blue smoke wreathe</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">In droll disputes, with metaphysics mixed;</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Or float as lightly as the quick-spun verse,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Threading the circle round from thought to thought,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Sparkling and fresh as is the airy web</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Spread on the hedge at morn in silver dew.</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The scent of roses you remember well;</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">In the green vases they shall bloom again.</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And me—do you remember? I remain</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Unchanged, I think; though one I saw like me</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Some years ago, with hair that was not white;</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And she was with you then, as brave a soul</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">As souls can be whom Fate has not approached.</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">But seek and find me now, unchanged or changed,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Mirthful in tears, and in my laughter sad.</span><br/> +<br/> +<br/> +<br/> +<br/> +<a name="EXILE"><span style="margin-left: 1em;"><b>EXILE.</b></span><br/> +</a> <br/> + <span style="margin-left: 1em;">Blind in these stony streets, dumb in their crowds,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">What can I do but dream of other days?</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Whose is the love I had, and have not now?</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">If it be Nature's, let her answer me.</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">It wanders by the blue, monotonous sea,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Where rushes grow, or follows all the sweep</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Of shallow summer brooks and umber pools.</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Or does it linger in those hidden paths</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Where starlike blossoms blow among dead leaves,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And dark groves murmur over darker shrubs,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Birds with their fledgelings sleep, and pale moths flit?</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">With sunset's crimson flags perhaps it goes,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And reappears with yellow Jupiter,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Riding the West beside the crescent moon.</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Comes it with sunrise, when the sunrise floats</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">From Night's bold towers, vast in the East, and gray</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Till tower and wall flash into fiery clouds,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Moving along the verge, stately and slow,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Ordered by the old music of the spheres?</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Perchance it trembles in October's oaks;</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Or, twining with the brilliant, berried vine,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Would hide the tender, melancholy elm.</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Well might it rest within those solemn woods</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Where sunlight never falls—whose tops are green</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">With airs from heaven,—its balmy mists and rains,—</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">While underneath black, mossy, mammoth rocks</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Keep silence with the waste of blighted boughs.</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">If winter riots with the wreathing snow,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And ocean, tossing all his threatening plumes,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And winds, that tear the hollow, murky sky,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Can this, my love, which dwells no more with me,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Find dwelling there,—like some storm-driven bird,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">That knows not whence it flew, nor where to fly,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Between the world of sea and world of cloud,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">At last drops dead in the remorseless deep?</span><br/> +<br/> +<br/> +<br/> +<br/> +<a name="SEASIDEIDYL"><span style="margin-left: 1em;"><b>A SEASIDE IDYL.</b></span><br/> +</a> <br/> + <span style="margin-left: 1em;">I wandered to the shore, nor knew I then</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">What my desire,—whether for wild lament,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Or sweet regret, to fill the idle pause</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Of twilight, melancholy in my house,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And watch the flowing tide, the passing sails,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Or to implore the air, and sea, and sky,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">For that eternal passion in their power</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Which souls like mine who ponder on their fate</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">May feel, and be as they—gods to themselves.</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Thither I went, whatever was my mood.</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The sands, the rocks, and beds of bending sedge,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">I saw alone. Between the east and west,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Along the beach no creature moved besides.</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">High on the eastern point a lighthouse shone;</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Steered by its lamp a ship stood out to sea,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And vanished from its rays towards the deep,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">While in the west, above a wooded isle,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">An island-cloud hung in the emerald sky,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Hiding pale Venus in its sombre shade.</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">I wandered up and down the sands, I loitered</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Among the rocks, and trampled through the sedge:</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">But I grew weary of the stocks and stones.</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">"I will go hence," I thought; "the Elements</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Have lost their charm; my soul is dead to-night.</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Oh passive, creeping Sea, and stagnant Air,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Farewell! Dull sands, and rocks, and sedge, farewell."</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Homeward I turned my face, but stayed my feet.</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Should I go back but to revive again</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The ancient pain? Hark! suddenly there came</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">From over sea, a sound like that of speech;</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And suddenly I felt my pulses leap</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">As though some Presence were approaching me.</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Loud as the voice of Ocean's dark-haired king</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">A breeze came down the sea,—the sea rose high;</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The surging waves sang round me—this their song:</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">"Oh, yet your love will triumph! He shall come</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">In love's wild tumult; he shall come once more,—</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">By tracks of ocean or by paths of earth;</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The wanderer will reach you and remain."</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The breakers dashed among the rocks, and they</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Seemed full of life; the foam dissolved the sands,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And the sedge trembled in the swelling tide.</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Was this a promise of the vaunting Sea,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Or the illusion of a last despair?</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Either, or both, still homeward I must go,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And that way turned mine eyes, and thought they met</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">A picture,—surely so,—or I was mad.</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The crimson harvest-moon was rising full</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Above my roof, and glimmered on my walls.</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Within the doorway stood a man I knew—</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">No picture this. I saw approaching me</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Him I had hoped for, grieved for, and despaired.</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">"My ship is wrecked," he cried, "and I return</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Never to leave my love. You are my love?"</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">"I too am wrecked," I sighed, "by lonely years;</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Returning, you but find another wreck."</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">He bent his face to search my own, and spake:</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">"What I have traversed sea and land to find,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">I find. For liberty I fought, and life,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">On savage shores and wastes of unknown seas,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">While waiting for this hour. Oh, think you not</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Immortal love mates with immortal love</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Always? And now, at last, we know this love."</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">My soul was filling with a mighty joy</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">I could not show—yet must I show my love.</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">"From you whose will divided broke our hearts</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">I now demand a different kiss than that</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Which then you said should be our parting kiss.</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Given, I vow the past shall be forgot.</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The kiss—and we are one! Give me the kiss."</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Like the dark rocks upon the sands he stood,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">When on his breast I fell, and kissed his lips.</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">All the wild clangor of the sea was hushed;</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The rapid silver waves ran each to each,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Lapsed in the deep with joyous, murmured sighs.</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Years of repentance mine, forgiveness his,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">To tell. Happy, we paced the tranquil shores,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Till between sea and sky we saw the sun,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And all our wiser, loving days began.</span><br/> +<br/> +<br/> +<br/> +<br/> +<a name="CHIMNEYSWALLOWSIDYL"><span style="margin-left: 1em;"><b>THE CHIMNEY-SWALLOW'S IDYL.</b></span><br/> +</a> <br/> + <span style="margin-left: 1em;">From where I built the nest for my first young,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">In the high chimney of this ancient house,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">I saw the household fires burn and go down,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And know what was and is forever gone.</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">My dusky, swift-winged fledgelings, flying far</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">To seek their mates in clustered eaves or towers,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Would linger not to learn what I have learned,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Soaring through air or steering over sea—</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">These single, solitary walls must fade.</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">But I return, inhabiting my nest,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">A little simple bird, which still survives</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The noble souls now vanished from this hearth;</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And none are here besides but she who shares</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">My life, and pensive vigil holds with me.</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">No longer does she mourn; she lives serene;</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">I see her mother's beauty in her face,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">I see her father's quiet pride and power,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The linked traits and traces of her race;</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Her brothers dying, like strong sapling trees</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Hewn down by violent blows prone in dense woods,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Covered with aged boughs, decaying slow.</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">She muses thus: "Beauty once more abides;</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The rude alarm of death, its wild amaze</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Is over now. The chance of change has passed;</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">No doubtful hopes are mine, no restless dread,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">No last word to be spoken, kiss to give</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And take in passion's agony and end.</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">They cannot come to me, but in good time</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">I shall rejoin my silent company,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And melt among them, as the sunset clouds</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Melt in gray spaces of the coming night."</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">So she holds dear as I this tranquil spot,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And all the flowers that blow, and maze of green,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The meadows daisy-full, or brown and sere;</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The shore which bounds the waves I love to skim,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And dash my purple wings against the breeze.</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">When breaks the day I twitter loud and long,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">To make her rise and watch the vigorous sun</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Come from his sea-bed in the weltering deep,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And smell the dewy grass, still rank with sleep.</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">I hover through the twilight round her eaves,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And dart above, before her, in her path,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Till, with a smile, she gives me all her mind;</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And in the deep of night, lest she be sad</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">In sleepless thought, I stir me in my nest,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And murmur as I murmur to my young;</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">She makes no answer, but I know she hears;</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And all the cherished pictures in her thoughts</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Grow bright because of <i>me</i>, her swallow friend!</span><br/> +<br/> +<br/> +<br/> +<br/> +<a name="LASTDAYS"><span style="margin-left: 1em;"><b>LAST DAYS.</b></span><br/> +</a> <br/> + <span style="margin-left: 1em;">As one who follows a departing friend,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Destined to cross the great, dividing sea,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">I watch and follow these departing days,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">That go so grandly, lifting up their crowns</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Still regal, though their victor Autumn comes.</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Gifts they bestow, which I accept, return,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">As gifts exchanged between a loving pair,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Who may possess them as memorials</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Of pleasures ended by the shadow—Death.</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">What matter which shall vanish hence, if both</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Are transitory—me, and these bright hours—</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And of the future ignorant alike?</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">From all our social thralls I would be free.</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Let care go down the wind—as hounds afar,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Within their kennels baying unseen foes,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Give to calm sleepers only calmer dreams.</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Here will I rest alone: the morning mist</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Conceals no form but mine; the evening dew</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Freshens but faded flowers and my worn face.</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">When the noon basks among the wooded hills</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">I too will bask, as silent as the air</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">So thick with sun-motes, dyed like yellow gold,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Or colored purple like an unplucked plum.</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The thrush, now lonesome, for her young have flown,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">May flutter her brown wings across my path;</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And creatures of the sod with brilliant eyes</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">May leap beside me, and familiar grow.</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The moon shall rise among her floating clouds,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Black, vaporous fans, and crinkled globes of pearl,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And her sweet silver light be given to me.</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">To watch and follow these departing days</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Must be my choice; and let me mated be</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">With Solitude; may memory and hope</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Unite to give me faith that nothing dies;</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">To show me always, what I pray to know,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">That man alone may speak the word—<i>Farewell</i>.</span><br/> +</p> + +<div style='display:block;margin-top:4em'>*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK POEMS ***</div> +<div style='display:block;margin:1em 0;'>This file should be named 12391-h.htm or 12391-h.zip</div> +<div style='display:block;margin:1em 0;'>This and all associated files of various formats will be found in https://www.gutenberg.org/1/2/3/9/12391/</div> +<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> +Updated editions will replace the previous one—the old editions will +be renamed. +</div> + +<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> +Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright +law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, +so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United +States without permission and without paying copyright +royalties. 