diff options
Diffstat (limited to 'old/12391-0.txt')
| -rw-r--r-- | old/12391-0.txt | 3144 |
1 files changed, 3144 insertions, 0 deletions
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. Special rules, set forth in the General Terms of Use part +of this license, apply to copying and distributing Project +Gutenberg-tm electronic works to protect the PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm +concept and trademark. Project Gutenberg is a registered trademark, +and may not be used if you charge for an eBook, except by following +the terms of the trademark license, including paying royalties for use +of the Project Gutenberg trademark. If you do not charge anything for +copies of this eBook, complying with the trademark license is very +easy. You may use this eBook for nearly any purpose such as creation +of derivative works, reports, performances and research. Project +Gutenberg eBooks may be modified and printed and given away--you may +do practically ANYTHING in the United States with eBooks not protected +by U.S. copyright law. Redistribution is subject to the trademark +license, especially commercial redistribution. + +START: FULL LICENSE + +THE FULL PROJECT GUTENBERG LICENSE +PLEASE READ THIS BEFORE YOU DISTRIBUTE OR USE THIS WORK + +To protect the Project Gutenberg-tm mission of promoting the free +distribution of electronic works, by using or distributing this work +(or any other work associated in any way with the phrase "Project +Gutenberg"), you agree to comply with all the terms of the Full +Project Gutenberg-tm License available with this file or online at +www.gutenberg.org/license. + +Section 1. General Terms of Use and Redistributing Project +Gutenberg-tm electronic works + +1.A. By reading or using any part of this Project Gutenberg-tm +electronic work, you indicate that you have read, understand, agree to +and accept all the terms of this license and intellectual property +(trademark/copyright) agreement. If you do not agree to abide by all +the terms of this agreement, you must cease using and return or +destroy all copies of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works in your +possession. If you paid a fee for obtaining a copy of or access to a +Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work and you do not agree to be bound +by the terms of this agreement, you may obtain a refund from the +person or entity to whom you paid the fee as set forth in paragraph +1.E.8. + +1.B. "Project Gutenberg" is a registered trademark. It may only be +used on or associated in any way with an electronic work by people who +agree to be bound by the terms of this agreement. There are a few +things that you can do with most Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works +even without complying with the full terms of this agreement. See +paragraph 1.C below. There are a lot of things you can do with Project +Gutenberg-tm electronic works if you follow the terms of this +agreement and help preserve free future access to Project Gutenberg-tm +electronic works. See paragraph 1.E below. + +1.C. The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation ("the +Foundation" or PGLAF), owns a compilation copyright in the collection +of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works. Nearly all the individual +works in the collection are in the public domain in the United +States. If an individual work is unprotected by copyright law in the +United States and you are located in the United States, we do not +claim a right to prevent you from copying, distributing, performing, +displaying or creating derivative works based on the work as long as +all references to Project Gutenberg are removed. Of course, we hope +that you will support the Project Gutenberg-tm mission of promoting +free access to electronic works by freely sharing Project Gutenberg-tm +works in compliance with the terms of this agreement for keeping the +Project Gutenberg-tm name associated with the work. You can easily +comply with the terms of this agreement by keeping this work in the +same format with its attached full Project Gutenberg-tm License when +you share it without charge with others. + +1.D. The copyright laws of the place where you are located also govern +what you can do with this work. Copyright laws in most countries are +in a constant state of change. If you are outside the United States, +check the laws of your country in addition to the terms of this +agreement before downloading, copying, displaying, performing, +distributing or creating derivative works based on this work or any +other Project Gutenberg-tm work. The Foundation makes no +representations concerning the copyright status of any work in any +country other than the United States. + +1.E. Unless you have removed all references to Project Gutenberg: + +1.E.1. The following sentence, with active links to, or other +immediate access to, the full Project Gutenberg-tm License must appear +prominently whenever any copy of a Project Gutenberg-tm work (any work +on which the phrase "Project Gutenberg" appears, or with which the +phrase "Project Gutenberg" is associated) is accessed, displayed, +performed, viewed, copied or distributed: + + 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. + +1.E.2. If an individual Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work is +derived from texts not protected by U.S. copyright law (does not +contain a notice indicating that it is posted with permission of the +copyright holder), the work can be copied and distributed to anyone in +the United States without paying any fees or charges. If you are +redistributing or providing access to a work with the phrase "Project +Gutenberg" associated with or appearing on the work, you must comply +either with the requirements of paragraphs 1.E.1 through 1.E.7 or +obtain permission for the use of the work and the Project Gutenberg-tm +trademark as set forth in paragraphs 1.E.8 or 1.E.9. + +1.E.3. If an individual Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work is posted +with the permission of the copyright holder, your use and distribution +must comply with both paragraphs 1.E.1 through 1.E.7 and any +additional terms imposed by the copyright holder. Additional terms +will be linked to the Project Gutenberg-tm License for all works +posted with the permission of the copyright holder found at the +beginning of this work. + +1.E.4. Do not unlink or detach or remove the full Project Gutenberg-tm +License terms from this work, or any files containing a part of this +work or any other work associated with Project Gutenberg-tm. + +1.E.5. Do not copy, display, perform, distribute or redistribute this +electronic work, or any part of this electronic work, without +prominently displaying the sentence set forth in paragraph 1.E.1 with +active links or immediate access to the full terms of the Project +Gutenberg-tm License. + +1.E.6. You may convert to and distribute this work in any binary, +compressed, marked up, nonproprietary or proprietary form, including +any word processing or hypertext form. However, if you provide access +to or distribute copies of a Project Gutenberg-tm work in a format +other than "Plain Vanilla ASCII" or other format used in the official +version posted on the official Project Gutenberg-tm website +(www.gutenberg.org), you must, at no additional cost, fee or expense +to the user, provide a copy, a means of exporting a copy, or a means +of obtaining a copy upon request, of the work in its original "Plain +Vanilla ASCII" or other form. Any alternate format must include the +full Project Gutenberg-tm License as specified in paragraph 1.E.1. + +1.E.7. Do not charge a fee for access to, viewing, displaying, +performing, copying or distributing any Project Gutenberg-tm works +unless you comply with paragraph 1.E.8 or 1.E.9. + +1.E.8. You may charge a reasonable fee for copies of or providing +access to or distributing Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works +provided that: + +* You pay a royalty fee of 20% of the gross profits you derive from + the use of Project Gutenberg-tm works calculated using the method + you already use to calculate your applicable taxes. The fee is owed + to the owner of the Project Gutenberg-tm trademark, but he has + agreed to donate royalties under this paragraph to the Project + Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation. Royalty payments must be paid + within 60 days following each date on which you prepare (or are + legally required to prepare) your periodic tax returns. Royalty + payments should be clearly marked as such and sent to the Project + Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation at the address specified in + Section 4, "Information about donations to the Project Gutenberg + Literary Archive Foundation." + +* You provide a full refund of any money paid by a user who notifies + you in writing (or by e-mail) within 30 days of receipt that s/he + does not agree to the terms of the full Project Gutenberg-tm + License. You must require such a user to return or destroy all + copies of the works possessed in a physical medium and discontinue + all use of and all access to other copies of Project Gutenberg-tm + works. + +* You provide, in accordance with paragraph 1.F.3, a full refund of + any money paid for a work or a replacement copy, if a defect in the + electronic work is discovered and reported to you within 90 days of + receipt of the work. + +* You comply with all other terms of this agreement for free + distribution of Project Gutenberg-tm works. + +1.E.9. If you wish to charge a fee or distribute a Project +Gutenberg-tm electronic work or group of works on different terms than +are set forth in this agreement, you must obtain permission in writing +from the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation, the manager of +the Project Gutenberg-tm trademark. Contact the Foundation as set +forth in Section 3 below. + +1.F. + +1.F.1. Project Gutenberg volunteers and employees expend considerable +effort to identify, do copyright research on, transcribe and proofread +works not protected by U.S. copyright law in creating the Project +Gutenberg-tm collection. Despite these efforts, Project Gutenberg-tm +electronic works, and the medium on which they may be stored, may +contain "Defects," such as, but not limited to, incomplete, inaccurate +or corrupt data, transcription errors, a copyright or other +intellectual property infringement, a defective or damaged disk or +other medium, a computer virus, or computer codes that damage or +cannot be read by your equipment. + +1.F.2. LIMITED WARRANTY, DISCLAIMER OF DAMAGES - Except for the "Right +of Replacement or Refund" described in paragraph 1.F.3, the Project +Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation, the owner of the Project +Gutenberg-tm trademark, and any other party distributing a Project +Gutenberg-tm electronic work under this agreement, disclaim all +liability to you for damages, costs and expenses, including legal +fees. YOU AGREE THAT YOU HAVE NO REMEDIES FOR NEGLIGENCE, STRICT +LIABILITY, BREACH OF WARRANTY OR BREACH OF CONTRACT EXCEPT THOSE +PROVIDED IN PARAGRAPH 1.F.3. YOU AGREE THAT THE FOUNDATION, THE +TRADEMARK OWNER, AND ANY DISTRIBUTOR UNDER THIS AGREEMENT WILL NOT BE +LIABLE TO YOU FOR ACTUAL, DIRECT, INDIRECT, CONSEQUENTIAL, PUNITIVE OR +INCIDENTAL DAMAGES EVEN IF YOU GIVE NOTICE OF THE POSSIBILITY OF SUCH +DAMAGE. + +1.F.3. LIMITED RIGHT OF REPLACEMENT OR REFUND - If you discover a +defect in this electronic work within 90 days of receiving it, you can +receive a refund of the money (if any) you paid for it by sending a +written explanation to the person you received the work from. If you +received the work on a physical medium, you must return the medium +with your written explanation. The person or entity that provided you +with the defective work may elect to provide a replacement copy in +lieu of a refund. If you received the work electronically, the person +or entity providing it to you may choose to give you a second +opportunity to receive the work electronically in lieu of a refund. If +the second copy is also defective, you may demand a refund in writing +without