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You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: Poems + +Author: Elizabeth Stoddard + +Release Date: May 20, 2004 [EBook #12391] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK POEMS *** + + + + +Produced by Leah Moser and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team. + + + + + + + + + +POEMS + +BY + +ELIZABETH STODDARD + +1895 + + + + +CONTENTS + + THE POET'S SECRET + NOVEMBER + MUSIC IN A CROWD + "I LIVE WITHIN THE STRANGER'S GATE" + THE HOUSE OF YOUTH + THE HOUSE BY THE SEA + CHRISTMAS COMES AGAIN + MARCH + THE SPRING AFAR + WHY? + AUGUST + OCTOBER + "THE WILLOW BOUGHS ARE YELLOW NOW" + "IN THE STILL, STAR-LIT NIGHT" + AUTUMN + THE AUTUMN SHEAF + IN THE CITY + "I LOVE YOU, BUT A SENSE OF PAIN" + NAMELESS PAIN + A BABY SONG + THE WIFE SPEAKS + THE HUSBAND SPEAKS + "ONE MORN I LEFT HIM IN HIS BED" + BEFORE THE MIRROR + "THE SHADOWS ON THE WATER REACH" + A SUMMER NIGHT + "FAN ME WITH THESE LILIES FAIR" + "OH, THE WILD, WILD DAYS OF YOUTH!" + "ON MY BED OF A WINTER NIGHT" + "HALLO! MY FANCY, WHITHER WILT THOU GO?" + YOU LEFT ME + "O FRIEND, BEGIN A LOFTIER SONG" + "NOW THAT THE PAIN IS GONE, I TOO CAN SMILE" + THE COLONEL'S SHIELD + A FEW IDLE WORDS + VERS DE SOCIÉTÉ + THE RACE + THE WOLF-TAMER + THE ABBOT OF UNREASON + EL MANOLO + MERCEDES + THE BULL-FIGHT + ON THE CAMPAGNA + THE QUEEN DEPOSED + A UNIT + ZANTHON--MY FRIEND + ACHILLES IN ORCUS + ABOVE THE TREE + TO AN ARTIST + A LANDSCAPE + FROM THE HEADLAND + AS ONE + THE VISITINGS OF TRUTH KNOWN ELSEWHERE + WE MUST WAIT + UNRETURNING + CLOSED + MEMORY IS IMMORTAL + THE TRYST + NO ANSWER + ON THE HILLTOP + THE MESSAGE + EXILE + A SEASIDE IDYL + THE CHIMNEY-SWALLOW'S IDYL + LAST DAYS + + + + +POEMS + + + + + THE POET'S SECRET. + + + The poet's secret I must know, + If that will calm my restless mind. + I hail the seasons as they go, + I woo the sunshine, brave the wind. + + I scan the lily and the rose, + I nod to every nodding tree, + I follow every stream that flows, + And wait beside the steadfast sea. + + I question melancholy eyes, + I touch the lips of women fair: + Their lips and eyes may make me wise, + But what I seek for is not there. + + In vain I watch the day and night, + In vain the world through space may roll: + I never see the mystic light + Which fills the poet's happy soul. + + Through life I hear the rhythmic flow + Whose meaning into song must turn; + Revealing all he longs to know, + The secret each alone must learn. + + + + + NOVEMBER. + + + Much have I spoken of the faded leaf; + Long have I listened to the wailing wind, + And watched it ploughing through the heavy clouds, + For autumn charms my melancholy mind. + + When autumn comes, the poets sing a dirge: + The year must perish; all the flowers are dead; + The sheaves are gathered; and the mottled quail + Runs in the stubble, but the lark has fled! + + Still, autumn ushers in the Christmas cheer, + The holly-berries and the ivy-tree: + They weave a chaplet for the Old Year's bier + These waiting mourners do not sing for me! + + I find sweet peace in depths of autumn woods. + Where grow the ragged ferns and roughened moss; + The naked, silent trees have taught me this,-- + The loss of beauty is not always loss! + + + + + MUSIC IN A CROWD. + + + When I hear music, whether waltz or psalm, + Among a crowd, I find myself alone; + It does not touch me with a soothing balm, + But brings an echo like a moan + + From some far country where a palace rose, + In which I reigned with Cleopatra's pride: + "Come, Charmian! bring the asp for my repose." + And queenly, men shall say, she died. + + There lived and ruled a happy, noble race, + Primeval souls who held imperial power-- + My kindred, gone forever from their place, + And I am here without a dower! + + They were a Vision, though. And are these real, + These men and women, moving as in sleep, + Who, smiling, gesture to the same Ideal, + For which the music makes me weep? + + Have they my longings for that other world + New to them yet? I grant that Music's swell + Is like the sea; they may be thither hurled + By storms that thunder and compel; + + Or, like those voyagers in the land of streams, + Glide through its languid air, its languid wave, + To learn that _Here_ and _There_ are but two dreams, + That end in Nothing and the Grave! + + + + + "I LIVE WITHIN THE STRANGER'S GATE." + + + I. + + I live within the stranger's gate, + And count the hours + Since God let fall the bolt of fate! + Where the waves fall on yonder shore + In cloudy spray, + And where the winds forever roar, + The pillars of a mansion stand, + Without a roof; + The saddest ruin in the land! + + + II. + + When sunset strikes across the sea + The wreck looms up; + Then Memory comes, and touches me. + I see a pitiful white face + Break through the mould + Decaying at the pillar's base, + And hands that beckon me to prayer. + But I still curse, + And wake the Furies slumbering there! + + + III. + + In the strange drama of the Past + It was my part + To hold carousal to the last; + It was for me to hide the shame, + And brave the world + With lies about our ancient name! + I played it well, and played it long: + But let it pass, + The world has never known the 'wrong. + + + IV. + + Upheave, black mould, and totter all + The ruin down! + Fall, monumental pillars, fall, + Upon her grave! Above her breast + May ivy creep, + And roses blow! I choose to rest. + + + + + THE HOUSE OF YOUTH. + + + The rough north winds have left their icy caves + To growl and grope for prey + Upon the murky sea; + The lonely sea-gull skims the sullen waves + All the gray winter day. + + The mottled sand-bird runneth up and down, + Amongst the creaking sedge, + Along the crusted beach; + The time-stained houses of the sea-walled town + Seem tottering on its edge. + + An ancient dwelling, in this ancient place, + Stands in a garden drear, + A wreck with other wrecks; + The Past is there, but no one sees a face + Within, from year to year. + + The wiry rose-trees scratch the window-pane; + The window rattles loud; + The wind beats at the door, + But never gets an answer back again, + The silence is so proud. + + The last that lived there was an evil man; + A child the last that died, + Upon the mother's breast. + It seemed to die by some mysterious ban; + Its grave is by the side + + Of an old tree, whose notched and scanty leaves + Repeat the tale of woe, + And quiver day and night, + Till the snow cometh, and a cold shroud weaves, + Whiter than that below. + + This time of year a woman wanders there-- + They say from distant lands: + She wears a foreign dress, + With jewels on her breast, and her fair hair + In braided coils and bands. + + The ancient dwelling and the garden drear + At night know something more: + Without her foreign dress + Or blazing gems, this woman stealeth near + The threshold of the door. + + The shadow strikes against the window-pane; + She thrusts the thorns away: + Her eyes peer through the glass, + And down the glass her great tears drip, like rain, + In the gray winter day. + + The moon shines down the dismal garden track, + And lights the little mound; + But when she ventures there, + The black and threatening branches wave her back, + And guard the ghostly ground. + + What is the story of this buried Past? + Were all its doors flung wide, + For us to search its rooms, + And we to see the race, from first to last, + And how they lived and died:-- + + Still would it baffle and perplex the brain. + But show this bitter truth: + Man lives not in the past: + None but a woman ever comes again + Back to the House of Youth! + + + + + THE HOUSE BY THE SEA. + + + To-night I do the bidding of a ghost, + A ghost that knows my misery; + In the lone dark I hear his wailing boast, + "Now shalt thou speak with me." + + Must I go back where all is desolate, + Where reigns the terror of a curse, + To knock, a beggar, at my father's gate, + That closed upon a hearse? + + The old stone pier has crumbled in the sea; + The tide flows through the garden wall; + Where grew the lily, and where hummed the bee, + Black seaweeds rise and fall. + + I see the empty nests beneath the eaves; + No bird is near; the vines have died; + The orchard trees have lost the joy of leaves, + The oaks their lordly pride. + + Of what avail to set ajar the door + Through which, when ruin fell, I fled? + If on the threshold I should stand once more, + Shall I behold the dead? + + Shall I behold, as on that fatal night, + My mother from the window start, + When she was blasted by the evil sight,-- + The shame that broke her heart? + + The yellow grass grows on my sister's grave; + Her room is dark--she is not there; + I feel the rain, and hear the wild wind rave-- + My tears, and my despair. + + A white-haired man is singing a sad song + Amid the ashes on the hearth; + "Ashes to ashes, I have moaned so long + I am alone on earth." + + No more! no more! I cannot bear this pain; + Shut the foul annals of my race; + Accursed the hand that opens them again, + My dowry of disgrace. + + And so, farewell, thou bitter, bitter ghost! + When morning comes the shadows fly; + Before we part, I give this merry toast,-- + _The dead that do not die_! + + + + + CHRISTMAS COMES AGAIN. + + + Let me be merry now, 't is time; + The season is at hand + For Christmas rhyme and Christmas chime, + Close up, and form the band. + + The winter fires still burn as bright, + The lamp-light is as clear, + And since the dead are out of sight, + What hinders Christmas cheer? + + Why think or speak of that abyss + In which lies all my Past? + High festival I need not miss, + While song and jest shall last. + + We'll clink and drink on Christmas Eve, + Our ghosts can feel no wrong; + They revelled ere they took their leave-- + Hearken, my Soldier's Song: + + "The morning air doth coldly pass, + Comrades, to the saddle spring: + The night more bitter cold will bring + Ere dying--ere dying. + Sweetheart, come, the parting glass; + Glass and sabre, clash, clash, clash, + Ere dying--ere dying. + Stirrup-cup and stirrup-kiss-- + Do you hope the foe we'll miss, + Sweetheart, for this loving kiss, + Ere dying--ere dying?" + + The feasts and revels of the year + Do ghosts remember long? + Even in memory come they here? + Listen, my Sailor's Song: + + "O my hearties, yo heave ho! + Anchor's up in Jolly Bay-- + Hey! + Pipes and swipes, hob and nob-- + Hey! + Mermaid Bess and Dolphin Meg, + Paddle over Jolly Bay-- + Hey! + Tars, haul in for Christmas Day, + For round the 'varsal deep we go; + Never church, never bell, + For to tell + Of Christmas Day. + Yo heave ho, my hearties O! + Haul in, mates, here we lay-- + Hey!" + + His sword is rusting in its sheath, + His flag furled on the wall; + We'll twine them with a holly-wreath, + With green leaves cover all. + + So clink and drink when falls the eve; + But, comrades, hide from me + Their graves--I would not see them heave + Beside me, like the sea. + + Let not my brothers come again, + As men dead in their prime; + Then hold my hands, forget my pain, + And strike the Christmas chime. + + + + + MARCH. + + + Ho, wind of March, speed over sea, + From mountains where the snows lie deep + The cruel glaciers threatening creep, + And witness this, my jubilee! + + Roar from the surf of boreal isles, + Roar from the hidden, jagged steeps, + Where the destroyer never sleeps; + Ring through the iceberg's Gothic piles! + + Voyage through space with your wild train, + Harping its shrillest, searching tone, + Or wailing deep its ancient moan, + And learn how impotent your reign. + + Then hover by this garden bed, + With all your wilful power, behold, + Just breaking from the leafy mould, + My little primrose lift its head! + + + + + THE SPRING AFAR. + + + Far from the empire of my present days, + Where I perforce remain, + The wild, fresh airs of Spring blow to and fro, + Piping out Winter's reign. + + I know the rosy wind-flowers spread like clouds + Above the leafy mould, + And pollard willows over shallow pools + Stretch out their rods of gold. + + I hear the waters in the mossy swamps + Start on their ocean quest, + Gliding through meadows, murmuring in woods, + Till reaching final rest. + + Fixed in my thoughts is Spring, so long remote, + Though Spring cannot endow + As Summer can, or yield sweet Autumn's peace: + 'T is that my heart needs now; + + Or hope--maybe that Spring and Hope are one. + Therefore I should not ask + For leave from this my place: _both_ may be near, + Behind my daily mask. + + + + + WHY? + + + Why did I go where roses grew, + And meadow larks which skyward flew + From grasses sparkling in the dew, + The yellow sunshine pouring through? + What was there for me to find? + Were they to learn my froward mind? + From far across vast summer seas, + Rifling green marshes, bending trees, + Driving cloud-shadows down the air, + Keen breezes smote me here and there, + Keen breezes crying, _Why, why, why_? + And nothing had I to reply! + Beings with neither soul nor sense, + Convicting me with their pretence; + Beings of change,--but what am I,-- + Once more repeating, _Why, why, why_? + + + + + AUGUST. + + + Read by the wayside, read by the brook, + That this is the passion of the year; + Look at the fields, look at the woods, + Look upon me, and--draw near! + + Just as these days are, so is my heart; + Lilies are flaming, berries are ripe; + Alders blow sweet, acorns are full-- + And the bobolink's young ones pipe! + + Ponder the river, ponder the sky, + Hazy and gray, hazy and blue; + Study the trees wed to the wind-- + I promise you I'll be as true! + Yes, true as August--as the birds' song, + The sweet fern's scent, the weedy, blue shore, + The shine of vines, smilax, and grape-- + What can you ask for more? + + + + + OCTOBER. + + + Falling leaves and falling men! + When the snows of winter fall, + And the winds of winter blow, + Will be woven Nature's pall. + + Let us, then, forsake our dead, + For the dead will surely wait, + While we rush upon the foe, + Eager for the hero's fate. + + Leaves will come upon the trees, + Spring will show the happy race; + Mothers will give birth to sons, + Loyal souls to fill our place. + + Wherefore should we rest and rust? + Soldiers, we must fight and save + Freedom now, and give our foes + All their country should--a grave! + + + + + "THE WILLOW BOUGHS ARE YELLOW NOW." + + + The willow boughs are yellow now, + For spring has come again; + The peach-tree buds begin to swell, + Dripping with April rain. + + The gray-eyed twilight lingers long, + To meet the starry night; + I walk the darkening lanes alone, + And love the sombre light. + + The dream of other days returns, + When comes the blossomed spring; + But when the full leaved summer comes + My dream has taken wing; + + The twittering swallows in the lane + Were there a year ago; + The old nests in the tangled vines + Their next year's brood will know. + + A little brood of children fair, + Under the mother's wing, + Is in the dream of other days, + That flies when flies the spring! + + + + + "IN THE STILL, STAR-LIT NIGHT." + + + In the still, star-lit night, + By the full fountain and the willow-tree, + I walked, and not alone-- + A spirit walked with me! + + A shade fell on the grass; + Upon the water fell a deeper shade: + Something the willow stirred, + For to and fro it swayed. + + The grass was in a quiver, + The water trembled, and the willow-tree + Sighed softly; I sighed loud-- + The spirit taunted me. + + All the night long I walked + By the full fountain, dropping icy tears; + I tore the willow leaves, + I tore the long, green spears! + + I clutched the quaking grass, + And beat the rough bark of the willow-tree; + I shook the wreathed boughs, + To make the spirit flee. + + It haunted me till dawn, + By the full fountain and the willow-tree; + For with myself I walked-- + How could the spirit flee? + + + + + AUTUMN. + + + No melancholy days are these! + Not where the maple changing stands, + Not in the shade of fluttering oaks, + Nor in the bands + + Of twisting vines and sturdy shrubs, + Scarlet and yellow, green and brown, + Falling, or swinging on their stalks, + Is Sorrow's crown. + + The sparkling fields of dewy grass, + Woodpaths and roadsides decked with flowers, + Starred asters and the goldenrod, + Date Autumn's hours. + + The shining banks of snowy clouds, + Steadfast in the aerial blue, + The silent, shimmering, silver sea, + To Joy are true. + + My spirit in this happy air + Can thus embrace the dying year, + And with it wrap me in a shroud + As bright and clear! + + + + + THE AUTUMN SHEAF. + + + Still I remember only autumn days, + When golden leaves were floating in the air, + And reddening oaks stood sombre in the haze, + Till sunset struck them with its redder glare, + + And faded, leaving me by wood and field + In fragrant dew, and fragrant velvet mould, + To wait among the shades of night concealed, + And learn that story which but once is told. + + Though many seasons of the falling leaves + I watched my failing hopes, and watched their fall; + In memory they are gathered now like sheaves, + So withered that a touch would scatter all. + + Dead leaves, and dust more dead, to fall apart, + Leaves spreading once in arches over me, + And dust enclosing once a loving heart, + Still I am happy with youth's mystery. + + It cannot be unbound,--my autumn sheaf; + So let it stand, the ruin of my past; + Returning autumn brings the old belief, + Its mystery all its own, and it will last. + + + + + IN THE CITY. + + + The autumn morning sweetly calls to me, + And autumn days and nights in patience wait; + I answer not, because I am not free, + Although I chose my fate. + + The cold, gray mist that stains the city walls + Stands silver-columned where the river glides, + Or, slow dividing, on the valley falls, + Where one I love abides. + + The wind that trifles round my city door, + Or whirls before me all the city's dust, + By the sea borrows its triumphant roar, + And lends its savage gust; + + Or shrieking rushes where the sombre pines + Hold solemn converse in the ancient vale, + And while 't is dying in their dark confines + Babbles their mystic tale. + + Could I but climb a roof above my own, + And greet grave Autumn as he walks the earth + With secret signal that would make me known, + I should not feel my dearth. + + Then silver mist or loud triumphant wind + Might come in sad disguise and misery; + I would but ponder in my secret mind + How Autumn answers me. + + + + + "I LOVE YOU, BUT A SENSE OF PAIN." + + + I love you, but a sense of pain + Is in my heart and in my brain; + Now, when your voice and eyes are kind, + May I reveal my complex mind? + + Though I am yours, it is my curse + Some ideal passion to rehearse: + I dream of one that's not like you, + Never of one that's half so true. + + To quell these yearnings, vague and wild, + I often kneel by our dear child, + In still, dark nights (you are asleep), + And hold his hands, and try to weep. + + I cannot weep; I cannot pray-- + Why grow so pale, and turn away? + Do you expect to hold me fast + By pretty legends in the past? + + It is a woman's province, then, + To be content with what has been? + To wear the wreath of withered flowers, + That crowned her in the bridal hours? + + Still, I am yours: this idle strife + Stirs but the surface of my life: + And if you would but ask once more, + "How goes the heart?" or at the door + + Imploring stand, and knock again, + I might forget this sense of pain, + And down oblivion's sullen stream + Would float the memory of my dream! + + + + + NAMELESS PAIN. + + + I should be happy with my lot: + A wife and mother--is it not + Enough for me to be content? + What other blessing could be sent? + + A quiet house, and homely ways, + That make each day like other days; + I only see Time's shadow now + Darken the hair on baby's brow! + + No world's work ever comes to me, + No beggar brings his misery; + I have no power, no healing art + With bruisèd soul or broken heart. + + I read the poets of the age, + 'Tis lotus-eating in a cage; + I study Art, but Art is dead + To one who clamors to be fed + + With milk from Nature's rugged breast, + Who longs for Labor's lusty rest. + O foolish wish! I still should pine + If any other lot were mine. + + + + + A BABY SONG. + + + Come, white angels, to baby and me; + Touch his blue eyes with the image of sleep, + In his surprise he will cease to weep; + Hush, child, the angels are coming to thee! + + Come, white doves, to baby and me; + Softly whirr in the silent air, + Flutter about his golden hair: + Hark, child, the doves are cooing to thee! + + Come, white lilies, to baby and me; + Drowsily nod before his eyes, + So full of wonder, so round and wise: + Hist, child, the lily-bells tinkle for thee! + + Come, white moon, to baby and me; + Gently glide o'er the ocean of sleep, + Silver the waves of its shadowy deep: + Sleep, child, and the whitest of dreams to thee. + + + + + THE WIFE SPEAKS. + + + Husband, to-day could you and I behold + The sun that brought us to our bridal morn + Rising so splendid in the winter sky + (We thought fair spring returned), when we were wed; + Could the shades vanish from these fifteen years, + Which stand like columns guarding the approach + To that great temple of the double soul + That is as one--would you turn back, my dear, + And, for the sake of Love's mysterious dream, + As old as Adam and as sweet as Eve, + Take me, as I took you, and once more go + Towards that goal which none of us have reached? + Contesting battles which but prove a loss, + The victor vanquished by the wounded one; + Teaching each other sacrifice of self, + True immolation to the marriage bond; + Learning the joys of birth, the woe of death, + Leaving in chaos all the hopes of life-- + Heart-broken, yet with courage pressing on + For fame and fortune, artists needing both? + Or, would you rather--I will acquiesce-- + Since we must choose what is, and are grown gray, + Stay in life's desert, watch our setting sun, + Calm as those statues in Egyptian sands, + Hand clasping hand, with patience and with peace, + Wait for a future which contains no past? + + + + + THE HUSBAND SPEAKS. + + + Dearest, though I have sung a many songs, + Yet have I never sung one from my heart, + Save to thee only--and such private songs + Are as the silent, secret kiss of Love! + My heart, I say, so sacred was, and is, + I kept, I keep it, from all eyes but thine, + Because it is no longer mine, but thine, + Given thee forever, when I gave myself + That winter morning--was it years ago? + To me it seems the dream of yesterday! + You have not lost the face I married then, + Albeit a trifle paler--not to-night-- + Nor I the eyes that saw then, and see still, + What every man should see in her he weds! + I wander ... wisely, let me, since my words + Conceal what none but you and I should know,-- + The love I bear you, who have been, and are + Strong in the strength and weakness of your sex-- + Queen of my household, mistress of my heart, + My children's mother, and my always friend; + In one word, Sweet, sweetest of all words--Wife! + + + + + "ONE MORN I LEFT HIM IN HIS BED." + + + One morn I left him in his bed; + A moment after some one said, + "Your child is dying--he is dead." + + We made him ready for his rest, + Flowers in his hair, and on his breast + His little hands together prest. + + We sailed by night across the sea; + So, floating from the world were we, + Apart from sympathy, we Three. + + The wild sea moaned, the black clouds spread + Moving shadows on its bed, + But one of us lay midship dead. + + I saw his coffin sliding down + The yellow sand in yonder town, + Where I put on my sorrow's crown. + + And we returned; in this drear place + Never to see him face to face, + I thrust aside the living race. + + Mothers, who mourn with me to-day, + Oh, understand me, when I say, + I cannot weep, I cannot pray; + + I gaze upon a hidden store, + His books, his toys, the clothes he wore, + And cry, "Once more, to me, _once_ more!" + + Then take, from me, this simple verse, + That you may know what I rehearse-- + A grief--your and my Universe! + + + + + BEFORE THE MIRROR. + + + Now like the Lady of Shalott, + I dwell within an empty room, + And through the day and through the night + I sit before an ancient loom. + + And like the Lady of Shalott + I look into a mirror wide, + Where shadows come, and shadows go, + And ply my shuttle as they glide. + + Not as she wove the yellow wool, + Ulysses' wife, Penelope; + By day a queen among her maids, + But in the night a woman, she, + + Who, creeping from her lonely couch, + Unraveled all the slender wool; + Or, with a torch, she climbed the towers, + To fire the fagots on the roof! + + But weaving with a steady hand + The shadows, whether false or true, + I put aside a doubt which asks + "Among these phantoms what are you?" + + For not with altar, tomb, or urn, + Or long-haired Greek with hollow shield, + Or dark-prowed ship with banks of oars, + Or banquet in the tented field; + + Or Norman knight in armor clad, + Waiting a foe where four roads meet; + Or hawk and hound in bosky dell, + Where dame and page in secret greet; + + Or rose and lily, bud and flower, + My web is broidered. Nothing bright + Is woven here: the shadows grow + Still darker in the mirror's light! + + And as my web grows darker too, + Accursed seems this empty room; + For still I must forever weave + These phantoms by this ancient loom. + + + + + "THE SHADOWS ON THE WATER REACH." + + + The shadows on the water reach + My shadow on the beach; + I see the dark trees on the shore, + The fisher's oar. + + I met her by the sea last night, + A little maid in white; + I shall never meet her more + On the shore. + + Ho! fisher, hoist your idle sail, + And whistle for a gale; + My ship is waiting in the bay, + Row away! + + + + + A SUMMER NIGHT. + + + I feel the breath of the summer night, + Aromatic fire: + The trees, the vines, the flowers are astir + With tender desire. + + The white moths flutter about the lamp, + Enamoured with light; + And a thousand creatures softly sing + A song to the night! + + But I am alone, and how can I sing + Praises to thee? + Come, Night! unveil the beautiful soul + That waiteth for me. + + + + + "FAN ME WITH THESE LILIES FAIR." + + + Fan me with these lilies fair, + Twine their stems around your arm: + Put your feet upon these roses, + Then you'll please me to a charm. + + Charm me with your violet eyes, + Kneel, and with your sweet lips meet + The flaming buds of mine, athirst + In the roses at your feet! + + "Leave the lilies on the lake, + Do not break its pale repose: + Tear your heart with cruel thorns, + Such as grow beneath the rose. + + "So you love me? You are mine? + Break from yon dead tree a bough, + Lay it down among these roses-- + Ah! I do not charm you now!" + + + + + "OH, THE WILD, WILD DAYS OF YOUTH!" + + + Oh, the wild, wild days of youth! + My royal youth; + My blood was then my king: + Maybe a little mad, + But full of truth! + + Oh, my lips were like a rose! + And my heart, too; + It was torn out leaf by leaf: + Ah! there be none that know + How the leaves flew! + + Oh, they dropped in the wine! + The royal wine; + There were showers for the girls, + Crowns for their white brows, + And for mine! + + + + + "ON MY BED OF A WINTER NIGHT." + + + On my bed of a winter night, + Deep in a sleep and deep in a dream, + What care I for the wild wind's scream, + What to me is its crooked flight? + + On the sea of a summer day, + Wrapped in the folds of a snowy sail, + What care I for the fitful gale, + Now in earnest, now in play? + + What care I for the fitful wind, + That groans in a gorge, or sighs in a tree? + Groaning and sighing are nothing to me, + For I am a man of steadfast mind. + + + + + "HALLO! MY FANCY, WHITHER WILT THOU GO?" + + + Swift as the tide in the river + The blood flows through my heart, + At the curious little fancy + That to-morrow we must part. + + It seems to me all over, + The last words have been said; + And I have the curious fancy + To-morrow will find me dead! + + + + + YOU LEFT ME. + + + You left me, and the anguish passed, + And passed the day, and passed the night-- + A blank in which my senses failed; + Then slowly came an inward light. + + So plain it reproduced the hours + We lived as one,--the books we read, + Our quiet walks and pleasant talks-- + Love, by your spirit was I led? + + Oh, love, the vision grows too dear, + I live in visions--I pursue + Them only; come, your rival meet, + My future bring, it will be--_you!_ + + + + + "O FRIEND, BEGIN A LOFTIER SONG." + + + O friend, begin a loftier song. + Confusion falls upon your mind; + A sense of evil makes you blind; + "What use," you say, "is it to be? + I know not GOD, GOD knows not me!" + + O friend, begin a loftier song. + In other minds you place no trust: + You tread your laurels in the dust: + You see no Future, Hope has fled, + Youth had its dreams, but Youth is dead. + + O friend, begin a loftier song. + "The sweet ideal of past years + Speaks in my songs, they are my tears: + I'll weep no more, I'll sing no lays + To bury Youth for idle praise!" + + O friend, begin a loftier song. + Come through the gateway of the Past, + Dear friend. The world will hear at last + The little songs the poets sing: + Do thou with anthems make it ring! + + + + + "NOW THAT THE PAIN IS GONE, I TOO CAN SMILE." + + + Now that the pain is gone, I too can smile + At such a foolish picture; you and me + Together in that moonlit summer night, + Within the shadow of an aspen-tree. + + My hand was on your shoulder: I grew wild: + The blood seethed furiously through my heart! + But you--Oh, you were saintly calm, and cold; + You moved my hand, and said, "'T is best we part!" + + My face fell on the bands of your fair hair, + A moonbeam struck across my hungry eye, + And struck across your balmy crimson mouth: + I longed to kiss you, and I longed to die! + + Die in the shadow of the trembling tree, + Trembling my soul away upon your breast. + You smiled, and drifted both your snowy hands + Against my forehead, and your fingers pressed + + Faintly and slow adown my burning face; + A keen sense of the woman touched you then, + The nice dramatic sense you women have, + Playing upon the feelings of us men! + + Long years have passed since that midsummer night, + But still I feel the creeping of your hand + Along my face. If I return once more, + And in the shadow of that tree should stand + + With you there--Answer! Would you kiss me back? + Would you reject me if I sued again?-- + How strange this is! I think my madness lasts, + Although I'm sure I have forgot the pain! + + + + + THE COLONEL'S SHIELD. + + + Your picture, slung about my neck + The day we went afield, + Swung out before the trench; + It caught the eye of rank and file, + Who knew "The Colonel's Shield." + + I thrust it back, and with my men + (Our General rode ahead) + We stormed the great redoubt, + As if it were an easy thing, + But rows of us fell dead! + + Your picture hanging on my neck, + Up with my men I rushed; + We made an awful charge: + And then my horse, "The Lady Bess," + Dropped, and--my leg was crushed! + + The blood of battle in my veins + (A blue-coat dragged me out),-- + But I remembered you; + I kissed your picture--did you know? + And yelled, "For the redoubt!" + + The Twenty-fourth, my scarred old dogs, + Growled back, "He'll put us through; + We'll take him in our arms: + Our picture there--the girl he loves, + Shall see what we can do." + + The foe was silenced--so were we. + I lay upon the field, + Among the Twenty-fourth; + Your picture, shattered on my breast, + Had proved "The Colonel's Shield." + + + + + A FEW IDLE WORDS. + + + So, I must believe that I loved you once! + These letters say so; + And here is your picture--how you have changed! + It was long ago. + + The gloss is worn from this lock of black hair-- + You can have them all, + And with these treasures a few idle words, + That I will not recall. + + What a child I was when you met me first! + Was I handsome then? + I think you remember the very night, + It was half-past ten, + + When you came upstairs, so tired of the men, + And tired of the wine; + You said you loved lilies (my dress was white), + And hated to dine. + + The dowagers nodded behind their fans; + I played an old song; + You told an old tale, I thought it so new, + And I thought so long. + + True, I had read the "Arabian Nights," + And "Amadis de Gaul;" + But I never had found a modern knight + In our books at the Hall. + + You tore your hand with the thorns of the rose + That looped up my sleeve, + And a drop of red blood fell on my arm-- + You asked, "Do you grieve?" + + That drop of your blood made mine flow fast; + But you sipped your tea + With a nonchalant air, and balanced the spoon, + And balanced poor me, + + In the scale with my stocks, and farms, and mines. + Did it tremble at all? + When my cousin, the heir, turned up one day, + We both had a fall! + + Well, we meet again, and I look at you + With a quiet surprise; + I think your ennui possesses me now, + And am quite as wise. + + To me it was only a dream of love, + A defeat to you: + It was not your first, may be not your last-- + Here, take them--Adieu! + + + + + VERS DE SOCIÉTÉ. + + + This chain of white arms round the room-- + The demon waltz--bewilders me: + Or am I drunk with this good wine? + _Vive la compagnie_! + + "My friend, young Highboys, have you met?" + "O yes: how do? good brandy here!" + The wretch's mother, in her youth, + Was famous for her beer! + + Before his patent scraper sold + Old Highboys used to beat them all! + See what Society has done-- + He's holding her cashmere shawl! + + How is it, Madam, that I know + The guests at once? Wipe off the paint-- + Convention daubs us all alike, + Sinner as well as Saint! + + I see you in the crimson chair, + Behind your jewelled Spanish fan, + Slipping your bracelets up and down, + Flashing your eyes on the man + + Who plays the harp; he twangs an air + You understand--you've met before; + How many lessons did you take? + Madam, you need no more. + + Tiger of fifty! So you've bought + This pretty girl in the Honiton lace. + Now she's abroad, she quite forgets + She shudders in your embrace. + + Dowagers, stiff in black brocades, + Worry the waiters--sweep their trays: + How they scowl at the foolish men + Basking in Beauty's blaze! + + Saunters a poet, munching cake: + "Very distinguished." "Did you buy + Your lace at Beck's?" "Why, how he laughs!" + "But his verses make one cry!" + + Idle poet, a word with you: + You sing too much of love's sweet wrong, + Of rosy cheeks, and purple wine: + Give us a loftier song. + + The coachmen stamp upon the steps; + Our hostess looks towards the door; + Our host twists round his limp cravat, + Pronouncing the thing a bore! + + Our skeletons will be stirring soon; + Something already touches me: + Off, till I drain one bottle more! + _Vive la compagnie!_ + + + + + THE RACE. + + + The guests were gathered in the ancient park + Of my Lord Wynne, and he was now their mark + For wit and gossip--quite the usual way, + Where one bestows, and no one need repay. + "A stumbling-block his pride; his heart's in strife + Between two women, which to choose for wife. + He's always hovering round that lovely girl, + His lawyer's daughter, who will never furl + _Her_ flag of pride: she rivals Gilbert there. + Now watch their meeting; none more bravely wear + Their beauty, recognize a woman's own, + Than Clara Mercome. Gilbert Wynne has sown + His wild oats for her sake; yet he delays, + And with my Lady Bond divides his days. + Who bets on beauty, hedges in on age; + Which tries the flight to perch in Lord Wynne's cage? + Will Lady Bond or Clara be the queen? + For Lady Bond is certain of her lien." + He heard this talk while standing by a beech-- + Hugh Wynne--and planned how he might overreach + Gilbert and Clara, break the pride of both, + Part them for good, or make them plight their troth. + "Now for a race," he cried, "to Martin's Mill; + The boats are here; behold, the lake is still. + Here, Gilbert, take your oar; I'll follow soon, + Though sunset's nigh--to-night is harvest-moon. + Let go the rope, the knot's inside; take these, + Arrange a seat, adjust it at your ease. + _She's here_. Miss Mercome, you will help him win + The race, and will not count my wager sin." + And he was gone; the pair were face to face. + "I'll take the oars," he gasped; "we'll win this race." + He never felt his heart so in his breast. + "I hope you will forgive my cousin's jest?" + A haughty murmur was her sole reply. + No rowers followed. Never did swallows fly + So swift, or dip the lake like Gilbert's oars. + He was watchful, careless she. "There soars + A heron, quite a feature of your state: + Are gems and peacocks, tell me, still in date? + How deep the woods upon the water steal, + One to the other making soft appeal!" + "Not being human, wood and water meet + In their own speech, and soulless things are sweet + Together. So they are to me. I like + To watch the herons by the sedgy dike; + They keep me tranquil; and I love to feed + The pike in yon old pool; they help to lead-- + Why, here is Martin's Bridge, and yet no boats! + Shall we return?" Said Clara then, "There floats + A lily bed beyond; let's shoot beneath + The bridge, and lilies pull; I want a wreath." + He knew the channel narrow; it was dark; + But his heart leaped at this relenting mark. + He drew his oars up, pointed in the helm, + And shot in the cool gloom. He thought no realm + On which the sun had shone was half so bright. + And somehow Clara thought it nice as light. + The waters swirled so swift that in the noise + Clara grew dizzy; Gilbert lost his poise, + And lost an oar; with a confusing shock + The boat was grinding--stopped against a rock. + "Gilbert, my dear, are we not going down?" + "Dearest, my love, we were not born to drown. + Oh, kiss me; we are safe; and grant me now + Yourself. I'll gather lilies for your brow; + And Hugh will know that I have won the race, + And Clara, my dear wife, her rightful place." + + + + + THE WOLF-TAMER. + + + Through the gorge of snow we go, + Tracking, tramping soft and slow, + With our paws and sheathèd claws, + So we swing along the snow, + Crowding, crouching to your pipes-- + Shining serpents! Well you know, + When your lips shall cease to blow + Airs that lure us through the snow, + We shall fall upon your race + Who do wear a different face. + Who were spared in yonder vale? + Not a man to tell the tale! + Blow, blow, serpent pipes, + Slow we follow:--all our troop-- + Every wolf of wooded France, + Down from all the Pyrenees-- + Shall they follow, follow you, + In your dreadful music-trance? + Mark it by our tramping paws, + Hidden fangs, and sheathèd claws? + You have seen the robber bands + Tear men's tongues and cut their hands, + For ransom--we ask none--begone, + For the tramping of our paws, + Marking all your music's laws, + Numbs the lust of ear and eye; + Or--let us go beneath the snow, + And silent die--as wolves should die! + + + + + THE ABBOT OF UNREASON. + + + I looked over the balustrade-- + The twilight had come-- + And saw the pretty waiting-maid + Kiss Roland, the page. + + My lady heard the wolf-dog's chain + Clank on the floor; + Sly Roland caught it up again, + And whistled a song. + + Oh! they think that my heart is cold, + Under my gown; + Not till I blacken into mould + Will it cease to burn. + + Burn, burn for such sweet red lips! + I am almost mad, + Even to touch her finger tips, + When we meet alone. + + Roland, the page, goes here and there, + Loving, and loved, + Women like his devil-may-care, + Till they are forgot! + + Whether I am in castle or inn, + With sinner or saint, + Never can I a woman win,-- + I am but a priest! + + + + + EL MANOLO. + + + In the still, dark shade of the palace wall, + Where the peacocks strut, + Where the queen may have heard my madrigal, + Together we sat. + + My sombrero hid the fire in my eyes, + And shaded her own: + This serge cloak stifled her sweet little cries, + When I kissed her mouth! + + The pale olive trees on the distant plain, + The jagged blue rocks, + The vaporous sea-like mountain chain, + Dropped into the night. + + We saw the lights in the palace flare; + The musicians played: + The red guards slashed and sabred the stair, + And cursed the old king. + + In the long black shade of the palace wall, + We sat the night through; + Under my cloak--but I cannot tell all-- + The queen may have seen! + + + + + MERCEDES. + + + Under a sultry, yellow sky, + On the yellow sand I lie; + The crinkled vapors smite my brain, + I smoulder in a fiery pain. + + Above the crags the condor flies; + He knows where the red gold lies, + He knows where the diamonds shine;-- + If I knew, would she be mine? + + Mercedes in her hammock swings; + In her court a palm-tree flings + Its slender shadow on the ground, + The fountain falls with silver sound. + + Her lips are like this cactus cup; + With my hand I crush it up; + I tear its flaming leaves apart;-- + Would that I could tear her heart! + + Last night a man was at her gate; + In the hedge I lay in wait; + I saw Mercedes meet him there, + By the fireflies in her hair. + + I waited till the break of day, + Then I rose and stole away; + But left my dagger in the gate;-- + Now she knows her lover's fate! + + + + + THE BULL-FIGHT. + + + Eleven o'clock: + Here are our cups of chocolate. + Montez will fight the bulls to-day-- + All Madrid knows that: + Queen Christina is going in state: + Dolores will go with her little fan! + + Lace up my shoe; + Put on my Basquina; + Can you see my black eyes? + I am Manuel's duchess. + + In front of the box of the Queen and the Duke + Dolores sits, flirting her fan; + The church of St. Agnes stands on the right, + And its shadow falls on the picadors; + On their lean steeds they prance in the ring, + Hidalgo-fashion, their hands on their hips. + + "_Ha! Toro! Toro!_" + Hoh! the horses are gored; + Now for the men. + "_Ha! Toro! Toro!_" + Every man over the barrier! + + Not so; for there the bull-fighter stands; + Some little applause from the royal box, + And "_Montez! Montez!_" from a thousand throats! + + The bull bows fine, though snorting with rage, + His fore-leg makes little holes in the ground; + But Montez stands still; his ribbons don't flutter! + Saints, what a leap! + His rosette is on the bull's black horn; + Montez is pale; but his great eye shines + When Dolores cries--"_Kisses for Montez!_" + Fie! Manuel's duchess! + + A minute longer the fight is done, + The mule-bells tinkle, the bull rides off; + Montez twirls a new diamond ring, + And Dolores goes home for chocolate. + + + + + ON THE CAMPAGNA. + + + Stop on the Appian Way, + In the Roman Campagna; + Stop at my tomb, + The tomb of Cecilia Metella. + To-day as you see it, + Alaric saw it, ages ago, + When he, with his pale-visaged Goths, + Sat at the gates of Rome, + Reading his Runic shield. + Odin, thy curse remains! + + Beneath these battlements + My bones were stirred with Roman pride, + Though centuries before my Romans died + Now my bones are dust; the Goths are dust. + The river-bed is dry where sleeps the king, + My tomb remains! + + When Rome commanded the earth + Great were the Metelli: + I was Metella's wife; + I loved him--and I died. + Then with slow patience built he this memorial: + Each century marks his love. + + Pass by on the Appian Way + The tomb of Cecilia Metella; + Wild shepherds alone seek its shelter, + Wild buffaloes tramp at its base. + Deep is its desolation, + Deep as the shadow of Rome! + + + + + THE QUEEN DEPOSED. + + + I was the queen of Karl, a northern king: + Amazon Olga, and I rode his Ban, + A stallion in the royal ring + Who would not bear a man. + + And in Ban's saddle did I feel the pains + For my first-born, the king's sole hope, his heir; + My Karl himself would loose the reins, + Would take me up the stair. + + Low was the murmur of the royal troops + Below, I saw the tapers' twinkling light; + I heard a cry--"My queen, she droops!" + Then fell eternal night. + + No more was Olga queen for any king; + The pathway round a throne she could not tread, + Nor triumph in the royal ring-- + The boy she bore was dead! + + The cloister hers; she chose the cloak and hood, + And beads of olive-wood, a pouch for alms; + So begged she, Christ, for thy dear rood, + _Laus Deo_ sang thy psalms! + + Why am I here? This country is my king's; + The lovely river, wooded hills above; + Old St. Sebastian's church-bell rings-- + There flies the silver dove + + That flitted by the day we came to praise + Our gracious Mary for a granted prayer; + Heralds, trumps, the same gay maze + Of troops--King Karl is there! + + _Laus Deo_ with a child, and with his mate-- + She wins the throne by bringing him a son: + Babes make or mar our queenly fate-- + My woman's life is done. + + + + + A UNIT. + + + When I was camping on the Volga's banks, + The trader Zanthon with a leash of mares + Went by my tent. I knew the wily Jew, + And he knew me. He muttered as he passed, + "The last Bathony, and his tusks are grown. + A broken 'scutcheon is a 'scutcheon still, + And Amine's token in my caftan lies,-- + Amine, who weeps and wails for his return." + He caught my eye, and slipped inside the tent. + "Haw, Zanthon, up from Poland, at your tricks! + How veer the boars on old Bathony's towers? + True to the winds that blow on Poland's plains?" + "They bite the dust, my lord, as beast to beast. + When Poles conspire, conspiracy alone + Survives to hover in the murky air. + My lord, Bathony's gates are left ajar + For you to enter, or--remain outside; + The forest holds the secret you surprised, + And men are there, to dare as they have dared." + "Haw, Zanthon, tell me of the palatine. + The air of Russia makes a man forget + He was a man elsewhere: the trumpets' squeal + I follow, and the thud of drums. You spoke + As if I were of princely birth: hark ye, + _Battalion_ is the call I listen to." + "My lord, the cranes that plunder in your fens, + The doves that nest within your woods I saw + Fly round the gaping walls, and plume their wings + Upon your father's grave. Do you know this?" + "A token, Zanthon? so--a withered flower! + You think I wore one in my sword-hilt once? + Methinks there is no perfume in this flower. + Watch, while I fling it on the Volga's tide. + The chief, my father, sent me with a curse + To travel in the steppes, and so I do. + The air of Russia makes a man forget + He was a man elsewhere, for love or hope, + And as he marches, he becomes but this. + Haw, Zanthon, would you learn the reason why? + Search on the Caucasus, the northern seas, + Look in the sky or over earth, then ask, + The answer everywhere will be, _The Tzar_." + + + + + ZANTHON--MY FRIEND. + + + I, knight-at-arms, in my own forest lost! + Count of the empire, heir to crags and caves, + And brother to the eagle and the fox! + The music of the thunder, and the wind + Among the arches of the oaks, may choir + A requiem for my passing soul. But hist! + A footstep in the leaves--some poaching hind + Or gypsy trapping game--Holà! holà! + Perhaps the kobolds are abroad to-night. + Zanthon knows well these mountain-folk entice. + The woods divide, dawn breaks, I see the verge; + Bathony's stronghold on the Polish plains + Should top the wilderness: were Zanthon here, + To boast his prowess in our hunting bouts, + I would not cuff nor flout him, could we sight + In the old way, with fanfaron, the boars + On the old battlements, our ancient badge. + That lie to Zanthon on the Volga's banks, + When Amine sent the wild rose by his hand, + Was Satan's wile. I played the Cossack well. + With shame my mustache bristled when I said, + "Troopers must forage where the grain is grown: + I share my kopecks with the village priest, + Who winnows peccadillos by the sheaf." + Then Zanthon, laughing in his foxy beard: + "When Amine meets me in the plane-tree walk + (Where pairing little finches seek to build, + We saw the cuckoo thieve their nests when boys), + Shall I then tell her, in my peasant way, + Your broken promise, and her troth denied?" + And he was gone--gone, with the stud he bought + From Schamyl's son, up by Caucasus way, + Leaving me solitude to reason with. + Around me, then, an odor swept--the rose! + It plagued my nostrils day and night, in gusts + It blew, but one way only--towards Amine. + At cards it smote me, in the saddle puffed, + Through my tent walls at night its withered blast + Pierced, and changed me in my wavering dreams. + What spell was this, by love or friendship sent? + Across the steppes I followed Zanthon, close,-- + He might have heard the whinny of my mare; + Verst after verst, the measure of her hoofs + Beat out a rhythm, like a cackling laugh. + But on the frontier my poor Sesma fell: + I heard the ravens croaking from the hills. + The sun has burned away the valley's mist. + And in the silent, tranquil morning air + A mirage rises of my ruined walls: + Gold-colored, crystal-edged, the banners flash. + The rooks are stringing for the old beech copse. + This gully crossed, the bridge that spans the stream-- + But halte-lâ, my heart crowds up my breast, + For this is Poland, Mother of my Soul! + Quoth Zanthon, watching in the plane-tree walk, + "My fine Bathony comes to join the feast, + And raise the conopeum for my bride. + I pay the kopecks to the priest to-day, + But Amine in his sheaf will not be bound." + + + + + ACHILLES IN ORCUS. + + + From thy translucent waves, great Thetis, rise! + Mother divine, hear, and take back the gift + Thou gavest me of valor and renown, + And then seek Zeus, but not with loosened zone + For dalliance; entreat him to restore + Me, Achilles, to the earth, to the black earth, + The nourisher of men, not these pale shades, + Whose shapes have learned the presage of thy doom; + They flit between me