further opportunities to fix the problem. + +1.F.4. Except for the limited right of replacement or refund set forth +in paragraph 1.F.3, this work is provided to you 'AS-IS', WITH NO +OTHER WARRANTIES OF ANY KIND, EXPRESS OR IMPLIED, INCLUDING BUT NOT +LIMITED TO WARRANTIES OF MERCHANTABILITY OR FITNESS FOR ANY PURPOSE. + +1.F.5. Some states do not allow disclaimers of certain implied +warranties or the exclusion or limitation of certain types of +damages. If any disclaimer or limitation set forth in this agreement +violates the law of the state applicable to this agreement, the +agreement shall be interpreted to make the maximum disclaimer or +limitation permitted by the applicable state law. The invalidity or +unenforceability of any provision of this agreement shall not void the +remaining provisions. + +1.F.6. INDEMNITY - You agree to indemnify and hold the Foundation, the +trademark owner, any agent or employee of the Foundation, anyone +providing copies of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works in +accordance with this agreement, and any volunteers associated with the +production, promotion and distribution of Project Gutenberg-tm +electronic works, harmless from all liability, costs and expenses, +including legal fees, that arise directly or indirectly from any of +the following which you do or cause to occur: (a) distribution of this +or any Project Gutenberg-tm work, (b) alteration, modification, or +additions or deletions to any Project Gutenberg-tm work, and (c) any +Defect you cause. + +Section 2. Information about the Mission of Project Gutenberg-tm + +Project Gutenberg-tm is synonymous with the free distribution of +electronic works in formats readable by the widest variety of +computers including obsolete, old, middle-aged and new computers. It +exists because of the efforts of hundreds of volunteers and donations +from people in all walks of life. + +Volunteers and financial support to provide volunteers with the +assistance they need are critical to reaching Project Gutenberg-tm's +goals and ensuring that the Project Gutenberg-tm collection will +remain freely available for generations to come. In 2001, the Project +Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation was created to provide a secure +and permanent future for Project Gutenberg-tm and future +generations. To learn more about the Project Gutenberg Literary +Archive Foundation and how your efforts and donations can help, see +Sections 3 and 4 and the Foundation information page at +www.gutenberg.org + +Section 3. Information about the Project Gutenberg Literary +Archive Foundation + +The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation is a non-profit +501(c)(3) educational corporation organized under the laws of the +state of Mississippi and granted tax exempt status by the Internal +Revenue Service. The Foundation's EIN or federal tax identification +number is 64-6221541. Contributions to the Project Gutenberg Literary +Archive Foundation are tax deductible to the full extent permitted by +U.S. federal laws and your state's laws. + +The Foundation's business office is located at 809 North 1500 West, +Salt Lake City, UT 84116, (801) 596-1887. Email contact links and up +to date contact information can be found at the Foundation's website +and official page at www.gutenberg.org/contact + +Section 4. Information about Donations to the Project Gutenberg +Literary Archive Foundation + +Project Gutenberg-tm depends upon and cannot survive without +widespread public support and donations to carry out its mission of +increasing the number of public domain and licensed works that can be +freely distributed in machine-readable form accessible by the widest +array of equipment including outdated equipment. Many small donations +($1 to $5,000) are particularly important to maintaining tax exempt +status with the IRS. + +The Foundation is committed to complying with the laws regulating +charities and charitable donations in all 50 states of the United +States. Compliance requirements are not uniform and it takes a +considerable effort, much paperwork and many fees to meet and keep up +with these requirements. We do not solicit donations in locations +where we have not received written confirmation of compliance. To SEND +DONATIONS or determine the status of compliance for any particular +state visit www.gutenberg.org/donate + +While we cannot and do not solicit contributions from states where we +have not met the solicitation requirements, we know of no prohibition +against accepting unsolicited donations from donors in such states who +approach us with offers to donate. + +International donations are gratefully accepted, but we cannot make +any statements concerning tax treatment of donations received from +outside the United States. U.S. laws alone swamp our small staff. + +Please check the Project Gutenberg web pages for current donation +methods and addresses. Donations are accepted in a number of other +ways including checks, online payments and credit card donations. To +donate, please visit: www.gutenberg.org/donate + +Section 5. General Information About Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works + +Professor Michael S. Hart was the originator of the Project +Gutenberg-tm concept of a library of electronic works that could be +freely shared with anyone. For forty years, he produced and +distributed Project Gutenberg-tm eBooks with only a loose network of +volunteer support. + +Project Gutenberg-tm eBooks are often created from several printed +editions, all of which are confirmed as not protected by copyright in +the U.S. unless a copyright notice is included. Thus, we do not +necessarily keep eBooks in compliance with any particular paper +edition. + +Most people start at our website which has the main PG search +facility: www.gutenberg.org + +This website includes information about Project Gutenberg-tm, +including how to make donations to the Project Gutenberg Literary +Archive Foundation, how to help produce our new eBooks, and how to +subscribe to our email newsletter to hear about new eBooks. + + |