and the wind-swept plain + Of Troy, the banners over Ilion's walls, + The zenith of my prowess, and my fate. + Give me again the breath of life, not death. + Would I could tarry in the timbered tent, + As when I wept Patroclus, when, by night, + Old Priam crept, kissing my knees with tears + For Hector's corse, the hero I laid low. + My panoply was like the gleam of fire + When in the dust I dragged him at my wheels, + My heart was iron,--he despoiled my friend. + Cast on these borders of eternal gloom, + Now comes Odysseus with his wandering crew; + He pours libations in the deep-dug trench, + While airy forms in multitudes press near, + And listen to the echoes of my praise. + His consolation vain, he hails me, "Prince!" + Vain is his speech: "No man before thy time, + Achilles, lived more honored; here thou art + Supreme, the ruler in these dread abodes." + Speak not so easily to me of death, + Great Odysseus! Rather would I be + The meanest hind, and bring the bleating lambs + From down the grassy hills, or with a goad + To prod the hungry swine in beechen woods, + Than over the departed to bear sway. + Then from the clouds to note the warning cry + Of the harsh crane; to see the Pleiads rise, + The vine and fig-tree shoot, the olive bud; + To hear the chirping swallows in the dawn, + The thieving cuckoo laughing in the leaves! + So, may Achilles pass his palace gate, + And later heroes strike Achilles' lyre! + + + + + ABOVE THE TREE. + + + Why should I tarry here, to be but one + To eke out doubt, and suffer with the rest? + Why should I labor to become a name, + And vaunt, as did Ulysses to his mates, + "I am a part of all that I have met." + A wily seeker to suffice myself! + As when the oak's young leaves push off the old, + So from this tree of life man drops away, + And all the boughs are peopled quick by spring + Above the furrows of forgotten graves. + The one we thought had made the nation's creed, + Whose death would rive us like a thunderbolt, + Dropped down--a sudden rustling in the leaves, + A knowledge of the gap, and that was all! + The robin flitting on his frozen mound + Is more than he. Whoever dies, gives up + Unfinished work, which others, tempted, claim + And carry on. I would go free, and change + Into a star above the multitude, + To shine afar, and penetrate where those + Who in the darkling boughs are prisoned close, + But when they catch my rays, will borrow light, + Believing it their own, and it will serve. + + + + + TO AN ARTIST. + + + To me, long absent from the world of art, + You bring the clouded mountains, my desire, + The tranquil river, and the stormy sea, + The far, pale morning, and the crimson eve, + And silent days, that brood among lush leaves, + When, in the afternoon, the summer sun + Is gliding down the hazy yellow west, + And my soul's atmosphere rests in the scene, + Until I dream the boundaries of my life + May hold an unknown, coming happiness. + How shall I, then, to show my gratitude, + But offer you a picture drawn in words-- + With all the art I have,--in black and white! + + + + + A LANDSCAPE. + + + Between me and the woods along the bay + The swallows circle through the darkling mist, + The robins breast the grass, and they divide + This solitude with me. The rippling sea + And sunset clouds, the sea gulls' flashing flight + From looming isles beyond--I watch them now + With a new sense. Where are the swallows' young, + And where the robins' nests? Year after year + They hover round this ancient house, and I, + Within as heedless, saw the long years pass, + Nor ever dreamed a day like this might come-- + A day when mourners go about the street + For one who always loved his fellow-men. + The windflower trembles in the woods, the sod + Is full of violets, the orchards rain + Their scented blossoms. May unfolds its leaves-- + Nature's eternal mystery to renew. + Must man be less than leaf or flower, and end? + If I go hence, when this departed soul + Has left no human tie to bind me now, + When spring unfolds, and I recall his past, + Will their remembrance lead me here again, + To teach me that his spirit comes to show + That Nature is eternal for man's sake? + + + + + FROM THE HEADLAND. + + + I hear the waters of some inlet now + Come lapping to the fringe of yonder wood, + The storm-bent firs, and oaks along the cliff. + The yellow leaves are glistening in the grass, + The grassy slope I climb this autumn day. + Ensnaring me, the brambles clutch my feet, + As if constraining me to be a guest + To the wild, silent populace they shield. + It cannot say, nor I, why we are here. + What is my recompense upon this soil, + For other paths are mine if I go hence, + Still must I make the mystery my quest? + For here or there, I think, one sways my will. + There is no show of beauty to delight + The vision here, or strike the electric chord + Which makes the present and the past as one. + No thickets where the thrushes sing in maze + Of green, no silver-threaded waterfalls + In vales, where summer sleeps in darkling woods + With sunlit glades, and pools where lilies blow. + Here, but the wiry grass and sorrel beds, + The gaping edges of the sand ravines, + Whose shifting sides are tufted with dull herbs, + Drooping above a brook, that sluggish creeps + Down to the whispering rushes in the marsh. + And this is all, until I reach the cliff, + And on the headland's verge I stand, enthralled + Before the gulf of the unquenchable sea-- + The sea, inexorable in its might, + Circling the pebbly beach with limpid tides, + Storming in bays whose margins fade in mist; + Now blue and silent as a noonday sky, + At twilight now the pearly rollers shake + The sunset's trail of violet and gold; + Or black, when rushing on the rocky isles + Anchored in waves that bellow to the winds. + I watch till comes the night; the moonlight falls, + The silvery deep on some far journey goes, + To solve for me, I think, this mystery. + + + + + AS ONE. + + + When I, enclosed within the city's walls, + Behold the multitudes that come and go, + Hands clenched on gain, and nature all denied, + Then I recall, recall the drift of time. + + But when she proffered all her wealth to me, + The first faint blossom of the spring I share, + The latest autumn leaf, the last green blade, + Then I forget, forget the drift of time. + + The months go by, and take me in their train, + The vesture wrapping them enfolds me too, + And all the journey through we seem as one, + And I forget, forget the drift of time. + + I hear the bluebird's call in windy dawns, + The robin's cheery note from dewy fields, + The swallow's cry along the pool at eve, + And I forget, forget the drift of time. + + When hedges give the prophecy of birds, + And sunbeams play on the expectant boughs, + The leaves uncurl and fill their veins with life, + And I forget, forget the drift of time. + + I watch a tumult in the summer skies, + A blur of sunshine, and the rush of rain, + The tempest dying in the twilight's hush, + And I forget, forget the drift of time. + + When winter woods are armored by the frost, + And all the highways filled with soundless snows, + Then comes the sun to show his golden palm, + And I forget, forget the drift of time. + + The mountains look upon me and the sea-- + I hover on their crests in silver mists, + And with the waters pass beyond their verge, + And I forget, forget the drift of time. + + + + + THE VISITINGS OF TRUTH KNOWN ELSEWHERE. + + + Spending abroad these varied autumn days, + Their melancholy legend I deny. + They keep a vanished treasure I will seek, + And follow on a track of mystic hopes. + While watching in thy atmosphere, I see + The form of beauty changes, not its soul. + When with the Spring, the flying feet of youth + Spurning the present as it passed, and me, + I thought the world a mere environment + To hold my wishes and my happiness. + I have forgot that foolish, vain belief, + Now in my sere and yellow leaf, serene, + I offer Autumn all my homage now. + The eddies, whirling, rustling in my path, + Lure me like sprites, and from the leaves a voice: + "Say not our lesson is decay; we fall, + And lo, the naked trees in beauty lift + Their delicate tracery against the sky. + On the pale verdure of the grass we spread + A shining web of scarlet, bronze, and gold; + When the rain comes, the oaks uphold us still. + The holly shines, and waits the Christmas chimes, + Beneath the branches of the evergreens." + November's clouds without a shadow lift + The purple mountains of its airy sphere, + And all my purpose waits upon them now. + Day fades--a rose above the darkling sea, + And from the amber sky clear twilight falls; + The orange woods grow black, and I go forth, + And as I go, the noiseless airs pass by, + And touch me like the petals of a flower; + The cricket chirps me in the warm, dry sod, + Drowsy, and I would pipe a cheery strain; + But from the pines I hear the call of night, + And round the quiet earth the stars wheel up, + With me eternal, and I stay beneath, + Until I fade into the fading plain. + + + + + WE MUST WAIT. + + + The testimony of my loss and gain + Will I give utterance to, though none may hear. + When long ago, bereft of all I loved, + I sought in Nature recompense, implored + For pity, solace, or forgetfulness, + "The dear, familiar seasons as they pass, + The seal of memory on every place," + I said, "will give the sympathy I seek, + The restoration which they owe to me." + By day and night I prayed as futile prayers + As the wind's shriek in lonesome winter nights; + By the sea they fell as empty as the shells + Upon its sands, uncertain as its mists. + With them I tracked the shadows of the woods, + And sowed them in the fields among the seed; + Whoso reaped harvest, I could gather none. + I wandered in the thickets, giving tongue + Like a lost hound, dazed by their solitude, + The while birds called their mates, the lilies blazed, + And roses opened to the wandering airs. + They vanished with the leaves that voyaged the brook, + Which babbled of no story but its own. + How blind I was to Nature's liberty! + Grief stalked beside me, I was sore beset, + And could not hear the turning of Time's wheel. + Still were the skies serene, the earth most fair, + When with the doleful chant of dust to dust + Mingled the laughter of this sunlit sea; + And through my tears I saw the ripples dance, + And June's sweet breezes kiss the swaying elms. + As he who turns the key within his door + And gazes at his walls before he goes, + Then forward sets his steps--so I set mine + To join a band whose purpose was to find + A world of action; but my heart was cold, + My mind supine. Yet I remained with them, + And answered to the roll called Honor, Fame! + Where were my memories and my ardent prayers? + The years stood far behind, their columns graved + Deep with the adage which youth names _No More_. + Like one who enters some old storied hall, + And down its vista suddenly beholds + A banner waving out its old device + Of victory--so suddenly I felt + My later life a void. I was recalled! + My prayers were answered, and behold me here; + Within the pale of all my loss and gain, + The dear, familiar seasons as they pass, + The seal of memory on every place, + Bestow the restoration which I sought. + At peace, I know, as those who suffer know, + There is no secret we can wrest at will + From Nature. Time must bring and share with her + The gift of resignation, cure for grief, + And cast upon our ways this ray of hope-- + That I, the lost, and Nature may be one. + + + + + UNRETURNING. + + + Now all the flowers that ornament the grass, + Wherever meadows are and placid brooks, + Must fall--the "glory of the grass" must fall. + Year after year I see them sprout and spread-- + The golden, glossy, tossing buttercups, + The tall, straight daisies and red clover globes, + The swinging bellwort and the blue-eyed bent, + With nameless plants as perfect in their hues-- + Perfect in root and branch, their plan of life, + As if the intention of a soul were there: + I see them flourish as I see them fall! + But he, who once was growing with the grass, + And blooming with the flowers, my little son, + Fell, withered--dead, nor has revived again! + Perfect and lovely, needful to my sight, + Why comes he not to ornament my days? + The barren fields forget their barrenness, + The soulless earth mates with these soulless things, + Why should I not obtain _my_ recompense? + The budding spring should bring, or summer's prime, + At least a vision of the vanished child, + And let his heart commune with mine again, + Though in a dream--his life was but a dream; + Then might I wait with patient cheerfulness, + That cheerfulness which keeps one's tears unshed, + And blinds the eyes with pain--the passage slow + Of other seasons, and be still and cold + As the earth is when shrouded in the snow, + Or passive, like it, when the boughs are stripped + In autumn, and the leaves roll everywhere. + And he should go again; for winter's snows, + And autumn's melancholy voice, in winds, + In waters, and in woods, belong to me, + To me--a faded soul; for, as I said, + The sense of all his beauty, sweetness, comes + When blossoms are the sweetest; when the sea, + Sparkling and blue, cries to the sun in joy, + Or, silent, pale, and misty waits the night, + Till the moon, pushing through the veiling cloud, + Hangs naked in its heaving solitude: + When feathery pines wave up and down the shore, + And the vast deep above holds gentle stars, + And the vast world beneath hides him from me! + + + + + CLOSED. + + + The crimson dawn breaks through the clouded east, + And waking breezes round the casement pipe; + They blow the globes of dew from opening buds, + And steal the odors of the sleeping flowers. + The swallow calls its young ones from the eaves, + To dart above their shadows on the lake, + Till its long rollers redden in the sun, + And bend the lances of the mirrored pines. + Who knows the miracle that brings the morn? + Still in my house I linger, though the night-- + The night that hides me from myself is gone. + Light robes the world, but strips me bare again. + I will not follow on the paths of day. + I know the dregs within its crystal hours; + The bearers of my cups have served me well; + I drained them, and the bearers come no more. + Rise, morning, rise, for those believing souls + Who seek completion in day's garish light. + My casement I will close, keep shut my door, + Till day and night are only dreams to me. + + + + + MEMORY IS IMMORTAL. + + + Time passed, as passes time with common souls, + Whose thoughts and wishes end with every day; + For whom no future is, whose present hours + Reveal no looming shade of that which was. + + But Memory is immortal, for she comes + To me, from heaven or hell, to me, once more! + As birds that migrate choose the ocean wind + That beats them helpless, while it steers them home, + So I was this way driven--I chose this way-- + Of old my dwelling-place, where all my race + Are buried. At first I was enchanted here; + Impossible appeared the pall, the shroud; + And in my spell I trod the grassy streets, + Where in the summer days mild oxen drew + The bristling hay, and in the winter snows + The creaking masts and knees for mighty ships, + Whose hulls were parted on the coral reefs, + Or foundered in the depth of Arctic nights. + I wandered through the gardens rank and waste, + Wonderful once, when I was like the flowers; + Along the weedy paths grew roses still, + Surviving empire, but remaining queens. + + My mood established by the slumbrous town-- + (Slumber with slumber, dream with dream should be) + I sought a mansion on the lonely shore, + From which, his feet made level with his head, + Its occupant was gone. I lived alone. + Whoso, beneath this roof, had played his part + In life's deep tragedy, not here again + Could be rehearsed its scenes of love or hate. + Upon the ancient walls my pictures hung, + Of men and women, strong and beautiful, + Whose shoulders pushed along the world's great wheel; + Landscapes, where cloud and mountain rose as one, + Where rivers crept in secret vales, or rolled + Past city walls, whose towers and palaces + By slaves were builded, and by princes fallen! + And books whose pages ever told one tale, + The tale of human love, in joy or pain, + The seed of our last hope--Eternity. + Days glided by, this mirage cheating all; + Morn came, eve went, and we were tranquil still. + If form, and sound, and color fail to show, + By poet's, painter's, sculptor's noble touch, + The subtle truth of Nature, can I tell + How Nature poised my mind in light and shade? + + But Memory is immortal, and to me + She advanced, silent, slow, a muffled shape. + One moonlight night I walked through long white lanes; + The sky and sea were like a frosted web; + The air was heavy with familiar scents, + Which travelled down the wind, I knew from where-- + The fragrance of a grove of Northern pines. + My feet were hastening thither--and my heart! + At last I stood before a funeral mound, + From which I fled when vanished love and life-- + Long years ago--fled from my father's house; + Banished myself, to banish him I loved-- + His broken history and his early grave. + And in the moonlight Memory floated on, + Immortal, with my now immortal Love! + + + + + THE TRYST. + + + Impelled by memory in a wayward mood, + Reluctant, yearning, with a faithless mind, + I sought once more a long neglected spot, + A wooded upland bordered by the sea, + Whose tides were swirling up the reedy sands, + Or floating noiseless in the yellow marsh. + My way was wild. The winds, awaking, smote + My face, but as I passed a ruined wall + Brambles and vines and waving blossoms dashed + A frolic-welcome, like a summer rain. + Shouldering the hills against the murky east + Stood stalwart oaks, and in the mossy sod + Below the trembling birches whispered me, + "Not here!" I reached the silence-loving pines, + And lingered. The mists swept from the wooded hills, + And, rolling seaward, hid the anchored ships. + So, happy, dreaming an old dream again, + Of keeping tryst in secret on the knoll, + I wandered on, listening in dreamy maze + To sounds I thought familiar,--the approach + Of well-known footsteps in the leafy path,-- + A murmuring voice calling me by name! + Through the pine shafts the sunless light of dawn + Stole. Day was come. My dream would be fulfilled! + Above the hills the sky began to blaze, + And ushering morn the west flushed rosy-red; + Then, the Sun leaping from his bed of gold, + Scattered cloud-banners, crimson, gray, and white. + There was my shadow in the leafy path + Alone,--none was to keep the tryst with me! + No voice, no step among the hills I heard. + The joyous swallows from their nestlings flew, + Mad in the light with song. Far out at sea + The white sails fluttered in the eager breeze, + But Day was silent holding tryst with me,-- + My pilgrimage rewarded--faith restored. + + + + + NO ANSWER. + + + You tell me not, green multitude of leaves, + Mingling and whirling with the willful breeze, + Nor you, bright grasses, trembling blade to blade, + What meaneth June, to hap us every year? + + The spirit of the flowers is watching now, + As winking in the sun they suck the dew, + The thickets parley with the splendid fields-- + What meaneth June, to hap us every year? + + Up where the brook laps round the shining flags, + And tinkling foam bells pass the weedy shore, + And where the willow swings above the trout-- + What meaneth June, to hap us every year? + + The clouds hold knowledge in their snowy peaks, + They hide it in their moving fleecy folds, + They share it with the sunset's golden isles-- + What meaneth June, to hap us every year? + + Fullness and sweetness, and the power of life, + Must I in ignorance remain alone, + And yield the quest of speech for certain proof? + What meaneth June, to hap us every year? + + Sweetness and beauty, and the power of life, + Is it creation's anthem--parts for all? + Is this the knowledge--will you answer me + What meaneth June, to hap us every year? + + + + + ON THE HILLTOP. + + "By the margent of the sea + I would build myself a home." + + + Not by the margent of the sea, + But on the hilltop I would be, + My little house a mossy den, + Between me and the world of men. + Beside me dips a wide ravine, + Covered with a flowery screen; + Far round me rise a band of hills, + Whose voices reach me by their rills, + Or deep susurrus of the wood, + That stands in stately brotherhood, + Upholding one vast web of green, + Whereunder foot has never been-- + The pine and elm, the birch and oak-- + And thus their voices me invoke: + "If you would on the hilltop be, + We cannot share your misery; + Cease, cease this moaning for the Past: + The law of grief can never last." + When springtime brings anemones, + Upon the sod I take my ease, + Or search for Arethusa's pink, + Along the torrent's ragged brink; + Or in the tinted April hours + I watch the curtain of the showers + That fall beneath a lurking cloud, + Which for a moment throws a shroud + On the sun's arrows in the west, + Till it blaze up a golden crest. + The young moon bends her crescent horn + Against the lingering summer morn; + Then, riding down the starry sky, + She follows me till night goes by. + And when the dawn breaks on yon town, + I think the sleepers lying down + Must rise to shoulder dismal care + Methinks that once was but my fare. + But I upon the hilltop yet + Am free from every tangling fret; + So ever thus, in peace of mind, + I give my pity to my kind. + For me this noble solitude! + And as I face its varying mood, + Reflected in its every show, + Some higher self I come to know. + See, autumn here, with color glad, + Not like the poets--russet clad-- + But scarlet, umber, green, and gold; + Then in a breath I must behold + The autumn winds tear down my screen, + And leave me not a leaf to glean. + The snow will cover glen and height, + And all my hilltop glisten white; + I see the crystal atoms fly + Under the dome of this gray sky. + Like gnomes are they, these spectral gleams? + Or shall I guess them only dreams? + Whatever is the truth, I say, + If up and down the world I stray, + Still on the hilltop I would be, + Not by the margent of the sea! + + + + + THE MESSAGE. + + + To you, my comrades, whether far or near, + I send this message. Let our past revive; + Come, sound reveille to our hearts once more. + Expecting, I shall wait till at my door + I see you enter, each and every one + Tumultuous, eager all, with clamorous speech, + To hide my stammering welcome and my tears. + I am no host carousing long and late, + Enticing guests with epicurean hints; + Nor am I Timon, sick of this sad world, + Who, jesting, cries, "The sky is overhead, + And underneath that famous rest, the earth: + Show me the man who can have more at last." + + Without, the thunder of the city rolls; + Within, the quiet of the student reigns. + There is a change. Time was a childish voice. + Sweet as the lark's when from her nest she soars, + Thrilled over all, and vanished into heaven. + Music once triumphed here: the skilful hand + Of him who rarely struck the keys, and woke + My soul in harmony grand as his own, + Is folded on his breast, my soldier love. + Here hangs his portrait, under it his sword; + He served his country, and his grave's afar. + Dread not this place as one to relics given, + Though I have decked with amaranth my wall, + The testimony of a later loss-- + His who long wandering in foreign lands, + Then dying, crossed the sea to die with me. + Behold the sunrise and the morning clouds + On yonder canvas, misty mountain-peaks-- + The simple grandeur of a perfect art! + Behold these vivid woods, that gleam beside + The happy vision of an autumn eve, + When red leaves fall, and redder sunsets fade! + The world grows pensive sinking into night, + Whose melancholy space hides sighing winds: + Can they reply to sadder human speech? + What centuries are counted here--my books! + Shadows of mighty men; the chorus, hark! + The antique chant vibrates, and Fate compels! + + Comrades, return; the midnight lamp shall gleam + As in old nights; the chaplets woven then-- + Withered, perhaps, by time--may grace us yet; + The laurel faded is the laurel still, + And some of us are heroes to ourselves. + And amber wine shall flow; the blue smoke wreathe + In droll disputes, with metaphysics mixed; + Or float as lightly as the quick-spun verse, + Threading the circle round from thought to thought, + Sparkling and fresh as is the airy web + Spread on the hedge at morn in silver dew. + The scent of roses you remember well; + In the green vases they shall bloom again. + And me--do you remember? I remain + Unchanged, I think; though one I saw like me + Some years ago, with hair that was not white; + And she was with you then, as brave a soul + As souls can be whom Fate has not approached. + But seek and find me now, unchanged or changed, + Mirthful in tears, and in my laughter sad. + + + + + EXILE. + + + Blind in these stony streets, dumb in their crowds, + What can I do but dream of other days? + Whose is the love I had, and have not now? + If it be Nature's, let her answer me. + It wanders by the blue, monotonous sea, + Where rushes grow, or follows all the sweep + Of shallow summer brooks and umber pools. + Or does it linger in those hidden paths + Where starlike blossoms blow among dead leaves, + And dark groves murmur over darker shrubs, + Birds with their fledgelings sleep, and pale moths flit? + With sunset's crimson flags perhaps it goes, + And reappears with yellow Jupiter, + Riding the West beside the crescent moon. + Comes it with sunrise, when the sunrise floats + From Night's bold towers, vast in the East, and gray + Till tower and wall flash into fiery clouds, + Moving along the verge, stately and slow, + Ordered by the old music of the spheres? + Perchance it trembles in October's oaks; + Or, twining with the brilliant, berried vine, + Would hide the tender, melancholy elm. + Well might it rest within those solemn woods + Where sunlight never falls--whose tops are green + With airs from heaven,--its balmy mists and rains,-- + While underneath black, mossy, mammoth rocks + Keep silence with the waste of blighted boughs. + If winter riots with the wreathing snow, + And ocean, tossing all his threatening plumes, + And winds, that tear the hollow, murky sky, + Can this, my love, which dwells no more with me, + Find dwelling there,--like some storm-driven bird, + That knows not whence it flew, nor where to fly, + Between the world of sea and world of cloud, + At last drops dead in the remorseless deep? + + + + + A SEASIDE IDYL. + + + I wandered to the shore, nor knew I then + What my desire,--whether for wild lament, + Or sweet regret, to fill the idle pause + Of twilight, melancholy in my house, + And watch the flowing tide, the passing sails, + Or to implore the air, and sea, and sky, + For that eternal passion in their power + Which souls like mine who ponder on their fate + May feel, and be as they--gods to themselves. + Thither I went, whatever was my mood. + The sands, the rocks, and beds of bending sedge, + I saw alone. Between the east and west, + Along the beach no creature moved besides. + High on the eastern point a lighthouse shone; + Steered by its lamp a ship stood out to sea, + And vanished from its rays towards the deep, + While in the west, above a wooded isle, + An island-cloud hung in the emerald sky, + Hiding pale Venus in its sombre shade. + I wandered up and down the sands, I loitered + Among the rocks, and trampled through the sedge: + But I grew weary of the stocks and stones. + "I will go hence," I thought; "the Elements + Have lost their charm; my soul is dead to-night. + Oh passive, creeping Sea, and stagnant Air, + Farewell! Dull sands, and rocks, and sedge, farewell." + Homeward I turned my face, but stayed my feet. + Should I go back but to revive again + The ancient pain? Hark! suddenly there came + From over sea, a sound like that of speech; + And suddenly I felt my pulses leap + As though some Presence were approaching me. + Loud as the voice of Ocean's dark-haired king + A breeze came down the sea,--the sea rose high; + The surging waves sang round me--this their song: + "Oh, yet your love will triumph! He shall come + In love's wild tumult; he shall come once more,-- + By tracks of ocean or by paths of earth; + The wanderer will reach you and remain." + The breakers dashed among the rocks, and they + Seemed full of life; the foam dissolved the sands, + And the sedge trembled in the swelling tide. + Was this a promise of the vaunting Sea, + Or the illusion of a last despair? + Either, or both, still homeward I must go, + And that way turned mine eyes, and thought they met + A picture,--surely so,--or I was mad. + The crimson harvest-moon was rising full + Above my roof, and glimmered on my walls. + Within the doorway stood a man I knew-- + No picture this. I saw approaching me + Him I had hoped for, grieved for, and despaired. + "My ship is wrecked," he cried, "and I return + Never to leave my love. You are my love?" + "I too am wrecked," I sighed, "by lonely years; + Returning, you but find another wreck." + He bent his face to search my own, and spake: + "What I have traversed sea and land to find, + I find. For liberty I fought, and life, + On savage shores and wastes of unknown seas, + While waiting for this hour. Oh, think you not + Immortal love mates with immortal love + Always? And now, at last, we know this love." + My soul was filling with a mighty joy + I could not show--yet must I show my love. + "From you whose will divided broke our hearts + I now demand a different kiss than that + Which then you said should be our parting kiss. + Given, I vow the past shall be forgot. + The kiss--and we are one! Give me the kiss." + Like the dark rocks upon the sands he stood, + When on his breast I fell, and kissed his lips. + All the wild clangor of the sea was hushed; + The rapid silver waves ran each to each, + Lapsed in the deep with joyous, murmured sighs. + Years of repentance mine, forgiveness his, + To tell. Happy, we paced the tranquil shores, + Till between sea and sky we saw the sun, + And all our wiser, loving days began. + + + + + THE CHIMNEY-SWALLOW'S IDYL. + + + From where I built the nest for my first young, + In the high chimney of this ancient house, + I saw the household fires burn and go down, + And know what was and is forever gone. + My dusky, swift-winged fledgelings, flying far + To seek their mates in clustered eaves or towers, + Would linger not to learn what I have learned, + Soaring through air or steering over sea-- + These single, solitary walls must fade. + But I return, inhabiting my nest, + A little simple bird, which still survives + The noble souls now vanished from this hearth; + And none are here besides but she who shares + My life, and pensive vigil holds with me. + No longer does she mourn; she lives serene; + I see her mother's beauty in her face, + I see her father's quiet pride and power, + The linked traits and traces of her race; + Her brothers dying, like strong sapling trees + Hewn down by violent blows prone in dense woods, + Covered with aged boughs, decaying slow. + She muses thus: "Beauty once more abides; + The rude alarm of death, its wild amaze + Is over now. The chance of change has passed; + No doubtful hopes are mine, no restless dread, + No last word to be spoken, kiss to give + And take in passion's agony and end. + They cannot come to me, but in good time + I shall rejoin my silent company, + And melt among them, as the sunset clouds + Melt in gray spaces of the coming night." + So she holds dear as I this tranquil spot, + And all the flowers that blow, and maze of green, + The meadows daisy-full, or brown and sere; + The shore which bounds the waves I love to skim, + And dash my purple wings against the breeze. + When breaks the day I twitter loud and long, + To make her rise and watch the vigorous sun + Come from his sea-bed in the weltering deep, + And smell the dewy grass, still rank with sleep. + I hover through the twilight round her eaves, + And dart above, before her, in her path, + Till, with a smile, she gives me all her mind; + And in the deep of night, lest she be sad + In sleepless thought, I stir me in my nest, + And murmur as I murmur to my young; + She makes no answer, but I know she hears; + And all the cherished pictures in her thoughts + Grow bright because of _me_, her swallow friend! + + + + + LAST DAYS. + + + As one who follows a departing friend, + Destined to cross the great, dividing sea, + I watch and follow these departing days, + That go so grandly, lifting up their crowns + Still regal, though their victor Autumn comes. + Gifts they bestow, which I accept, return, + As gifts exchanged between a loving pair, + Who may possess them as memorials + Of pleasures ended by the shadow--Death. + What matter which shall vanish hence, if both + Are transitory--me, and these bright hours-- + And of the future ignorant alike? + From all our social thralls I would be free. + Let care go down the wind--as hounds afar, + Within their kennels baying unseen foes, + Give to calm sleepers only calmer dreams. + Here will I rest alone: the morning mist + Conceals no form but mine; the evening dew + Freshens but faded flowers and my worn face. + When the noon basks among the wooded hills + I too will bask, as silent as the air + So thick with sun-motes, dyed like yellow gold, + Or colored purple like an unplucked plum. + The thrush, now lonesome, for her young have flown, + May flutter her brown wings across my path; + And creatures of the sod with brilliant eyes + May leap beside me, and familiar grow. + The moon shall rise among her floating clouds, + Black, vaporous fans, and crinkled globes of pearl, + And her sweet silver light be given to me. + To watch and follow these departing days + Must be my choice; and let me mated be + With Solitude; may memory and hope + Unite to give me faith that nothing dies; + To show me always, what I pray to know, + That man alone may speak the word--_Farewell_. + + + + + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Poems, by Elizabeth Stoddard + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK POEMS *** + +***** This file should be named 12391-8.txt or 12391-8.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + https://www.gutenberg.org/1/2/3/9/12391/ + +Produced by Leah Moser and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team. + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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For +example an eBook of filename 10234 would be found at: + + https://www.gutenberg.org/1/0/2/3/10234 + +or filename 24689 would be found at: + https://www.gutenberg.org/2/4/6/8/24689 + +An alternative method of locating eBooks: + https://www.gutenberg.org/GUTINDEX.ALL + + diff --git a/old/old/12391-8.zip b/old/old/12391-8.zip Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..9354887 --- /dev/null +++ b/old/old/12391-8.zip diff --git a/old/old/12391.txt b/old/old/12391.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..21d8fae --- /dev/null +++ b/old/old/12391.txt @@ -0,0 +1,3197 @@ +The Project Gutenberg EBook of Poems, by Elizabeth Stoddard + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: Poems + +Author: Elizabeth Stoddard + +Release Date: May 20, 2004 [EBook #12391] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ASCII + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK POEMS *** + + + + +Produced by Leah Moser and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team. + + + + + + + + + +POEMS + +BY + +ELIZABETH STODDARD + +1895 + + + + +CONTENTS + + THE POET'S SECRET + NOVEMBER + MUSIC IN A CROWD + "I LIVE WITHIN THE STRANGER'S GATE" + THE HOUSE OF YOUTH + THE HOUSE BY THE SEA + CHRISTMAS COMES AGAIN + MARCH + THE SPRING AFAR + WHY? + AUGUST + OCTOBER + "THE WILLOW BOUGHS ARE YELLOW NOW" + "IN THE STILL, STAR-LIT NIGHT" + AUTUMN + THE AUTUMN SHEAF + IN THE CITY + "I LOVE YOU, BUT A SENSE OF PAIN" + NAMELESS PAIN + A BABY SONG + THE WIFE SPEAKS + THE HUSBAND SPEAKS + "ONE MORN I LEFT HIM IN HIS BED" + BEFORE THE MIRROR + "THE SHADOWS ON THE WATER REACH" + A SUMMER NIGHT + "FAN ME WITH THESE LILIES FAIR" + "OH, THE WILD, WILD DAYS OF YOUTH!" + "ON MY BED OF A WINTER NIGHT" + "HALLO! MY FANCY, WHITHER WILT THOU GO?" + YOU LEFT ME + "O FRIEND, BEGIN A LOFTIER SONG" + "NOW THAT THE PAIN IS GONE, I TOO CAN SMILE" + THE COLONEL'S SHIELD + A FEW IDLE WORDS + VERS DE SOCIETE + THE RACE + THE WOLF-TAMER + THE ABBOT OF UNREASON + EL MANOLO + MERCEDES + THE BULL-FIGHT + ON THE CAMPAGNA + THE QUEEN DEPOSED + A UNIT + ZANTHON--MY FRIEND + ACHILLES IN ORCUS + ABOVE THE TREE + TO AN ARTIST + A LANDSCAPE + FROM THE HEADLAND + AS ONE + THE VISITINGS OF TRUTH KNOWN ELSEWHERE + WE MUST WAIT + UNRETURNING + CLOSED + MEMORY IS IMMORTAL + THE TRYST + NO ANSWER + ON THE HILLTOP + THE MESSAGE + EXILE + A SEASIDE IDYL + THE CHIMNEY-SWALLOW'S IDYL + LAST DAYS + + + + +POEMS + + + + + THE POET'S SECRET. + + + The poet's secret I must know, + If that will calm my restless mind. + I hail the seasons as they go, + I woo the sunshine, brave the wind. + + I scan the lily and the rose, + I nod to every nodding tree, + I follow every stream that flows, + And wait beside the steadfast sea. + + I question melancholy eyes, + I touch the lips of women fair: + Their lips and eyes may make me wise, + But what I seek for is not there. + + In vain I watch the day and night, + In vain the world through space may roll: + I never see the mystic light + Which fills the poet's happy soul. + + Through life I hear the rhythmic flow + Whose meaning into song must turn; + Revealing all he longs to know, + The secret each alone must learn. + + + + + NOVEMBER. + + + Much have I spoken of the faded leaf; + Long have I listened to the wailing wind, + And watched it ploughing through the heavy clouds, + For autumn charms my melancholy mind. + + When autumn comes, the poets sing a dirge: + The year must perish; all the flowers are dead; + The sheaves are gathered; and the mottled quail + Runs in the stubble, but the lark has fled! + + Still, autumn ushers in the Christmas cheer, + The holly-berries and the ivy-tree: + They weave a chaplet for the Old Year's bier + These waiting mourners do not sing for me! + + I find sweet peace in depths of autumn woods. + Where grow the ragged ferns and roughened moss; + The naked, silent trees have taught me this,-- + The loss of beauty is not always loss! + + + + + MUSIC IN A CROWD. + + + When I hear music, whether waltz or psalm, + Among a crowd, I find myself alone; + It does not touch me with a soothing balm, + But brings an echo like a moan + + From some far country where a palace rose, + In which I reigned with Cleopatra's pride: + "Come, Charmian! bring the asp for my repose." + And queenly, men shall say, she died. + + There lived and ruled a happy, noble race, + Primeval souls who held imperial power-- + My kindred, gone forever from their place, + And I am here without a dower! + + They were a Vision, though. And are these real, + These men and women, moving as in sleep, + Who, smiling, gesture to the same Ideal, + For which the music makes me weep? + + Have they my longings for that other world + New to them yet? I grant that Music's swell + Is like the sea; they may be thither hurled + By storms that thunder and compel; + + Or, like those voyagers in the land of streams, + Glide through its languid air, its languid wave, + To learn that _Here_ and _There_ are but two dreams, + That end in Nothing and the Grave! + + + + + "I LIVE WITHIN THE STRANGER'S GATE." + + + I. + + I live within the stranger's gate, + And count the hours + Since God let fall the bolt of fate! + Where the waves fall on yonder shore + In cloudy spray, + And where the winds forever roar, + The pillars of a mansion stand, + Without a roof; + The saddest ruin in the land! + + + II. + + When sunset strikes across the sea + The wreck looms up; + Then Memory comes, and touches me. + I see a pitiful white face + Break through the mould + Decaying at the pillar's base, + And hands that beckon me to prayer. + But I still curse, + And wake the Furies slumbering there! + + + III. + + In the strange drama of the Past + It was my part + To hold carousal to the last; + It was for me to hide the shame, + And brave the world + With lies about our ancient name! + I played it well, and played it long: + But let it pass, + The world has never known the 'wrong. + + + IV. + + Upheave, black mould, and totter all + The ruin down! + Fall, monumental pillars, fall, + Upon her grave! Above her breast + May ivy creep, + And roses blow! I choose to rest. + + + + + THE HOUSE OF YOUTH. + + + The rough north winds have left their icy caves + To growl and grope for prey + Upon the murky sea; + The lonely sea-gull skims the sullen waves + All the gray winter day. + + The mottled sand-bird runneth up and down, + Amongst the creaking sedge, + Along the crusted beach; + The time-stained houses of the sea-walled town + Seem tottering on its edge. + + An ancient dwelling, in this ancient place, + Stands in a garden drear, + A wreck with other wrecks; + The Past is there, but no one sees a face + Within, from year to year. + + The wiry rose-trees scratch the window-pane; + The window rattles loud; + The wind beats at the door, + But never gets an answer back again, + The silence is so proud. + + The last that lived there was an evil man; + A child the last that died, + Upon the mother's breast. + It seemed to die by some mysterious ban; + Its grave is by the side + + Of an old tree, whose notched and scanty leaves + Repeat the tale of woe, + And quiver day and night, + Till the snow cometh, and a cold shroud weaves, + Whiter than that below. + + This time of year a woman wanders there-- + They say from distant lands: + She wears a foreign dress, + With jewels on her breast, and her fair hair + In braided coils and bands. + + The ancient dwelling and the garden drear + At night know something more: + Without her foreign dress + Or blazing gems, this woman stealeth near + The threshold of the door. + + The shadow strikes against the window-pane; + She thrusts the thorns away: + Her eyes peer through the glass, + And down the glass her great tears drip, like rain, + In the gray winter day. + + The moon shines down the dismal garden track, + And lights the little mound; + But when she ventures there, + The black and threatening branches wave her back, + And guard the ghostly ground. + + What is the story of this buried Past? + Were all its doors flung wide, + For us to search its rooms, + And we to see the race, from first to last, + And how they lived and died:-- + + Still would it baffle and perplex the brain. + But show this bitter truth: + Man lives not in the past: + None but a woman ever comes again + Back to the House of Youth! + + + + + THE HOUSE BY THE SEA. + + + To-night I do the bidding of a ghost, + A ghost that knows my misery; + In the lone dark I hear his wailing boast, + "Now shalt thou speak with me." + + Must I go back where all is desolate, + Where reigns the terror of a curse, + To knock, a beggar, at my father's gate, + That closed upon a hearse? + + The old stone pier has crumbled in the sea; + The tide flows through the garden wall; + Where grew the lily, and where hummed the bee, + Black seaweeds rise and fall. + + I see the empty nests beneath the eaves; + No bird is near; the vines have died; + The orchard trees have lost the joy of leaves, + The oaks their lordly pride. + + Of what avail to set ajar the door + Through which, when ruin fell, I fled? + If on the threshold I should stand once more, + Shall I behold the dead? + + Shall I behold, as on that fatal night, + My mother from the window start, + When she was blasted by the evil sight,-- + The shame that broke her heart? + + The yellow grass grows on my sister's grave; + Her room is dark--she is not there; + I feel the rain, and hear the wild wind rave-- + My tears, and my despair. + + A white-haired man is singing a sad song + Amid the ashes on the hearth; + "Ashes to ashes, I have moaned so long + I am alone on earth." + + No more! no more! I cannot bear this pain; + Shut the foul annals of my race; + Accursed the hand that opens them again, + My dowry of disgrace. + + And so, farewell, thou bitter, bitter ghost! + When morning comes the shadows fly; + Before we part, I give this merry toast,-- + _The dead that do not die_! + + + + + CHRISTMAS COMES AGAIN. + + + Let me be merry now, 't is time; + The season is at hand + For Christmas rhyme and Christmas chime, + Close up, and form the band. + + The winter fires still burn as bright, + The lamp-light is as clear, + And since the dead are out of sight, + What hinders Christmas cheer? + + Why think or speak of that abyss + In which lies all my Past? + High festival I need not miss, + While song and jest shall last. + + We'll clink and drink on Christmas Eve, + Our ghosts can feel no wrong; + They revelled ere they took their leave-- + Hearken, my Soldier's Song: + + "The morning air doth coldly pass, + Comrades, to the saddle spring: + The night more bitter cold will bring + Ere dying--ere dying. + Sweetheart, come, the parting glass; + Glass and sabre, clash, clash, clash, + Ere dying--ere dying. + Stirrup-cup and stirrup-kiss-- + Do you hope the foe we'll miss, + Sweetheart, for this loving kiss, + Ere dying--ere dying?" + + The feasts and revels of the year + Do ghosts remember long? + Even in memory come they here? + Listen, my Sailor's Song: + + "O my hearties, yo heave ho! + Anchor's up in Jolly Bay-- + Hey! + Pipes and swipes, hob and nob-- + Hey! + Mermaid Bess and Dolphin Meg, + Paddle over Jolly Bay-- + Hey! + Tars, haul in for Christmas Day, + For round the 'varsal deep we go; + Never church, never bell, + For to tell + Of Christmas Day. + Yo heave ho, my hearties O! + Haul in, mates, here we lay-- + Hey!" + + His sword is rusting in its sheath, + His flag furled on the wall; + We'll twine them with a holly-wreath, + With green leaves cover all. + + So clink and drink when falls the eve; + But, comrades, hide from me + Their graves--I would not see them heave + Beside me, like the sea. + + Let not my brothers come again, + As men dead in their prime; + Then hold my hands, forget my pain, + And strike the Christmas chime. + + + + + MARCH. + + + Ho, wind of March, speed over sea, + From mountains where the snows lie deep + The cruel glaciers threatening creep, + And witness this, my jubilee! + + Roar from the surf of boreal isles, + Roar from the hidden, jagged steeps, + Where the destroyer never sleeps; + Ring through the iceberg's Gothic piles! + + Voyage through space with your wild train, + Harping its shrillest, searching tone, + Or wailing deep its ancient moan, + And learn how impotent your reign. + + Then hover by this garden bed, + With all your wilful power, behold, + Just breaking from the leafy mould, + My little primrose lift its head! + + + + + THE SPRING AFAR. + + + Far from the empire of my present days, + Where I perforce remain, + The wild, fresh airs of Spring blow to and fro, + Piping out Winter's reign. + + I know the rosy wind-flowers spread like clouds + Above the leafy mould, + And pollard willows over shallow pools + Stretch out their rods of gold. + + I hear the waters in the mossy swamps + Start on their ocean quest, + Gliding through meadows, murmuring in woods, + Till reaching final rest. + + Fixed in my thoughts is Spring, so long remote, + Though Spring cannot endow + As Summer can, or yield sweet Autumn's peace: + 'T is that my heart needs now; + + Or hope--maybe that Spring and Hope are one. + Therefore I should not ask + For leave from this my place: _both_ may be near, + Behind my daily mask. + + + + + WHY? + + + Why did I go where roses grew, + And meadow larks which skyward flew + From grasses sparkling in the dew, + The yellow sunshine pouring through? + What was there for me to find? + Were they to learn my froward mind? + From far across vast summer seas, + Rifling green marshes, bending trees, + Driving cloud-shadows down the air, + Keen breezes smote me here and there, + Keen breezes crying, _Why, why, why_? + And nothing had I to reply! + Beings with neither soul nor sense, + Convicting me with their pretence; + Beings of change,--but what am I,-- + Once more repeating, _Why, why, why_? + + + + + AUGUST. + + + Read by the wayside, read by the brook, + That this is the passion of the year; + Look at the fields, look at the woods, + Look upon me, and--draw near! + + Just as these days are, so is my heart; + Lilies are flaming, berries are ripe; + Alders blow sweet, acorns are full-- + And the bobolink's young ones pipe! + + Ponder the river, ponder the sky, + Hazy and gray, hazy and blue; + Study the trees wed to the wind-- + I promise you I'll be as true! + Yes, true as August--as the birds' song, + The sweet fern's scent, the weedy, blue shore, + The shine of vines, smilax, and grape-- + What can you ask for more? + + + + + OCTOBER. + + + Falling leaves and falling men! + When the snows of winter fall, + And the winds of winter blow, + Will be woven Nature's pall. + + Let us, then, forsake our dead, + For the dead will surely wait, + While we rush upon the foe, + Eager for the hero's fate. + + Leaves will come upon the trees, + Spring will show the happy race; + Mothers will give birth to sons, + Loyal souls to fill our place. + + Wherefore should we rest and rust? + Soldiers, we must fight and save + Freedom now, and give our foes + All their country should--a grave! + + + + + "THE WILLOW BOUGHS ARE YELLOW NOW." + + + The willow boughs are yellow now, + For spring has come again; + The peach-tree buds begin to swell, + Dripping with April rain. + + The gray-eyed twilight lingers long, + To meet the starry night; + I walk the darkening lanes alone, + And love the sombre light. + + The dream of other days returns, + When comes the blossomed spring; + But when the full leaved summer comes + My dream has taken wing; + + The twittering swallows in the lane + Were there a year ago; + The old nests in the tangled vines + Their next year's brood will know. + + A little brood of children fair, + Under the mother's wing, + Is in the dream of other days, + That flies when flies the spring! + + + + + "IN THE STILL, STAR-LIT NIGHT." + + + In the still, star-lit night, + By the full fountain and the willow-tree, + I walked, and not alone-- + A spirit walked with me! + + A shade fell on the grass; + Upon the water fell a deeper shade: + Something the willow stirred, + For to and fro it swayed. + + The grass was in a quiver, + The water trembled, and the willow-tree + Sighed softly; I sighed loud-- + The spirit taunted me. + + All the night long I walked + By the full fountain, dropping icy tears; + I tore the willow leaves, + I tore the long, green spears! + + I clutched the quaking grass, + And beat the rough bark of the willow-tree; + I shook the wreathed boughs, + To make the spirit flee. + + It haunted me till dawn, + By the full fountain and the willow-tree; + For with myself I walked-- + How could the spirit flee? + + + + + AUTUMN. + + + No melancholy days are these! + Not where the maple changing stands, + Not in the shade of fluttering oaks, + Nor in the bands + + Of twisting vines and sturdy shrubs, + Scarlet and yellow, green and brown, + Falling, or swinging on their stalks, + Is Sorrow's crown. + + The sparkling fields of dewy grass, + Woodpaths and roadsides decked with flowers, + Starred asters and the goldenrod, + Date Autumn's hours. + + The shining banks of snowy clouds, + Steadfast in the aerial blue, + The silent, shimmering, silver sea, + To Joy are true. + + My spirit in this happy air + Can thus embrace the dying year, + And with it wrap me in a shroud + As bright and clear! + + + + + THE AUTUMN SHEAF. + + + Still I remember only autumn days, + When golden leaves were floating in the air, + And reddening oaks stood sombre in the haze, + Till sunset struck them with its redder glare, + + And faded, leaving me by wood and field + In fragrant dew, and fragrant velvet mould, + To wait among the shades of night concealed, + And learn that story which but once is told. + + Though many seasons of the falling leaves + I watched my failing hopes, and watched their fall; + In memory they are gathered now like sheaves, + So withered that a touch would scatter all. + + Dead leaves, and dust more dead, to fall apart, + Leaves spreading once in arches over me, + And dust enclosing once a loving heart, + Still I am happy with youth's mystery. + + It cannot be unbound,--my autumn sheaf; + So let it stand, the ruin of my past; + Returning autumn brings the old belief, + Its mystery all its own, and it will last. + + + + + IN THE CITY. + + + The autumn morning sweetly calls to me, + And autumn days and nights in patience wait; + I answer not, because I am not free, + Although I chose my fate. + + The cold, gray mist that stains the city walls + Stands silver-columned where the river glides, + Or, slow dividing, on the valley falls, + Where one I love abides. + + The wind that trifles round my city door, + Or whirls before me all the city's dust, + By the sea borrows its triumphant roar, + And lends its savage gust; + + Or shrieking rushes where the sombre pines + Hold solemn converse in the ancient vale, + And while 't is dying in their dark confines + Babbles their mystic tale. + + Could I but climb a roof above my own, + And greet grave Autumn as he walks the earth + With secret signal that would make me known, + I should not feel my dearth. + + Then silver mist or loud triumphant wind + Might come in sad disguise and misery; + I would but ponder in my secret mind + How Autumn answers me. + + + + + "I LOVE YOU, BUT A SENSE OF PAIN." + + + I love you, but a sense of pain + Is in my heart and in my brain; + Now, when your voice and eyes are kind, + May I reveal my complex mind? + + Though I am yours, it is my curse + Some ideal passion to rehearse: + I dream of one that's not like you, + Never of one that's half so true. + + To quell these yearnings, vague and wild, + I often kneel by our dear child, + In still, dark nights (you are asleep), + And hold his hands, and try to weep. + + I cannot weep; I cannot pray-- + Why grow so pale, and turn away? + Do you expect to hold me fast + By pretty legends in the past? + + It is a woman's province, then, + To be content with what has been? + To wear the wreath of withered flowers, + That crowned her in the bridal hours? + + Still, I am yours: this idle strife + Stirs but the surface of my life: + And if you would but ask once more, + "How goes the heart?" or at the door + + Imploring stand, and knock again, + I might forget this sense of pain, + And down oblivion's sullen stream + Would float the memory of my dream! + + + + + NAMELESS PAIN. + + + I should be happy with my lot: + A wife and mother--is it not + Enough for me to be content? + What other blessing could be sent? + + A quiet house, and homely ways, + That make each day like other days; + I only see Time's shadow now + Darken the hair on baby's brow! + + No world's work ever comes to me, + No beggar brings his misery; + I have no power, no healing art + With bruised soul or broken heart. + + I read the poets of the age, + 'Tis lotus-eating in a cage; + I study Art, but Art is dead + To one who clamors to be fed + + With milk from Nature's rugged breast, + Who longs for Labor's lusty rest. + O foolish wish! I still should pine + If any other lot were mine. + + + + + A BABY SONG. + + + Come, white angels, to baby and me; + Touch his blue eyes with the image of sleep, + In his surprise he will cease to weep; + Hush, child, the angels are coming to thee! + + Come, white doves, to baby and me; + Softly whirr in the silent air, + Flutter about his golden hair: + Hark, child, the doves are cooing to thee! + + Come, white lilies, to baby and me; + Drowsily nod before his eyes, + So full of wonder, so round and wise: + Hist, child, the lily-bells tinkle for thee! + + Come, white moon, to baby and me; + Gently glide o'er the ocean of sleep, + Silver the waves of its shadowy deep: + Sleep, child, and the whitest of dreams to thee. + + + + + THE WIFE SPEAKS. + + + Husband, to-day could you and I behold + The sun that brought us to our bridal morn + Rising so splendid in the winter sky + (We thought fair spring returned), when we were wed; + Could the shades vanish from these fifteen years, + Which stand like columns guarding the approach + To that great temple of the double soul + That is as one--would you turn back, my dear, + And, for the sake of Love's mysterious dream, + As old as Adam and as sweet as Eve, + Take me, as I took you, and once more go + Towards that goal which none of us have reached? + Contesting battles which but prove a loss, + The victor vanquished by the wounded one; + Teaching each other sacrifice of self, + True immolation to the marriage bond; + Learning the joys of birth, the woe of death, + Leaving in chaos all the hopes of life-- + Heart-broken, yet with courage pressing on + For fame and fortune, artists needing both? + Or, would you rather--I will acquiesce-- + Since we must choose what is, and are grown gray, + Stay in life's desert, watch our setting sun, + Calm as those statues in Egyptian sands, + Hand clasping hand, with patience and with peace, + Wait for a future which contains no past? + + + + + THE HUSBAND SPEAKS. + + + Dearest, though I have sung a many songs, + Yet have I never sung one from my heart, + Save to thee only--and such private songs + Are as the silent, secret kiss of Love! + My heart, I say, so sacred was, and is, + I kept, I keep it, from all eyes but thine, + Because it is no longer mine, but thine, + Given thee forever, when I gave myself + That winter morning--was it years ago? + To me it seems the dream of yesterday! + You have not lost the face I married then, + Albeit a trifle paler--not to-night-- + Nor I the eyes that saw then, and see still, + What every man should see in her he weds! + I wander ... wisely, let me, since my words + Conceal what none but you and I should know,-- + The love I bear you, who have been, and are + Strong in the strength and weakness of your sex-- + Queen of my household, mistress of my heart, + My children's mother, and my always friend; + In one word, Sweet, sweetest of all words--Wife! + + + + + "ONE MORN I LEFT HIM IN HIS BED." + + + One morn I left him in his bed; + A moment after some one said, + "Your child is dying--he is dead." + + We made him ready for his rest, + Flowers in his hair, and on his breast + His little hands together prest. + + We sailed by night across the sea; + So, floating from the world were we, + Apart from sympathy, we Three. + + The wild sea moaned, the black clouds spread + Moving shadows on its bed, + But one of us lay midship dead. + + I saw his coffin sliding down + The yellow sand in yonder town, + Where I put on my sorrow's crown. + + And we returned; in this drear place + Never to see him face to face, + I thrust aside the living race. + + Mothers, who mourn with me to-day, + Oh, understand me, when I say, + I cannot weep, I cannot pray; + + I gaze upon a hidden store, + His books, his toys, the clothes he wore, + And cry, "Once more, to me, _once_ more!" + + Then take, from me, this simple verse, + That you may know what I rehearse-- + A grief--your and my Universe! + + + + + BEFORE THE MIRROR. + + + Now like the Lady of Shalott, + I dwell within an empty room, + And through the day and through the night + I sit before an ancient loom. + + And like the Lady of Shalott + I look into a mirror wide, + Where shadows come, and shadows go, + And ply my shuttle as they glide. + + Not as she wove the yellow wool, + Ulysses' wife, Penelope; + By day a queen among her maids, + But in the night a woman, she, + + Who, creeping from her lonely couch, + Unraveled all the slender wool; + Or, with a torch, she climbed the towers, + To fire the fagots on the roof! + + But weaving with a steady hand + The shadows, whether false or true, + I put aside a doubt which asks + "Among these phantoms what are you?" + + For not with altar, tomb, or urn, + Or long-haired Greek with hollow shield, + Or dark-prowed ship with banks of oars, + Or banquet in the tented field; + + Or Norman knight in armor clad, + Waiting a foe where four roads meet; + Or hawk and hound in bosky dell, + Where dame and page in secret greet; + + Or rose and lily, bud and flower, + My web is broidered. Nothing bright + Is woven here: the shadows grow + Still darker in the mirror's light! + + And as my web grows darker too, + Accursed seems this empty room; + For still I must forever weave + These phantoms by this ancient loom. + + + + + "THE SHADOWS ON THE WATER REACH." + + + The shadows on the water reach + My shadow on the beach; + I see the dark trees on the shore, + The fisher's oar. + + I met her by the sea last night, + A little maid in white; + I shall never meet her more + On the shore. + + Ho! fisher, hoist your idle sail, + And whistle for a gale; + My ship is waiting in the bay, + Row away! + + + + + A SUMMER NIGHT. + + + I feel the breath of the summer night, + Aromatic fire: + The trees, the vines, the flowers are astir + With tender desire. + + The white moths flutter about the lamp, + Enamoured with light; + And a thousand creatures softly sing + A song to the night! + + But I am alone, and how can I sing + Praises to thee? + Come, Night! unveil the beautiful soul + That waiteth for me. + + + + + "FAN ME WITH THESE LILIES FAIR." + + + Fan me with these lilies fair, + Twine their stems around your arm: + Put your feet upon these roses, + Then you'll please me to a charm. + + Charm me with your violet eyes, + Kneel, and with your sweet lips meet + The flaming buds of mine, athirst + In the roses at your feet! + + "Leave the lilies on the lake, + Do not break its pale repose: + Tear your heart with cruel thorns, + Such as grow beneath the rose. + + "So you love me? You are mine? + Break from yon dead tree a bough, + Lay it down among these roses-- + Ah! I do not charm you now!" + + + + + "OH, THE WILD, WILD DAYS OF YOUTH!" + + + Oh, the wild, wild days of youth! + My royal youth; + My blood was then my king: + Maybe a little mad, + But full of truth! + + Oh, my lips were like a rose! + And my heart, too; + It was torn out leaf by leaf: + Ah! there be none that know + How the leaves flew! + + Oh, they dropped in the wine! + The royal wine; + There were showers for the girls, + Crowns for their white brows, + And for mine! + + + + + "ON MY BED OF A WINTER NIGHT." + + + On my bed of a winter night, + Deep in a sleep and deep in a dream, + What care I for the wild wind's scream, + What to me is its crooked flight? + + On the sea of a summer day, + Wrapped in the folds of a snowy sail, + What care I for the fitful gale, + Now in earnest, now in play? + + What care I for the fitful wind, + That groans in a gorge, or sighs in a tree? + Groaning and sighing are nothing to me, + For I am a man of steadfast mind. + + + + + "HALLO! MY FANCY, WHITHER WILT THOU GO?" + + + Swift as the tide in the river + The blood flows through my heart, + At the curious little fancy + That to-morrow we must part. + + It seems to me all over, + The last words have been said; + And I have the curious fancy + To-morrow will find me dead! + + + + + YOU LEFT ME. + + + You left me, and the anguish passed, + And passed the day, and passed the night-- + A blank in which my senses failed; + Then slowly came an inward light. + + So plain it reproduced the hours + We lived as one,--the books we read, + Our quiet walks and pleasant talks-- + Love, by your spirit was I led? + + Oh, love, the vision grows too dear, + I live in visions--I pursue + Them only; come, your rival meet, + My future bring, it will be--_you!_ + + + + + "O FRIEND, BEGIN A LOFTIER SONG." + + + O friend, begin a loftier song. + Confusion falls upon your mind; + A sense of evil makes you blind; + "What use," you say, "is it to be? + I know not GOD, GOD knows not me!" + + O friend, begin a loftier song. + In other minds you place no trust: + You tread your laurels in the dust: + You see no Future, Hope has fled, + Youth had its dreams, but Youth is dead. + + O friend, begin a loftier song. + "The sweet ideal of past years + Speaks in my songs, they are my tears: + I'll weep no more, I'll sing no lays + To bury Youth for idle praise!" + + O friend, begin a loftier song. + Come through the gateway of the Past, + Dear friend. The world will hear at last + The little songs the poets sing: + Do thou with anthems make it ring! + + + + + "NOW THAT THE PAIN IS GONE, I TOO CAN SMILE." + + + Now that the pain is gone, I too can smile + At such a foolish picture; you and me + Together in that moonlit summer night, + Within the shadow of an aspen-tree. + + My hand was on your shoulder: I grew wild: + The blood seethed furiously through my heart! + But you--Oh, you were saintly calm, and cold; + You moved my hand, and said, "'T is best we part!" + + My face fell on the bands of your fair hair, + A moonbeam struck across my hungry eye, + And struck across your balmy crimson mouth: + I longed to kiss you, and I longed to die! + + Die in the shadow of the trembling tree, + Trembling my soul away upon your breast. + You smiled, and drifted both your snowy hands + Against my forehead, and your fingers pressed + + Faintly and slow adown my burning face; + A keen sense of the woman touched you then, + The nice dramatic sense you women have, + Playing upon the feelings of us men! + + Long years have passed since that midsummer night, + But still I feel the creeping of your hand + Along my face. If I return once more, + And in the shadow of that tree should stand + + With you there--Answer! Would you kiss me back? + Would you reject me if I sued again?-- + How strange this is! I think my madness lasts, + Although I'm sure I have forgot the pain! + + + + + THE COLONEL'S SHIELD. + + + Your picture, slung about my neck + The day we went afield, + Swung out before the trench; + It caught the eye of rank and file, + Who knew "The Colonel's Shield." + + I thrust it back, and with my men + (Our General rode ahead) + We stormed the great redoubt, + As if it were an easy thing, + But rows of us fell dead! + + Your picture hanging on my neck, + Up with my men I rushed; + We made an awful charge: + And then my horse, "The Lady Bess," + Dropped, and--my leg was crushed! + + The blood of battle in my veins + (A blue-coat dragged me out),-- + But I remembered you; + I kissed your picture--did you know? + And yelled, "For the redoubt!" + + The Twenty-fourth, my scarred old dogs, + Growled back, "He'll put us through; + We'll take him in our arms: + Our picture there--the girl he loves, + Shall see what we can do." + + The foe was silenced--so were we. + I lay upon the field, + Among the Twenty-fourth; + Your picture, shattered on my breast, + Had proved "The Colonel's Shield." + + + + + A FEW IDLE WORDS. + + + So, I must believe that I loved you once! + These letters say so; + And here is your picture--how you have changed! + It was long ago. + + The gloss is worn from this lock of black hair-- + You can have them all, + And with these treasures a few idle words, + That I will not recall. + + What a child I was when you met me first! + Was I handsome then? + I think you remember the very night, + It was half-past ten, + + When you came upstairs, so tired of the men, + And tired of the wine; + You said you loved lilies (my dress was white), + And hated to dine. + + The dowagers nodded behind their fans; + I played an old song; + You told an old tale, I thought it so new, + And I thought so long. + + True, I had read the "Arabian Nights," + And "Amadis de Gaul;" + But I never had found a modern knight + In our books at the Hall. + + You tore your hand with the thorns of the rose + That looped up my sleeve, + And a drop of red blood fell on my arm-- + You asked, "Do you grieve?" + + That drop of your blood made mine flow fast; + But you sipped your tea + With a nonchalant air, and balanced the spoon, + And balanced poor me, + + In the scale with my stocks, and farms, and mines. + Did it tremble at all? + When my cousin, the heir, turned up one day, + We both had a fall! + + Well, we meet again, and I look at you + With a quiet surprise; + I think your ennui possesses me now, + And am quite as wise. + + To me it was only a dream of love, + A defeat to you: + It was not your first, may be not your last-- + Here, take them--Adieu! + + + + + VERS DE SOCIETE. + + + This chain of white arms round the room-- + The demon waltz--bewilders me: + Or am I drunk with this good wine? + _Vive la compagnie_! + + "My friend, young Highboys, have you met?" + "O yes: how do? good brandy here!" + The wretch's mother, in her youth, + Was famous for her beer! + + Before his patent scraper sold + Old Highboys used to beat them all! + See what Society has done-- + He's holding her cashmere shawl! + + How is it, Madam, that I know + The guests at once? Wipe off the paint-- + Convention daubs us all alike, + Sinner as well as Saint! + + I see you in the crimson chair, + Behind your jewelled Spanish fan, + Slipping your bracelets up and down, + Flashing your eyes on the man + + Who plays the harp; he twangs an air + You understand--you've met before; + How many lessons did you take? + Madam, you need no more. + + Tiger of fifty! So you've bought + This pretty girl in the Honiton lace. + Now she's abroad, she quite forgets + She shudders in your embrace. + + Dowagers, stiff in black brocades, + Worry the waiters--sweep their trays: + How they scowl at the foolish men + Basking in Beauty's blaze! + + Saunters a poet, munching cake: + "Very distinguished." "Did you buy + Your lace at Beck's?" "Why, how he laughs!" + "But his verses make one cry!" + + Idle poet, a word with you: + You sing too much of love's sweet wrong, + Of rosy cheeks, and purple wine: + Give us a loftier song. + + The coachmen stamp upon the steps; + Our hostess looks towards the door; + Our host twists round his limp cravat, + Pronouncing the thing a bore! + + Our skeletons will be stirring soon; + Something already touches me: + Off, till I drain one bottle more! + _Vive la compagnie!_ + + + + + THE RACE. + + + The guests were gathered in the ancient park + Of my Lord Wynne, and he was now their mark + For wit and gossip--quite the usual way, + Where one bestows, and no one need repay. + "A stumbling-block his pride; his heart's in strife + Between two women, which to choose for wife. + He's always hovering round that lovely girl, + His lawyer's daughter, who will never furl + _Her_ flag of pride: she rivals Gilbert there. + Now watch their meeting; none more bravely wear + Their beauty, recognize a woman's own, + Than Clara Mercome. Gilbert Wynne has sown + His wild oats for her sake; yet he delays, + And with my Lady Bond divides his days. + Who bets on beauty, hedges in on age; + Which tries the flight to perch in Lord Wynne's cage? + Will Lady Bond or Clara be the queen? + For Lady Bond is certain of her lien." + He heard this talk while standing by a beech-- + Hugh Wynne--and planned how he might overreach + Gilbert and Clara, break the pride of both, + Part them for good, or make them plight their troth. + "Now for a race," he cried, "to Martin's Mill; + The boats are here; behold, the lake is still. + Here, Gilbert, take your oar; I'll follow soon, + Though sunset's nigh--to-night is harvest-moon. + Let go the rope, the knot's inside; take these, + Arrange a seat, adjust it at your ease. + _She's here_. Miss Mercome, you will help him win + The race, and will not count my wager sin." + And he was gone; the pair were face to face. + "I'll take the oars," he gasped; "we'll win this race." + He never felt his heart so in his breast. + "I hope you will forgive my cousin's jest?" + A haughty murmur was her sole reply. + No rowers followed. Never did swallows fly + So swift, or dip the lake like Gilbert's oars. + He was watchful, careless she. "There soars + A heron, quite a feature of your state: + Are gems and peacocks, tell me, still in date? + How deep the woods upon the water steal, + One to the other making soft appeal!" + "Not being human, wood and water meet + In their own speech, and soulless things are sweet + Together. So they are to me. I like + To watch the herons by the sedgy dike; + They keep me tranquil; and I love to feed + The pike in yon old pool; they help to lead-- + Why, here is Martin's Bridge, and yet no boats! + Shall we return?" Said Clara then, "There floats + A lily bed beyond; let's shoot beneath + The bridge, and lilies pull; I want a wreath." + He knew the channel narrow; it was dark; + But his heart leaped at this relenting mark. + He drew his oars up, pointed in the helm, + And shot in the cool gloom. He thought no realm + On which the sun had shone was half so bright. + And somehow Clara thought it nice as light. + The waters swirled so swift that in the noise + Clara grew dizzy; Gilbert lost his poise, + And lost an oar; with a confusing shock + The boat was grinding--stopped against a rock. + "Gilbert, my dear, are we not going down?" + "Dearest, my love, we were not born to drown. + Oh, kiss me; we are safe; and grant me now + Yourself. I'll gather lilies for your brow; + And Hugh will know that I have won the race, + And Clara, my dear wife, her rightful place." + + + + + THE WOLF-TAMER. + + + Through the gorge of snow we go, + Tracking, tramping soft and slow, + With our paws and sheathed claws, + So we swing along the snow, + Crowding, crouching to your pipes-- + Shining serpents! Well you know, + When your lips shall cease to blow + Airs that lure us through the snow, + We shall fall upon your race + Who do wear a different face. + Who were spared in yonder vale? + Not a man to tell the tale! + Blow, blow, serpent pipes, + Slow we follow:--all our troop-- + Every wolf of wooded France, + Down from all the Pyrenees-- + Shall they follow, follow you, + In your dreadful music-trance? + Mark it by our tramping paws, + Hidden fangs, and sheathed claws? + You have seen the robber bands + Tear men's tongues and cut their hands, + For ransom--we ask none--begone, + For the tramping of our paws, + Marking all your music's laws, + Numbs the lust of ear and eye; + Or--let us go beneath the snow, + And silent die--as wolves should die! + + + + + THE ABBOT OF UNREASON. + + + I looked over the balustrade-- + The twilight had come-- + And saw the pretty waiting-maid + Kiss Roland, the page. + + My lady heard the wolf-dog's chain + Clank on the floor; + Sly Roland caught it up again, + And whistled a song. + + Oh! they think that my heart is cold, + Under my gown; + Not till I blacken into mould + Will it cease to burn. + + Burn, burn for such sweet red lips! + I am almost mad, + Even to touch her finger tips, + When we meet alone. + + Roland, the page, goes here and there, + Loving, and loved, + Women like his devil-may-care, + Till they are forgot! + + Whether I am in castle or inn, + With sinner or saint, + Never can I a woman win,-- + I am but a priest! + + + + + EL MANOLO. + + + In the still, dark shade of the palace wall, + Where the peacocks strut, + Where the queen may have heard my madrigal, + Together we sat. + + My sombrero hid the fire in my eyes, + And shaded her own: + This serge cloak stifled her sweet little cries, + When I kissed her mouth! + + The pale olive trees on the distant plain, + The jagged blue rocks, + The vaporous sea-like mountain chain, + Dropped into the night. + + We saw the lights in the palace flare; + The musicians played: + The red guards slashed and sabred the stair, + And cursed the old king. + + In the long black shade of the palace wall, + We sat the night through; + Under my cloak--but I cannot tell all-- + The queen may have seen! + + + + + MERCEDES. + + + Under a sultry, yellow sky, + On the yellow sand I lie; + The crinkled vapors smite my brain, + I smoulder in a fiery pain. + + Above the crags the condor flies; + He knows where the red gold lies, + He knows where the diamonds shine;-- + If I knew, would she be mine? + + Mercedes in her hammock swings; + In her court a palm-tree flings + Its slender shadow on the ground, + The fountain falls with silver sound. + + Her lips are like this cactus cup; + With my hand I crush it up; + I tear its flaming leaves apart;-- + Would that I could tear her heart! + + Last night a man was at her gate; + In the hedge I lay in wait; + I saw Mercedes meet him there, + By the fireflies in her hair. + + I waited till the break of day, + Then I rose and stole away; + But left my dagger in the gate;-- + Now she knows her lover's fate! + + + + + THE BULL-FIGHT. + + + Eleven o'clock: + Here are our cups of chocolate. + Montez will fight the bulls to-day-- + All Madrid knows that: + Queen Christina is going in state: + Dolores will go with her little fan! + + Lace up my shoe; + Put on my Basquina; + Can you see my black eyes? + I am Manuel's duchess. + + In front of the box of the Queen and the Duke + Dolores sits, flirting her fan; + The church of St. Agnes stands on the right, + And its shadow falls on the picadors; + On their lean steeds they prance in the ring, + Hidalgo-fashion, their hands on their hips. + + "_Ha! Toro! Toro!_" + Hoh! the horses are gored; + Now for the men. + "_Ha! Toro! Toro!_" + Every man over the barrier! + + Not so; for there the bull-fighter stands; + Some little applause from the royal box, + And "_Montez! Montez!_" from a thousand throats! + + The bull bows fine, though snorting with rage, + His fore-leg makes little holes in the ground; + But Montez stands still; his ribbons don't flutter! + Saints, what a leap! + His rosette is on the bull's black horn; + Montez is pale; but his great eye shines + When Dolores cries--"_Kisses for Montez!_" + Fie! Manuel's duchess! + + A minute longer the fight is done, + The mule-bells tinkle, the bull rides off; + Montez twirls a new diamond ring, + And Dolores goes home for chocolate. + + + + + ON THE CAMPAGNA. + + + Stop on the Appian Way, + In the Roman Campagna; + Stop at my tomb, + The tomb of Cecilia Metella. + To-day as you see it, + Alaric saw it, ages ago, + When he, with his pale-visaged Goths, + Sat at the gates of Rome, + Reading his Runic shield. + Odin, thy curse remains! + + Beneath these battlements + My bones were stirred with Roman pride, + Though centuries before my Romans died + Now my bones are dust; the Goths are dust. + The river-bed is dry where sleeps the king, + My tomb remains! + + When Rome commanded the earth + Great were the Metelli: + I was Metella's wife; + I loved him--and I died. + Then with slow patience built he this memorial: + Each century marks his love. + + Pass by on the Appian Way + The tomb of Cecilia Metella; + Wild shepherds alone seek its shelter, + Wild buffaloes tramp at its base. + Deep is its desolation, + Deep as the shadow of Rome! + + + + + THE QUEEN DEPOSED. + + + I was the queen of Karl, a northern king: + Amazon Olga, and I rode his Ban, + A stallion in the royal ring + Who would not bear a man. + + And in Ban's saddle did I feel the pains + For my first-born, the king's sole hope, his heir; + My Karl himself would loose the reins, + Would take me up the stair. + + Low was the murmur of the royal troops + Below, I saw the tapers' twinkling light; + I heard a cry--"My queen, she droops!" + Then fell eternal night. + + No more was Olga queen for any king; + The pathway round a throne she could not tread, + Nor triumph in the royal ring-- + The boy she bore was dead! + + The cloister hers; she chose the cloak and hood, + And beads of olive-wood, a pouch for alms; + So begged she, Christ, for thy dear rood, + _Laus Deo_ sang thy psalms! + + Why am I here? This country is my king's; + The lovely river, wooded hills above; + Old St. Sebastian's church-bell rings-- + There flies the silver dove + + That flitted by the day we came to praise + Our gracious Mary for a granted prayer; + Heralds, trumps, the same gay maze + Of troops--King Karl is there! + + _Laus Deo_ with a child, and with his mate-- + She wins the throne by bringing him a son: + Babes make or mar our queenly fate-- + My woman's life is done. + + + + + A UNIT. + + + When I was camping on the Volga's banks, + The trader Zanthon with a leash of mares + Went by my tent. I knew the wily Jew, + And he knew me. He muttered as he passed, + "The last Bathony, and his tusks are grown. + A broken 'scutcheon is a 'scutcheon still, + And Amine's token in my caftan lies,-- + Amine, who weeps and wails for his return." + He caught my eye, and slipped inside the tent. + "Haw, Zanthon, up from Poland, at your tricks! + How veer the boars on old Bathony's towers? + True to the winds that blow on Poland's plains?" + "They bite the dust, my lord, as beast to beast. + When Poles conspire, conspiracy alone + Survives to hover in the murky air. + My lord, Bathony's gates are left ajar + For you to enter, or--remain outside; + The forest holds the secret you surprised, + And men are there, to dare as they have dared." + "Haw, Zanthon, tell me of the palatine. + The air of Russia makes a man forget + He was a man elsewhere: the trumpets' squeal + I follow, and the thud of drums. You spoke + As if I were of princely birth: hark ye, + _Battalion_ is the call I listen to." + "My lord, the cranes that plunder in your fens, + The doves that nest within your woods I saw + Fly round the gaping walls, and plume their wings + Upon your father's grave. Do you know this?" + "A token, Zanthon? so--a withered flower! + You think I wore one in my sword-hilt once? + Methinks there is no perfume in this flower. + Watch, while I fling it on the Volga's tide. + The chief, my father, sent me with a curse + To travel in the steppes, and so I do. + The air of Russia makes a man forget + He was a man elsewhere, for love or hope, + And as he marches, he becomes but this. + Haw, Zanthon, would you learn the reason why? + Search on the Caucasus, the northern seas, + Look in the sky or over earth, then ask, + The answer everywhere will be, _The Tzar_." + + + + + ZANTHON--MY FRIEND. + + + I, knight-at-arms, in my own forest lost! + Count of the empire, heir to crags and caves, + And brother to the eagle and the fox! + The music of the thunder, and the wind + Among the arches of the oaks, may choir + A requiem for my passing soul. But hist! + A footstep in the leaves--some poaching hind + Or gypsy trapping game--Hola! hola! + Perhaps the kobolds are abroad to-night. + Zanthon knows well these mountain-folk entice. + The woods divide, dawn breaks, I see the verge; + Bathony's stronghold on the Polish plains + Should top the wilderness: were Zanthon here, + To boast his prowess in our hunting bouts, + I would not cuff nor flout him, could we sight + In the old way, with fanfaron, the boars + On the old battlements, our ancient badge. + That lie to Zanthon on the Volga's banks, + When Amine sent the wild rose by his hand, + Was Satan's wile. I played the Cossack well. + With shame my mustache bristled when I said, + "Troopers must forage where the grain is grown: + I share my kopecks with the village priest, + Who winnows peccadillos by the sheaf." + Then Zanthon, laughing in his foxy beard: + "When Amine meets me in the plane-tree walk + (Where pairing little finches seek to build, + We saw the cuckoo thieve their nests when boys), + Shall I then tell her, in my peasant way, + Your broken promise, and her troth denied?" + And he was gone--gone, with the stud he bought + From Schamyl's son, up by Caucasus way, + Leaving me solitude to reason with. + Around me, then, an odor swept--the rose! + It plagued my nostrils day and night, in gusts + It blew, but one way only--towards Amine. + At cards it smote me, in the saddle puffed, + Through my tent walls at night its withered blast + Pierced, and changed me in my wavering dreams. + What spell was this, by love or friendship sent? + Across the steppes I followed Zanthon, close,-- + He might have heard the whinny of my mare; + Verst after verst, the measure of her hoofs + Beat out a rhythm, like a cackling laugh. + But on the frontier my poor Sesma fell: + I heard the ravens croaking from the hills. + The sun has burned away the valley's mist. + And in the silent, tranquil morning air + A mirage rises of my ruined walls: + Gold-colored, crystal-edged, the banners flash. + The rooks are stringing for the old beech copse. + This gully crossed, the bridge that spans the stream-- + But halte-la, my heart crowds up my breast, + For this is Poland, Mother of my Soul! + Quoth Zanthon, watching in the plane-tree walk, + "My fine Bathony comes to join the feast, + And raise the conopeum for my bride. + I pay the kopecks to the priest to-day, + But Amine in his sheaf will not be bound." + + + + + ACHILLES IN ORCUS. + + + From thy translucent waves, great Thetis, rise! + Mother divine, hear, and take back the gift + Thou gavest me of valor and renown, + And then seek Zeus, but not with loosened zone + For dalliance; entreat him to restore + Me, Achilles, to the earth, to the black earth, + The nourisher of men, not these pale shades, + Whose shapes have learned the presage of thy doom; + They flit between me and the wind-swept plain + Of Troy, the banners over Ilion's walls, + The zenith of my prowess, and my fate. + Give me again the breath of life, not death. + Would I could tarry in the timbered tent, + As when I wept Patroclus, when, by night, + Old Priam crept, kissing my knees with tears + For Hector's corse, the hero I laid low. + My panoply was like the gleam of fire + When in the dust I dragged him at my wheels, + My heart was iron,--he despoiled my friend. + Cast on these borders of eternal gloom, + Now comes Odysseus with his wandering crew; + He pours libations in the deep-dug trench, + While airy forms in multitudes press near, + And listen to the echoes of my praise. + His consolation vain, he hails me, "Prince!" + Vain is his speech: "No man before thy time, + Achilles, lived more honored; here thou art + Supreme, the ruler in these dread abodes." + Speak not so easily to me of death, + Great Odysseus! Rather would I be + The meanest hind, and bring the bleating lambs + From down the grassy hills, or with a goad + To prod the hungry swine in beechen woods, + Than over the departed to bear sway. + Then from the clouds to note the warning cry + Of the harsh crane; to see the Pleiads rise, + The vine and fig-tree shoot, the olive bud; + To hear the chirping swallows in the dawn, + The thieving cuckoo laughing in the leaves! + So, may Achilles pass his palace gate, + And later heroes strike Achilles' lyre! + + + + + ABOVE THE TREE. + + + Why should I tarry here, to be but one + To eke out doubt, and suffer with the rest? + Why should I labor to become a name, + And vaunt, as did Ulysses to his mates, + "I am a part of all that I have met." + A wily seeker to suffice myself! + As when the oak's young leaves push off the old, + So from this tree of life man drops away, + And all the boughs are peopled quick by spring + Above the furrows of forgotten graves. + The one we thought had made the nation's creed, + Whose death would rive us like a thunderbolt, + Dropped down--a sudden rustling in the leaves, + A knowledge of the gap, and that was all! + The robin flitting on his frozen mound + Is more than he. Whoever dies, gives up + Unfinished work, which others, tempted, claim + And carry on. I would go free, and change + Into a star above the multitude, + To shine afar, and penetrate where those + Who in the darkling boughs are prisoned close, + But when they catch my rays, will borrow light, + Believing it their own, and it will serve. + + + + + TO AN ARTIST. + + + To me, long absent from the world of art, + You bring the clouded mountains, my desire, + The tranquil river, and the stormy sea, + The far, pale morning, and the crimson eve, + And silent days, that brood among lush leaves, + When, in the afternoon, the summer sun + Is gliding down the hazy yellow west, + And my soul's atmosphere rests in the scene, + Until I dream the boundaries of my life + May hold an unknown, coming happiness. + How shall I, then, to show my gratitude, + But offer you a picture drawn in words-- + With all the art I have,--in black and white! + + + + + A LANDSCAPE. + + + Between me and the woods along the bay + The swallows circle through the darkling mist, + The robins breast the grass, and they divide + This solitude with me. The rippling sea + And sunset clouds, the sea gulls' flashing flight + From looming isles beyond--I watch them now + With a new sense. Where are the swallows' young, + And where the robins' nests? Year after year + They hover round this ancient house, and I, + Within as heedless, saw the long years pass, + Nor ever dreamed a day like this might come-- + A day when mourners go about the street + For one who always loved his fellow-men. + The windflower trembles in the woods, the sod + Is full of violets, the orchards rain + Their scented blossoms. May unfolds its leaves-- + Nature's eternal mystery to renew. + Must man be less than leaf or flower, and end? + If I go hence, when this departed soul + Has left no human tie to bind me now, + When spring unfolds, and I recall his past, + Will their remembrance lead me here again, + To teach me that his spirit comes to show + That Nature is eternal for man's sake? + + + + + FROM THE HEADLAND. + + + I hear the waters of some inlet now + Come lapping to the fringe of yonder wood, + The storm-bent firs, and oaks along the cliff. + The yellow leaves are glistening in the grass, + The grassy slope I climb this autumn day. + Ensnaring me, the brambles clutch my feet, + As if constraining me to be a guest + To the wild, silent populace they shield. + It cannot say, nor I, why we are here. + What is my recompense upon this soil, + For other paths are mine if I go hence, + Still must I make the mystery my quest? + For here or there, I think, one sways my will. + There is no show of beauty to delight + The vision here, or strike the electric chord + Which makes the present and the past as one. + No thickets where the thrushes sing in maze + Of green, no silver-threaded waterfalls + In vales, where summer sleeps in darkling woods + With sunlit glades, and pools where lilies blow. + Here, but the wiry grass and sorrel beds, + The gaping edges of the sand ravines, + Whose shifting sides are tufted with dull herbs, + Drooping above a brook, that sluggish creeps + Down to the whispering rushes in the marsh. + And this is all, until I reach the cliff, + And on the headland's verge I stand, enthralled + Before the gulf of the unquenchable sea-- + The sea, inexorable in its might, + Circling the pebbly beach with limpid tides, + Storming in bays whose margins fade in mist; + Now blue and silent as a noonday sky, + At twilight now the pearly rollers shake + The sunset's trail of violet and gold; + Or black, when rushing on the rocky isles + Anchored in waves that bellow to the winds. + I watch till comes the night; the moonlight falls, + The silvery deep on some far journey goes, + To solve for me, I think, this mystery. + + + + + AS ONE. + + + When I, enclosed within the city's walls, + Behold the multitudes that come and go, + Hands clenched on gain, and nature all denied, + Then I recall, recall the drift of time. + + But when she proffered all her wealth to me, + The first faint blossom of the spring I share, + The latest autumn leaf, the last green blade, + Then I forget, forget the drift of time. + + The months go by, and take me in their train, + The vesture wrapping them enfolds me too, + And all the journey through we seem as one, + And I forget, forget the drift of time. + + I hear the bluebird's call in windy dawns, + The robin's cheery note from dewy fields, + The swallow's cry along the pool at eve, + And I forget, forget the drift of time. + + When hedges give the prophecy of birds, + And sunbeams play on the expectant boughs, + The leaves uncurl and fill their veins with life, + And I forget, forget the drift of time. + + I watch a tumult in the summer skies, + A blur of sunshine, and the rush of rain, + The tempest dying in the twilight's hush, + And I forget, forget the drift of time. + + When winter woods are armored by the frost, + And all the highways filled with soundless snows, + Then comes the sun to show his golden palm, + And I forget, forget the drift of time. + + The mountains look upon me and the sea-- + I hover on their crests in silver mists, + And with the waters pass beyond their verge, + And I forget, forget the drift of time. + + + + + THE VISITINGS OF TRUTH KNOWN ELSEWHERE. + + + Spending abroad these varied autumn days, + Their melancholy legend I deny. + They keep a vanished treasure I will seek, + And follow on a track of mystic hopes. + While watching in thy atmosphere, I see + The form of beauty changes, not its soul. + When with the Spring, the flying feet of youth + Spurning the present as it passed, and me, + I thought the world a mere environment + To hold my wishes and my happiness. + I have forgot that foolish, vain belief, + Now in my sere and yellow leaf, serene, + I offer Autumn all my homage now. + The eddies, whirling, rustling in my path, + Lure me like sprites, and from the leaves a voice: + "Say not our lesson is decay; we fall, + And lo, the naked trees in beauty lift + Their delicate tracery against the sky. + On the pale verdure of the grass we spread + A shining web of scarlet, bronze, and gold; + When the rain comes, the oaks uphold us still. + The holly shines, and waits the Christmas chimes, + Beneath the branches of the evergreens." + November's clouds without a shadow lift + The purple mountains of its airy sphere, + And all my purpose waits upon them now. + Day fades--a rose above the darkling sea, + And from the amber sky clear twilight falls; + The orange woods grow black, and I go forth, + And as I go, the noiseless airs pass by, + And touch me like the petals of a flower; + The cricket chirps me in the warm, dry sod, + Drowsy, and I would pipe a cheery strain; + But from the pines I hear the call of night, + And round the quiet earth the stars wheel up, + With me eternal, and I stay beneath, + Until I fade into the fading plain. + + + + + WE MUST WAIT. + + + The testimony of my loss and gain + Will I give utterance to, though none may hear. + When long ago, bereft of all I loved, + I sought in Nature recompense, implored + For pity, solace, or forgetfulness, + "The dear, familiar seasons as they pass, + The seal of memory on every place," + I said, "will give the sympathy I seek, + The restoration which they owe to me." + By day and night I prayed as futile prayers + As the wind's shriek in lonesome winter nights; + By the sea they fell as empty as the shells + Upon its sands, uncertain as its mists. + With them I tracked the shadows of the woods, + And sowed them in the fields among the seed; + Whoso reaped harvest, I could gather none. + I wandered in the thickets, giving tongue + Like a lost hound, dazed by their solitude, + The while birds called their mates, the lilies blazed, + And roses opened to the wandering airs. + They vanished with the leaves that voyaged the brook, + Which babbled of no story but its own. + How blind I was to Nature's liberty! + Grief stalked beside me, I was sore beset, + And could not hear the turning of Time's wheel. + Still were the skies serene, the earth most fair, + When with the doleful chant of dust to dust + Mingled the laughter of this sunlit sea; + And through my tears I saw the ripples dance, + And June's sweet breezes kiss the swaying elms. + As he who turns the key within his door + And gazes at his walls before he goes, + Then forward sets his steps--so I set mine + To join a band whose purpose was to find + A world of action; but my heart was cold, + My mind supine. Yet I remained with them, + And answered to the roll called Honor, Fame! + Where were my memories and my ardent prayers? + The years stood far behind, their columns graved + Deep with the adage which youth names _No More_. + Like one who enters some old storied hall, + And down its vista suddenly beholds + A banner waving out its old device + Of victory--so suddenly I felt + My later life a void. I was recalled! + My prayers were answered, and behold me here; + Within the pale of all my loss and gain, + The dear, familiar seasons as they pass, + The seal of memory on every place, + Bestow the restoration which I sought. + At peace, I know, as those who suffer know, + There is no secret we can wrest at will + From Nature. Time must bring and share with her + The gift of resignation, cure for grief, + And cast upon our ways this ray of hope-- + That I, the lost, and Nature may be one. + + + + + UNRETURNING. + + + Now all the flowers that ornament the grass, + Wherever meadows are and placid brooks, + Must fall--the "glory of the grass" must fall. + Year after year I see them sprout and spread-- + The golden, glossy, tossing buttercups, + The tall, straight daisies and red clover globes, + The swinging bellwort and the blue-eyed bent, + With nameless plants as perfect in their hues-- + Perfect in root and branch, their plan of life, + As if the intention of a soul were there: + I see them flourish as I see them fall! + But he, who once was growing with the grass, + And blooming with the flowers, my little son, + Fell, withered--dead, nor has revived again! + Perfect and lovely, needful to my sight, + Why comes he not to ornament my days? + The barren fields forget their barrenness, + The soulless earth mates with these soulless things, + Why should I not obtain _my_ recompense? + The budding spring should bring, or summer's prime, + At least a vision of the vanished child, + And let his heart commune with mine again, + Though in a dream--his life was but a dream; + Then might I wait with patient cheerfulness, + That cheerfulness which keeps one's tears unshed, + And blinds the eyes with pain--the passage slow + Of other seasons, and be still and cold + As the earth is when shrouded in the snow, + Or passive, like it, when the boughs are stripped + In autumn, and the leaves roll everywhere. + And he should go again; for winter's snows, + And autumn's melancholy voice, in winds, + In waters, and in woods, belong to me, + To me--a faded soul; for, as I said, + The sense of all his beauty, sweetness, comes + When blossoms are the sweetest; when the sea, + Sparkling and blue, cries to the sun in joy, + Or, silent, pale, and misty waits the night, + Till the moon, pushing through the veiling cloud, + Hangs naked in its heaving solitude: + When feathery pines wave up and down the shore, + And the vast deep above holds gentle stars, + And the vast world beneath hides him from me! + + + + + CLOSED. + + + The crimson dawn breaks through the clouded east, + And waking breezes round the casement pipe; + They blow the globes of dew from opening buds, + And steal the odors of the sleeping flowers. + The swallow calls its young ones from the eaves, + To dart above their shadows on the lake, + Till its long rollers redden in the sun, + And bend the lances of the mirrored pines. + Who knows the miracle that brings the morn? + Still in my house I linger, though the night-- + The night that hides me from myself is gone. + Light robes the world, but strips me bare again. + I will not follow on the paths of day. + I know the dregs within its crystal hours; + The bearers of my cups have served me well; + I drained them, and the bearers come no more. + Rise, morning, rise, for those believing souls + Who seek completion in day's garish light. + My casement I will close, keep shut my door, + Till day and night are only dreams to me. + + + + + MEMORY IS IMMORTAL. + + + Time passed, as passes time with common souls, + Whose thoughts and wishes end with every day; + For whom no future is, whose present hours + Reveal no looming shade of that which was. + + But Memory is immortal, for she comes + To me, from heaven or hell, to me, once more! + As birds that migrate choose the ocean wind + That beats them helpless, while it steers them home, + So I was this way driven--I chose this way-- + Of old my dwelling-place, where all my race + Are buried. At first I was enchanted here; + Impossible appeared the pall, the shroud; + And in my spell I trod the grassy streets, + Where in the summer days mild oxen drew + The bristling hay, and in the winter snows + The creaking masts and knees for mighty ships, + Whose hulls were parted on the coral reefs, + Or foundered in the depth of Arctic nights. + I wandered through the gardens rank and waste, + Wonderful once, when I was like the flowers; + Along the weedy paths grew roses still, + Surviving empire, but remaining queens. + + My mood established by the slumbrous town-- + (Slumber with slumber, dream with dream should be) + I sought a mansion on the lonely shore, + From which, his feet made level with his head, + Its occupant was gone. I lived alone. + Whoso, beneath this roof, had played his part + In life's deep tragedy, not here again + Could be rehearsed its scenes of love or hate. + Upon the ancient walls my pictures hung, + Of men and women, strong and beautiful, + Whose shoulders pushed along the world's great wheel; + Landscapes, where cloud and mountain rose as one, + Where rivers crept in secret vales, or rolled + Past city walls, whose towers and palaces + By slaves were builded, and by princes fallen! + And books whose pages ever told one tale, + The tale of human love, in joy or pain, + The seed of our last hope--Eternity. + Days glided by, this mirage cheating all; + Morn came, eve went, and we were tranquil still. + If form, and sound, and color fail to show, + By poet's, painter's, sculptor's noble touch, + The subtle truth of Nature, can I tell + How Nature poised my mind in light and shade? + + But Memory is immortal, and to me + She advanced, silent, slow, a muffled shape. + One moonlight night I walked through long white lanes; + The sky and sea were like a frosted web; + The air was heavy with familiar scents, + Which travelled down the wind, I knew from where-- + The fragrance of a grove of Northern pines. + My feet were hastening thither--and my heart! + At last I stood before a funeral mound, + From which I fled when vanished love and life-- + Long years ago--fled from my father's house; + Banished myself, to banish him I loved-- + His broken history and his early grave. + And in the moonlight Memory floated on, + Immortal, with my now immortal Love! + + + + + THE TRYST. + + + Impelled by memory in a wayward mood, + Reluctant, yearning, with a faithless mind, + I sought once more a long neglected spot, + A wooded upland bordered by the sea, + Whose tides were swirling up the reedy sands, + Or floating noiseless in the yellow marsh. + My way was wild. The winds, awaking, smote + My face, but as I passed a ruined wall + Brambles and vines and waving blossoms dashed + A frolic-welcome, like a summer rain. + Shouldering the hills against the murky east + Stood stalwart oaks, and in the mossy sod + Below the trembling birches whispered me, + "Not here!" I reached the silence-loving pines, + And lingered. The mists swept from the wooded hills, + And, rolling seaward, hid the anchored ships. + So, happy, dreaming an old dream again, + Of keeping tryst in secret on the knoll, + I wandered on, listening in dreamy maze + To sounds I thought familiar,--the approach + Of well-known footsteps in the leafy path,-- + A murmuring voice calling me by name! + Through the pine shafts the sunless light of dawn + Stole. Day was come. My dream would be fulfilled! + Above the hills the sky began to blaze, + And ushering morn the west flushed rosy-red; + Then, the Sun leaping from his bed of gold, + Scattered cloud-banners, crimson, gray, and white. + There was my shadow in the leafy path + Alone,--none was to keep the tryst with me! + No voice, no step among the hills I heard. + The joyous swallows from their nestlings flew, + Mad in the light with song. Far out at sea + The white sails fluttered in the eager breeze, + But Day was silent holding tryst with me,-- + My pilgrimage rewarded--faith restored. + + + + + NO ANSWER. + + + You tell me not, green multitude of leaves, + Mingling and whirling with the willful breeze, + Nor you, bright grasses, trembling blade to blade, + What meaneth June, to hap us every year? + + The spirit of the flowers is watching now, + As winking in the sun they suck the dew, + The thickets parley with the splendid fields-- + What meaneth June, to hap us every year? + + Up where the brook laps round the shining flags, + And tinkling foam bells pass the weedy shore, + And where the willow swings above the trout-- + What meaneth June, to hap us every year? + + The clouds hold knowledge in their snowy peaks, + They hide it in their moving fleecy folds, + They share it with the sunset's golden isles-- + What meaneth June, to hap us every year? + + Fullness and sweetness, and the power of life, + Must I in ignorance remain alone, + And yield the quest of speech for certain proof? + What meaneth June, to hap us every year? + + Sweetness and beauty, and the power of life, + Is it creation's anthem--parts for all? + Is this the knowledge--will you answer me + What meaneth June, to hap us every year? + + + + + ON THE HILLTOP. + + "By the margent of the sea + I would build myself a home." + + + Not by the margent of the sea, + But on the hilltop I would be, + My little house a mossy den, + Between me and the world of men. + Beside me dips a wide ravine, + Covered with a flowery screen; + Far round me rise a band of hills, + Whose voices reach me by their rills, + Or deep susurrus of the wood, + That stands in stately brotherhood, + Upholding one vast web of green, + Whereunder foot has never been-- + The pine and elm, the birch and oak-- + And thus their voices me invoke: + "If you would on the hilltop be, + We cannot share your misery; + Cease, cease this moaning for the Past: + The law of grief can never last." + When springtime brings anemones, + Upon the sod I take my ease, + Or search for Arethusa's pink, + Along the torrent's ragged brink; + Or in the tinted April hours + I watch the curtain of the showers + That fall beneath a lurking cloud, + Which for a moment throws a shroud + On the sun's arrows in the west, + Till it blaze up a golden crest. + The young moon bends her crescent horn + Against the lingering summer morn; + Then, riding down the starry sky, + She follows me till night goes by. + And when the dawn breaks on yon town, + I think the sleepers lying down + Must rise to shoulder dismal care + Methinks that once was but my fare. + But I upon the hilltop yet + Am free from every tangling fret; + So ever thus, in peace of mind, + I give my pity to my kind. + For me this noble solitude! + And as I face its varying mood, + Reflected in its every show, + Some higher self I come to know. + See, autumn here, with color glad, + Not like the poets--russet clad-- + But scarlet, umber, green, and gold; + Then in a breath I must behold + The autumn winds tear down my screen, + And leave me not a leaf to glean. + The snow will cover glen and height, + And all my hilltop glisten white; + I see the crystal atoms fly + Under the dome of this gray sky. + Like gnomes are they, these spectral gleams? + Or shall I guess them only dreams? + Whatever is the truth, I say, + If up and down the world I stray, + Still on the hilltop I would be, + Not by the margent of the sea! + + + + + THE MESSAGE. + + + To you, my comrades, whether far or near, + I send this message. Let our past revive; + Come, sound reveille to our hearts once more. + Expecting, I shall wait till at my door + I see you enter, each and every one + Tumultuous, eager all, with clamorous speech, + To hide my stammering welcome and my tears. + I am no host carousing long and late, + Enticing guests with epicurean hints; + Nor am I Timon, sick of this sad world, + Who, jesting, cries, "The sky is overhead, + And underneath that famous rest, the earth: + Show me the man who can have more at last." + + Without, the thunder of the city rolls; + Within, the quiet of the student reigns. + There is a change. Time was a childish voice. + Sweet as the lark's when from her nest she soars, + Thrilled over all, and vanished into heaven. + Music once triumphed here: the skilful hand + Of him who rarely struck the keys, and woke + My soul in harmony grand as his own, + Is folded on his breast, my soldier love. + Here hangs his portrait, under it his sword; + He served his country, and his grave's afar. + Dread not this place as one to relics given, + Though I have decked with amaranth my wall, + The testimony of a later loss-- + His who long wandering in foreign lands, + Then dying, crossed the sea to die with me. + Behold the sunrise and the morning clouds + On yonder canvas, misty mountain-peaks-- + The simple grandeur of a perfect art! + Behold these vivid woods, that gleam beside + The happy vision of an autumn eve, + When red leaves fall, and redder sunsets fade! + The world grows pensive sinking into night, + Whose melancholy space hides sighing winds: + Can they reply to sadder human speech? + What centuries are counted here--my books! + Shadows of mighty men; the chorus, hark! + The antique chant vibrates, and Fate compels! + + Comrades, return; the midnight lamp shall gleam + As in old nights; the chaplets woven then-- + Withered, perhaps, by time--may grace us yet; + The laurel faded is the laurel still, + And some of us are heroes to ourselves. + And amber wine shall flow; the blue smoke wreathe + In droll disputes, with metaphysics mixed; + Or float as lightly as the quick-spun verse, + Threading the circle round from thought to thought, + Sparkling and fresh as is the airy web + Spread on the hedge at morn in silver dew. + The scent of roses you remember well; + In the green vases they shall bloom again. + And me--do you remember? I remain + Unchanged, I think; though one I saw like me + Some years ago, with hair that was not white; + And she was with you then, as brave a soul + As souls can be whom Fate has not approached. + But seek and find me now, unchanged or changed, + Mirthful in tears, and in my laughter sad. + + + + + EXILE. + + + Blind in these stony streets, dumb in their crowds, + What can I do but dream of other days? + Whose is the love I had, and have not now? + If it be Nature's, let her answer me. + It wanders by the blue, monotonous sea, + Where rushes grow, or follows all the sweep + Of shallow summer brooks and umber pools. + Or does it linger in those hidden paths + Where starlike blossoms blow among dead leaves, + And dark groves murmur over darker shrubs, + Birds with their fledgelings sleep, and pale moths flit? + With sunset's crimson flags perhaps it goes, + And reappears with yellow Jupiter, + Riding the West beside the crescent moon. + Comes it with sunrise, when the sunrise floats + From Night's bold towers, vast in the East, and gray + Till tower and wall flash into fiery clouds, + Moving along the verge, stately and slow, + Ordered by the old music of the spheres? + Perchance it trembles in October's oaks; + Or, twining with the brilliant, berried vine, + Would hide the tender, melancholy elm. + Well might it rest within those solemn woods + Where sunlight never falls--whose tops are green + With airs from heaven,--its balmy mists and rains,-- + While underneath black, mossy, mammoth rocks + Keep silence with the waste of blighted boughs. + If winter riots with the wreathing snow, + And ocean, tossing all his threatening plumes, + And winds, that tear the hollow, murky sky, + Can this, my love, which dwells no more with me, + Find dwelling there,--like some storm-driven bird, + That knows not whence it flew, nor where to fly, + Between the world of sea and world of cloud, + At last drops dead in the remorseless deep? + + + + + A SEASIDE IDYL. + + + I wandered to the shore, nor knew I then + What my desire,--whether for wild lament, + Or sweet regret, to fill the idle pause + Of twilight, melancholy in my house, + And watch the flowing tide, the passing sails, + Or to implore the air, and sea, and sky, + For that eternal passion in their power + Which souls like mine who ponder on their fate + May feel, and be as they--gods to themselves. + Thither I went, whatever was my mood. + The sands, the rocks, and beds of bending sedge, + I saw alone. Between the east and west, + Along the beach no creature moved besides. + High on the eastern point a lighthouse shone; + Steered by its lamp a ship stood out to sea, + And vanished from its rays towards the deep, + While in the west, above a wooded isle, + An island-cloud hung in the emerald sky, + Hiding pale Venus in its sombre shade. + I wandered up and down the sands, I loitered + Among the rocks, and trampled through the sedge: + But I grew weary of the stocks and stones. + "I will go hence," I thought; "the Elements + Have lost their charm; my soul is dead to-night. + Oh passive, creeping Sea, and stagnant Air, + Farewell! Dull sands, and rocks, and sedge, farewell." + Homeward I turned my face, but stayed my feet. + Should I go back but to revive again + The ancient pain? Hark! suddenly there came + From over sea, a sound like that of speech; + And suddenly I felt my pulses leap + As though some Presence were approaching me. + Loud as the voice of Ocean's dark-haired king + A breeze came down the sea,--the sea rose high; + The surging waves sang round me--this their song: + "Oh, yet your love will triumph! He shall come + In love's wild tumult; he shall come once more,-- + By tracks of ocean or by paths of earth; + The wanderer will reach you and remain." + The breakers dashed among the rocks, and they + Seemed full of life; the foam dissolved the sands, + And the sedge trembled in the swelling tide. + Was this a promise of the vaunting Sea, + Or the illusion of a last despair? + Either, or both, still homeward I must go, + And that way turned mine eyes, and thought they met + A picture,--surely so,--or I was mad. + The crimson harvest-moon was rising full + Above my roof, and glimmered on my walls. + Within the doorway stood a man I knew-- + No picture this. I saw approaching me + Him I had hoped for, grieved for, and despaired. + "My ship is wrecked," he cried, "and I return + Never to leave my love. You are my love?" + "I too am wrecked," I sighed, "by lonely years; + Returning, you but find another wreck." + He bent his face to search my own, and spake: + "What I have traversed sea and land to find, + I find. For liberty I fought, and life, + On savage shores and wastes of unknown seas, + While waiting for this hour. Oh, think you not + Immortal love mates with immortal love + Always? And now, at last, we know this love." + My soul was filling with a mighty joy + I could not show--yet must I show my love. + "From you whose will divided broke our hearts + I now demand a different kiss than that + Which then you said should be our parting kiss. + Given, I vow the past shall be forgot. + The kiss--and we are one! Give me the kiss." + Like the dark rocks upon the sands he stood, + When on his breast I fell, and kissed his lips. + All the wild clangor of the sea was hushed; + The rapid silver waves ran each to each, + Lapsed in the deep with joyous, murmured sighs. + Years of repentance mine, forgiveness his, + To tell. Happy, we paced the tranquil shores, + Till between sea and sky we saw the sun, + And all our wiser, loving days began. + + + + + THE CHIMNEY-SWALLOW'S IDYL. + + + From where I built the nest for my first young, + In the high chimney of this ancient house, + I saw the household fires burn and go down, + And know what was and is forever gone. + My dusky, swift-winged fledgelings, flying far + To seek their mates in clustered eaves or towers, + Would linger not to learn what I have learned, + Soaring through air or steering over sea-- + These single, solitary walls must fade. + But I return, inhabiting my nest, + A little simple bird, which still survives + The noble souls now vanished from this hearth; + And none are here besides but she who shares + My life, and pensive vigil holds with me. + No longer does she mourn; she lives serene; + I see her mother's beauty in her face, + I see her father's quiet pride and power, + The linked traits and traces of her race; + Her brothers dying, like strong sapling trees + Hewn down by violent blows prone in dense woods, + Covered with aged boughs, decaying slow. + She muses thus: "Beauty once more abides; + The rude alarm of death, its wild amaze + Is over now. The chance of change has passed; + No doubtful hopes are mine, no restless dread, + No last word to be spoken, kiss to give + And take in passion's agony and end. + They cannot come to me, but in good time + I shall rejoin my silent company, + And melt among them, as the sunset clouds + Melt in gray spaces of the coming night." + So she holds dear as I this tranquil spot, + And all the flowers that blow, and maze of green, + The meadows daisy-full, or brown and sere; + The shore which bounds the waves I love to skim, + And dash my purple wings against the breeze. + When breaks the day I twitter loud and long, + To make her rise and watch the vigorous sun + Come from his sea-bed in the weltering deep, + And smell the dewy grass, still rank with sleep. + I hover through the twilight round her eaves, + And dart above, before her, in her path, + Till, with a smile, she gives me all her mind; + And in the deep of night, lest she be sad + In sleepless thought, I stir me in my nest, + And murmur as I murmur to my young; + She makes no answer, but I know she hears; + And all the cherished pictures in her thoughts + Grow bright because of _me_, her swallow friend! + + + + + LAST DAYS. + + + As one who follows a departing friend, + Destined to cross the great, dividing sea, + I watch and follow these departing days, + That go so grandly, lifting up their crowns + Still regal, though their victor Autumn comes. + Gifts they bestow, which I accept, return, + As gifts exchanged between a loving pair, + Who may possess them as memorials + Of pleasures ended by the shadow--Death. + What matter which shall vanish hence, if both + Are transitory--me, and these bright hours-- + And of the future ignorant alike? + From all our social thralls I would be free. + Let care go down the wind--as hounds afar, + Within their kennels baying unseen foes, + Give to calm sleepers only calmer dreams. + Here will I rest alone: the morning mist + Conceals no form but mine; the evening dew + Freshens but faded flowers and my worn face. + When the noon basks among the wooded hills + I too will bask, as silent as the air + So thick with sun-motes, dyed like yellow gold, + Or colored purple like an unplucked plum. + The thrush, now lonesome, for her young have flown, + May flutter her brown wings across my path; + And creatures of the sod with brilliant eyes + May leap beside me, and familiar grow. + The moon shall rise among her floating clouds, + Black, vaporous fans, and crinkled globes of pearl, + And her sweet silver light be given to me. + To watch and follow these departing days + Must be my choice; and let me mated be + With Solitude; may memory and hope + Unite to give me faith that nothing dies; + To show me always, what I pray to know, + That man alone may speak the word--_Farewell_. + + + + + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Poems, by Elizabeth Stoddard + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK POEMS *** + +***** This file should be named 12391.txt or 12391.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + https://www.gutenberg.org/1/2/3/9/12391/ + +Produced by Leah Moser and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team. + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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